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satansapostle6 · 1 year ago

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folie à deux

Sometimes poison is sweet.

Selina Romanov and Draco Malfoy met when they were only eleven years old. The two of them have always shared an intense bond, always having gravitated towards one another. But the question still remains, as the years pass by, is their connection one of passion, or delusion?

Warnings: Contains Mature Themes/Language, Themes Such As Sexual Content, Violence, Abuse, Sexual Assault, Eating Disorders

Eleven.

It wasn't too difficult for Amana Tesfaye to forgive Elspeth for what she'd said as the week went on. The girls were all perfectly fine by the time the weekend hit, which meant that they all could look forward to going to the Valentine's Day party together.

"Hey Sel, do you like this top on me?" Amana sighed, exhausting all of her options for the long-awaited Valentine's Day party.

"I think it looks perfect, babe," Selina assured her as she put on her makeup. "A darker red is perfect for you. Very moody."

"Good, that's exactly what I was going for," the girl sighed as she examined and evaluated her outfit in the mirror.

Amana was the only one out of the three girls who had decided against wearing a dress. She had decided she'd go with her elegant, one-sleeved red top and matching skirt. Each of the girls ended up in completely different romantic situations for Valentine's Day; Amana was obviously completely single, while Selina was very much established as dating Jasper Carroll, while Elspeth wasn't necessarily dating anyone, but she and Evan Howerton, a fourth-year Ravenclaw, had been spending a decent amount of time together and would be meeting up at the party, which was being held in the Slytherin common room as usual, while Fred and George Weasley, on behalf of the Gryffindor students as their contribution to the school-wide event, distracted Mr. Filch with outlandish and slightly dangerous pranks that could also be considered crimes depending on who you asked. Kelly Cross, with Selina's approval, had made the RSVP for this year's Valentine's Day party mandatory, simply so that Selina could find out as soon as possible whether she had the satisfaction of knowing if Draco Malfoy would be showing up to the party without his own girlfriend, who of course was intentionally as well as spitefully not invited. Evidently, the day after the invitations were distributed amongst Hogwarts students, Kelly had received an owl from Draco, which showed that he'd checked 'yes' on the invitation.

Although Pansy Parkinson's audaciously disrespectful tendencies were very far down Selina Romanov's list of worries that night, she of course allowed herself to cautiously revel in the fact that, this time, she'd won. Selina thought about nothing but the fun party she would be hosting tonight alongside Jasper, her loving boyfriend who she couldn't stop thinking about every time she thought of Valentine's Day. Jasper was the one person who she felt truly happy with, which was a sort of debt that she had no idea how to repay. When it came to Jasper Carroll, she did in fact feel guilty about many things, whether it was the way he always carried her things when they were together, or the way he always waited on her to put on her makeup in the mornings, or the way he intentionally spoke less in conversations just so he could hear her speak, or the way she knew most people would be asking to take photos of her and Draco tonight instead of her and Jasper. She knew that while he put up with all of these things simply because he cared about her, she still felt, sometimes, that he deserved better. Selina couldn't help but feel a bit like Jasper deserved a better girlfriend than her, and it was all the more frustrating to her when people would just shake their heads and tell her there's no such thing. She was in love with Jasper, and sometimes, she tortured herself with it, the same way her mother had being married to her father.

Adeline Romanov wrote in one of her journals that loving a man was like gripping a glass so hard in your hands that it breaks, and her daughter grew to think she was a genius. Selina felt that she was also a genius like her mother because, at times, she found herself suicidal like her mother had been on occasion. Selina wasn't suicidal in that she felt the obstacles in her life that she faced were too insurmountable to tolerate, but she was more suicidal because she felt that the brain she'd been given wasn't optimal for the human existence. She felt she was born defective, and needed to be euthanized before any further damage was done to herself or others. Selina didn't see herself as a person at all because she had come to realize that it wasn't normal the way she was incredibly aware of every single one of her emotions, whims, and desires, as well as their origin at any given movement, and that she had grown so accustomed to mimicking others in every possible aspect that she realized that no matter which face she chose to put on, at the end of the day, none of them were real, which meant that everyone who got to know her would ultimately end up disappointed, no matter who they were. Selina was the kind of person who grew up mirroring and adapting to the qualities of others to survive, and she found she had grown into the kind of person who just didn't know how to stop. And it was something she knew that her mother would've been able to relate to, had she still been alive.

Selina never grew tired of appealing to people in every way she could possibly imagine. It was a game to her, a game she'd proved to herself that she was no longer capable of losing. She found there to be an undeniable art to earning people's favor, a complex and unique art full of various subtleties and details that had to be observed. Although everyone at Hogwarts mostly considered Selina to merely be another beautiful girl with no brains whatsoever, often forgetting that she was actually something of a genius, in more ways than one. It was Professor McGonagall that had first noticed during Selina's first year at Hogwarts that she had an uncanny, even eerie, way of being able to understand any logistical aspect of magic, or anything else, for that matter. Selina was a genius when it came to taking things apart bit by bit and understanding how they worked, whether it was a spell, or a person. She never had any trouble understanding the inner workings of any person or thing, and she always knew exactly how to manipulate the materials she was given to achieve the desired effect. All she had to know was what she wanted, in order to be able to set things in motion to get it. The trouble was, that sometimes, Selina had no idea what she wanted.

Selina had no idea why she wasn't happy with her life. Of course, she was perfectly satisfied with her life, but that was something she'd learned was entirely different. Selina had attained good grades, and an optimal social standing. She had friends she loved and trusted, and a boyfriend she also loved and trusted, who absolutely revered her. Everything in Selina's life after Marcus Flint had raped her was going relatively well, but still, she found herself unhappy. Naturally, Selina had attributed this to what she'd experienced with Flint, but still, she felt miserable and unfulfilled in ways she had no clue how to rectify. Her lack of satisfaction was something she tried to tuck away and ignore as she carefully swept black mascara over her eyelashes, using her alone time in front of the mirror to remind herself again how to hide herself away from everyone else. She applied the last bit of gold glitter to her eyes and nose to blend in with the party's decadent Valentine's Day decorations.

"I'm going to get dressed," Selina announced casually, neither of her friends caring that they were all in the room.

The girls had all grown accustomed to one another by now. She pulled her nightclothes off to reveal her carefully selected undergarments that matched her white dress. The dress was a loose-fitting silken baby doll dress that fit the party's theme perfectly. The dress had been one of Selina's mother's favorite summer dresses from her teenage years, which she'd gotten in France. It was a white, strapless dress made from silk and chiffon with a beautiful sweetheart neckline adorned with a delicate pink silk bow, which Selina happened to know perfectly matched Jasper's pale pink silk tie. The girls were all happy with their ensembles for the party, heading out into the hall together in their outfits. Although this year the Slither Court had decided against a color-coded theme for the party in favor of a more sophisticated theme, they found that this worked in their favor, considering that the Hogwarts students had all collectively elected to color-code their outfits anyways, those in relationships wearing white, and those who were single wearing red, while everyone else wore pink.

"I wonder what outfits we're going to see tonight," Elspeth remarked as the girls made their way through the corridor.

Just as she spoke, her friends noticed that a scene was already unfolding in the hall, between Draco and Pansy, who was dressed nicely for a party she wouldn't be allowed to attend.

"You're seriously fucking going without me?!" Pansy Parkinson demanded in disbelief.

"I mean, you can try to get in, but I don't think it's going to work!"

"I can't believe I can't get into a party happening in my own common room!"

"I miss when they weren't speaking," Elspeth murmured.

"Okay, let's go," Amana giggled, rushing the others past as they headed for the common room.

Crabbe and Goyle were both standing in front of the entrance to the common room with lists of names in hand, while two other boys stood out in the dungeons, also standing guard. They both silently allowed the girls in, fully aware that the only people they were to refuse were Pansy and Marcus Flint. The Slytherin common room was unrecognizable, beautifully decorated for the party, adorned with elegant white drapes and gold accents. There were ice sculptures and champagne towers scattered around the room, along with red and pink rose petals that were spread all over the floors and tables. Beautiful paintings of cupids and other Renaissance-era pieces filled the room. Selina had no idea how Kelly Cross had actually made all of their ideas a reality, but she didn't ask. As everyone from other houses poured in, Selina and her friends excitedly got their pictures taken by the students who had volunteered to take photos in exchange for admittance to the party. The Valentine's Day party typically consisted of older students, with only seventh-years, sixth-years, and fifth-years, in addition to about half of the fourth-year class allowed to attend, as well as only the most popular third-years also invited. Selina relished in her social standing, glad to be able to enjoy such exclusive events with her friends. She took sophisticated and cheerful photos with Kelly and Blaise and her friends while they all waited for Draco to be done screaming back at Pansy.

"Well, I hope I'm not late," Jasper Carroll said, startling Selina.

"No," she breathed excitedly, smiling as she saw him. "You're just in time."

He looked perfect, she thought, in his black trousers and white button-down shirt, a pink tie lazily draped around his neck, and the flashy gold watch he'd gotten from his father on his wrist. In his hand was a single red rose, which he ceremoniously offered to his girlfriend.

"For you, my lady," he offered, grinning handsomely.

"Thank you, my lord," Selina beamed, automatically smelling the flower.

"This is for you. As promised," he told her, handing her a small white box.

"Jasper," she chuckled, opening it.

She opened the box to find a little pearlescent seashell inside.

"You wanna know where it's from?" he asked her.

"Where?" she looked up at him curiously.

"It's from Brazil," Jasper explained, "Vila Velha, to be exact."

"That's where my family's from," Selina realized, "You remembered."

Selina had told Jasper the story of her grandfather's return to Vila Velha long ago, before he and her grandmother were ever married.

"How could I not?" he reasoned. "Your grandfather lost his shoes not an hour after he Apparated there. The wizard that stole them would only give them back in exchange for—"

"A shell," Selina finished, not realizing he'd held onto that story.

She closed the box, staring at him in disbelief.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, Jasper. I love you."

"I love you too," he promised her as she wrapped him in a hug.

He followed her back to her dorm for a moment, setting the gifts he'd gotten her down on her bedside table. She took his present from her drawer, handing it to him.

"This might not seem as touching, or as beautiful, but I found this at Diagon Alley, when I went with Draco," she handed him a wrapped gift.

"I don't care. You gave it to me, so I love it already," he decided firmly.

Jasper unwrapped the paper, opening the gift box to find a small wooden pipe inside.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed excitedly, examining it carefully. "I'm gonna look like a real wizard! I love it!"

Selina laughed at his childishness, fully aware of what it was like to be in the company of a fourteen year-old boy. "Alright, my little wizard, let's head back to the party," she suggested with a sigh, reminding him of their obligations.

The two of them returned to the party in the common room. More people had shown up already, many guests from the school's other three houses already present. Selina and Jasper joined their friends in taking photos together for the Slytherin court. Selina and Jasper stood in the middle with Draco, who was of course awkwardly without a date, the only visible trace of his girlfriend being his white button-down shirt, as well as the silver bracelet with Pansy's initials on it that he'd been asked to wear. Kelly stood on Selina's side with her date, a handsome but torturously dull Slytherin seventh-year whose name Selina hadn't cared enough to learn, while Blaise and his date, Erika Eden, a Slytherin, stood on Jasper's other side. Many photos were snapped of the court members and their dates before they were all free to just do as they pleased. Selina and Jasper had been dancing along with their friends in the space reserved for dancing. Selina and her friends we're having the time of their lives by the champagne tower, knocking back glass after glass as the tower remained magically filled throughout the night. Jasper had also indulged in a fair amount of the champagne, although he was nowhere near on the same level as Selina and the others. Apart from the girls, Draco Malfoy was also becoming incredibly intoxicated. He had had nothing to do the entire time but drink with Theodore Nott and a few others, given that Pansy was not at the party.

He eventually grew tired of the group of boys he was entertaining, all of them emptily regurgitating his own words back at him just to appease him. He joined Selina, Amana, Elspeth, and Blaise in their drinking, all of them laughing and jumping around to the music as Jasper merely laughed and shook his head at his girlfriend.

"I don't see Evan anywhere," Elspeth said worriedly, "He said he'd meet me..."

"Fuck him," Blaise snapped, waving an empty saucer of champagne around, "He's second-rate anyway."

No one asked what he meant by this.

"Sel! Sel!" Draco yelled over everyone. "You've gotta show them your Filch impression! Come on, do it!"

"No!" Selina gasped in embarrassment, leaning on him momentarily.

"Come on, it's dead on! Do the voice!" he begged. "It's brilliant! Come on!"

She laughed hysterically as everyone waited curiously. "No. I'm not doing the voice!"

Draco was ultimately tasked with steering Selina out of the trajectory of many other party guests and student servers walking around with trays of food and drinks. Selina, who hadn't eaten yet that day, had already reached her point where the alcohol that she drank hit her the most before she began to settle down. The music was blaring and the lighting in the common room was dim and ambient. Everyone was either dancing, talking, laughing, or some combination thereof. Selina was beginning to return to reality, feeling much more lucid and composed as she happily danced with Kelly, the two of them affectionately slow-dancing with a fairly heterosexual sense of irony to the loud rock music. Amana, however, was too far gone to settle down. As the music eventually shifted to something more electronic that made all of the girls feel like models, she had climbed up on one of the empty tables that had once been covered with food with Elspeth, the two of them engaging in a sloppy and uncoordinated, yet somehow still chic dance that gradually became more and more risqué. Everyone gasped and cheered loudly as they slowly teased their audience with a slow drop to their feet, just barely lifting their dresses and skirts up their thighs. Selina cackled in amusement as her friends made themselves the center of attention, standing with Jasper on the dance floor. The party grew even more rowdy as Fred and George Weasley finally arrived after distracting Mr. Filch so that everyone could head to the Slytherin common room. As for the Gryffindor students, the famous Harry Potter and his two friends had shown up a little while before them, and seemed to be already planning on leaving due to the amount of drinking going on. Selina felt Draco was right that they were no fun. Multiple champagne bottles were popped as everyone cheered for them. They both made their way to the center of the dance floor where Amana and Elspeth were behaving like drunk go-go dancers. They practically were drunk go-go dancers.

"Hey, Romanov!" Fred Weasley yelled over the music, open bottle of champagne in hand.

"Easy, Weasley, she's got a boyfriend," Jasper teased, earning a fairly drunk hug from the fifth-year boy.

"You'll both save a dance for me, right?" Fred questioned.

"Of course!" Jasper shouted to him over the music.

"Oi! Speaking of dancing, Selina," Fred called, pointing in Elspeth and Amana's direction, "You should get up there and join your friends!"

"Like hell!" Selina scoffed. "I'm not breaking a heel!"

"Aw, is someone scared?!" George, his twin, instigated knowingly.

"Oh, come on, don't let them punk you like that!" Jasper laughed.

"A galleon says you won't hop up on that table and show us what you've got!" Fred dared her.

Selina shook her head, grinning as she glanced down at the busy floor. "Don't do it..."

"Come on, Romanov! You won't do it!" George baited her.

Selina sighed, seeing nothing but different sources of light for a moment.

"Help me up, Weasley," she ordered, holding out her hand.

"Yeah!" George exclaimed.

"Go on, Selina!" Fred boomed.

Fred gladly took Selina's hand as Jasper reluctantly helped her step up onto the table. Everyone at the party cheered for her as she slowly acclimated herself to the smooth rhythm of the song that was playing, coordinating her dancing to her friends' as best as she could. Draco, Blaise, and the others all cheered for Selina as she danced with her friends, cheekily swaying to the music. Jasper was initially enjoying himself, until he drunkenly realized the amount of boys all around him who couldn't take their hungry eyes off of his girlfriend. Selina slowly dropped to her knees as she smugly held out her hand to Fred, who theatrically supplied her with a galleon, as promised. She coyly tucked it into her bra in front of almost the entire school. Jasper gulped awkwardly, feeling helpless against all of them. He noticed the members of the Slytherin Quidditch team who were at the party eyeing Selina, which disgusted him. But she didn't seem aware of any of it at all, or if she was, she simply didn't let it bother her. It seemed nothing would ruin Selina's good time at this point. Jasper watched as Selina slowly shimmied down to her knees, cocking her head at George, who was holding a saucer of champagne he'd managed to swipe off of one of the trays passing them. Selina held out her hand and he obliged, handing over the glass as she took it from him, slowly throwing her head back and downing what was left of it as her audience watched her intently. Feeling the need to intervene, Jasper Carroll took her hand, snaking his arm around her body so that he could safely pick her up, carrying her away from the table against her will. Needless to say, everyone else booed him rather aggressively.

"Hey!" Selina complained. "I was having fun!"

"You should sit down for a minute," Jasper told her responsibly.

"What? I'm fine," she laughed.

"You're acting drunk," he informed her.

"Because it's fun," she scoffed as Elspeth and Amana both followed them to a couch.

"Not for your boyfriend," Jasper reminded her, slowly setting her down on a leather couch.

"Leave her! She's fine!" Elspeth protested.

"You're even worse," Jasper told her, turning to Blaise, "You should get her some water."

"Is there even water at this party?" Blaise Zabini wondered, stifling a burp in humiliation.

Amana and Elspeth both sat down on a loveseat adjacent to the couch as Blaise and Draco sat beside Selina and Jasper. Just about everyone was fairly drunk, needing to relax for a moment before returning to the dancing.

"I'm hungry!" Amana Tesfaye complained, slurring.

"I'm hungry!" Elspeth chimed in.

"Bloody hell, if you girls aren't going to be any fun anymore, I'll get us some food," Blaise volunteered, sighing exhaustedly.

"Get me the mini quiches!" Elspeth cried. "And the shrimp puffs!"

"And I want ice cream!" Amana told him.

"Is there even any ice cream here?" Draco asked in confusion.

"None at all," Jasper confirmed dryly.

Blaise wandered off to go make sloppy plates for everyone, seeming to be somewhat in his own world.

"Why didn't Evan show up?!" Elspeth whined miserably. "I thought he liked me!"

"He's a fucking bitch!" Amana blurted out. "Forget him. Get someone richer."

"Blaise would agree," Selina chimed in.

She turned to her boyfriend, grinning as he allowed her to drape her arm around him for support.

"I love you," she cooed breathily.

"Your breath smells like champagne and strawberries," Jasper smiled jokingly.

"I didn't have strawberries," Selina frowned.

"I had strawberries," Amana lazily raised her hand.

"That's sick," Jasper frowned. "Why is it always you two?"

Draco Malfoy was dead silent up until this point, but no one seemed to notice this. They were all respectively preoccupied with different things.

"I want more champagne, but I don't want to get it," he muttered to himself.

"I want more champagne," Selina thought aloud.

"You don't get more champagne until you eat," Jasper reminded her.

"Fine, Mum," Selina rolled her eyes at him.

One of the servers leaned over with a tray of champagne coupes. "More champagne?"

"More champagne!" Draco and Selina both cheered perfectly in unison, grabbing two glasses each.

"They should've just given you each a bottle," Jasper rolled his eyes as he tried to at least stop Selina from downing both of her glasses.

He was unsuccessful.

"Look!" Elspeth Laurier gasped.

Everyone's heads all turned in shock, expecting to see something horrible, like a bloody accident, or a fight breaking out. No one knew what they were supposed to be looking at, until Amana spotted Evan Howerton.

"Is that Evan?! With Daphne?!"

"No!" Elspeth screamed, tears immediately streaming down her face as she couldn't help but watch the two of them dancing. "Why?!"

"Oh, Elle..."

Amana consoled her, watching her as she sobbed into her shoulder. Draco just shook his head, readily downing his second glass of champagne.

"Bloody bell..." Jasper murmured to himself.

He sighed with relief as Blaise returned, messily balancing multiple plates of food on his arms.

"Here, here, and here. My job is done," he sighed, slumping down on the couch beside Draco, who also seemed exhausted.

He had handed plates of food to Amana, Elspeth, and Jasper, who was attempting to share the heavily packed plate of finger food with his girlfriend. Selina was now completely distracted by Draco, who was, for some reason, throwing grapes at people. This was the sort of thing that he typically did out of boredom.

"Ooh! Right in Finnigan's shoe!" Draco announced triumphantly.

"Hey, let me try," Selina tried to take a grape from the bowl he'd found on the table behind them.

"I'll bet you three galleons you can't land one in Tracey's bra," Draco whispered, earning a mischievous giggle from her.

"Oh, you are on!" she snickered, grabbing the bowl.

Jasper watched, mostly unamused, as Selina pelted grapes in Tracey Davis's direction as precisely as she could, yelling out as she finally landed one right down the blonde's shirt.

"Thank you," Selina giggled smugly as Draco handed her three galleons he'd had in his pocket.

They both watched, laughing, as Tracey fished a single green grape out of her bra, dumbfounded. Draco laughed even harder as Marcus Belby waited until she wasn't looking and plucked it off the ground and ate it.

"The mini quiches are so fucking good!" Amana cried happily as Elspeth wholeheartedly agreed.

"Here. Eat," Jasper told Selina, handing her the plate of food he'd eaten off of, giving her the rest, "So you don't get sick."

She nodded, joining a conversation with Draco and Blaise as they all sat around. Jasper watched as she lazily fed pieces of food to the both of them as they entertained themselves with various nonsense happening throughout the party.

"Pansy's been trying to sneak into the party all night. Somehow, she can't even get past Crabbe and Goyle," Draco shared with the group.

Selina stifled a laugh.

"Good job, Sel. You've made this party impenetrable," Blaise smirked as he drank.

She didn't say anything, not wanting to seem too petty without reason.

"You're not mad about Selina not inviting Pansy?" Blaise turned to Draco, blatantly instigating.

"No," he shook his head, "I love Pans, but what she's doing to Selina is cruel. I've tried to talk to her about it a hundred times, but she just doesn't listen."

Selina remained silent out of discomfort, hurriedly gulping down another glass of champagne from a tray nearby as she kept to herself. Jasper was growing increasingly concerned as he watched her, mini quiche held in her hand so as to hide her face.

"You love her?" Blaise questioned.

Draco knew he'd slipped up, and just shook his head in defeat.

"You know what I mean."

"That you love her?" he questioned curiously.

"Shove off," Draco scoffed, ignoring his efforts.

Selina turned to Jasper as they sat close together, her legs draped lazily over his, her attention now focused on him. "I love you so much," she murmured, her hand stroking his face as she reached behind her.

"I love you," he promised her, appreciative of her affection.

Selina leaned in to kiss him, the two of them sharing an entirely private moment separate from all of their friends. They were both perfectly content at that point.

"Ugh, get a room!" Draco complained, sounding less like their friend and more like their disgusted child.

Selina rolled her eyes into the kiss as she ignored his hounding, the other two boys eventually moving on to other things. Selina and Jasper eventually rejoined them, not wanting to get too carried away.

"Should we go throw Longbottom into the middle of the dance circle?" Draco chuckled as he watched the Gryffindor struggling to find someone to talk to on the dance floor.

"That's the only reason we invited him, isn't it?" Blaise reasoned, as the two of them eagerly jumped out of their seats and left.

They both seemed to have forgotten the rest of their friends. Amana had now nearly fallen asleep, while Elspeth was digging into her plate, choking back tears as she ate. Selina sighed, looking away with second-hand embarrassment for her friends.

"Selina. Are you going to eat?" Jasper asked her discreetly.

She turned to face him, a lack of recognition in her expression as she failed to understand why he seemed so concerned.

"What are you talking about?" she laughed awkwardly. "I just ate."

"Did you?" he questioned cautiously.

"Jasper, I'm holding the plate," she reminded him, trying to reason with him.

"Yeah, you're holding it, but you haven't eaten much off of it at all," he said under his breath.

Selina looked over at all of her friends to make sure they were still distracted by whatever ridiculousness they were currently engaged in, so as not to catch any of this unpleasant conversation.

"Are you kidding?" she asked him. "Look, so much of this is bitten!"

"Selina, I watched you," he whispered, "You cut up your food with your fork, and tore some of it into pieces, and held it by your face and kept quiet during conversation like your mouth was full.

"Excuse me?" she demanded.

Jasper couldn't be distracted. "You didn't actually bite into much of it at all."

She scoffed in disbelief, mortified at his seemingly unsolicited attack. "What are you, documenting my every fucking move?" she took offense.

"I'm just trying to make sure you're okay, is all," Jasper assured her, "I'm not trying to criticize you, I'm just pointing out that you haven't eaten much lately."

"What do you mean, I haven't eaten much lately?! You've eaten most of my meals right next to me!" she protested.

"Yeah, and that's how I've noticed how little you've actually eaten this past week or so," he said gently, "It's not healthy."

"What's not healthy? I've eaten a perfectly normal portion at all of my meals," she argued, a troubled look in her eyes.

"No, Selina, you haven't," he told her. "You put a decent amount of food on your plate, but you only eat a few bites a meal. I've noticed it, you spend all your time cutting your food, and playing around with it so it looks like you've eaten, and then you hold it near your mouth, and laugh or nod along with the conversation and dump it back on your plate off your fork just to do it all over again. You keep adding more to your plate to make it look like you've had multiple plates of food, but really, you don't even have one."

She looked at him with teary eyes, her cat-like eyes widened to look more like innocent doe eyes.

"Look, I think there's a lot of stress getting to you lately because of everything going on that you don't know how to deal with," Jasper offered gently.

"No, what I don't know how to deal with is my boyfriend counting my calories like you're my fucking grandmother!" she cried, not understanding why he'd chosen to bring this up during the party, of all times.

A few people looked over at the scene that was unfolding, curious about what was going on between Selina and Jasper.

"Look, I'm not trying to criticize you, Selina, I'm just really worried," he reiterated. "I know you're under a lot of stress, things I couldn't even behind to imagine. I know this, even if you don't always want to talk to me about it. I just want to make sure you to eat, so you can be healthy."

"I am eating!" she insisted tearfully.

Jasper seemed saddened by the fact that she still clung to her own version of things.

"But you're not," he told her. "Not enough. Not enough for a person. Or, a large cat."

"Yes, I am, you just seem to feel like I'm someone you have to fix all the time!" she screamed at him. "But I'm not someone who has to be fixed! I'm perfectly fine, there's nothing wrong with me! You're just obsessed with changing me!"

"Oh, really? That's what you fucking think this is?!" he thundered, his voice steadily picking up bass as he slowly lost his patience with her. "You're telling me I'm crazy, and you've just been eating perfectly normal portions at every meal? I'm fucking insane, and you're the one who's being reasonable?!"

"Yes, that's exactly what this is!"

He sighed, unable to speak to her. "Alright. If that's what you think, then surely you won't have an issue eating those two entire mini quiches on your plate."

"Are you insane?!" Selina cried, defensively rising from her seat.

"Stop fucking around and actually have a conversation with me!" Jasper yelled impatiently. "You're being dramatic. What have you actually eaten this week, Selina, and don't lie to me!"

"Why are you talking to me like I'm a naughty child?!" she demanded.

"Because you're acting like one!" he exclaimed.

"I'm the one who's acting like a child?!" she scoffed. "You're the one freaking out over every little thing I do!"

"Because everything you do is either horrifically dangerous, or just plain stupid!" Jasper yelled back.

Selina gasped angrily, flabbergasted as she tried to process what he'd just said to her.

"Well, I'm sorry you have such a reckless and stupid girlfriend," Selina huffed as everyone watched them. "Here. Enjoy the fucking quiches," she snapped, shoving the plate at him as she stormed off in anger.

Amana and Elspeth both saw what had happened, but weren't in any position to help at the moment. Selina had stomped off to the bathroom, not wanting to deal with anyone else anymore. Desperate to find someplace to be alone, she locked herself in a large bathroom stall and sank to the ground as she wiped her tears even if they kept coming. Selina Romanov silently let her tears fall below her as she felt the pain in her chest growing sharper, as well as the low grumbling in her stomach. She knew it was true what Jasper had said about her eating. She'd ultimately developed the eating habits that her grandmother had forced on her, the very habits she'd sworn to herself as a little girl she'd never internalize. She didn't know how, exactly, it had happened, but it did. She'd become the mindless, beauty-obsessed shell she never wanted to be, and she hated herself for it. Selina remembered how bad she'd felt long ago on her fourth birthday, when Dominique had discovered that her mother had allowed her to eat not one, but two tiny slices of her birthday cake.

She'd screamed at her about how fat and ugly she was already, and how she couldn't afford to get any worse. Selina had cried and cried the entire time she was yelled at, sobbing so violently for a toddler that she'd ended up throwing up in the bathroom, alone. The only person who knew about this was her grandmother. Dominique had passed by the bathroom, hearing a noise and discovering her granddaughter involuntarily vomiting into the toilet as she sobbed uncontrollably. Selina was so young and had no idea what was happening inside her body, and had been pleading for it to stop. She'd looked to her grandmother in the hallway for guidance, hoping she'd clean her up and comfort her the way her mother would have, but all Dominique did was look down at her granddaughter and congratulate her, instructing her to do so every time she ate something she knew she shouldn't have. Now, ever since then, any time Selina felt an even remotely full feeling in her stomach, it was immediately attributed to sickness and the sudden need to vomit would overwhelm her, for no reason at all. Eating didn't feel the way it was supply to feel to Selina. When she ate, she didn't feel happy or nourished, no matter what it was. When she ate, she only felt like she'd failed somehow.

Selina had developed an obsession with being and remaining thin. This, of course, was entirely due to her grandmother's influence. Ever since Selina could remember, she'd been subjected to Dominique's belittlement and judgment. Her entire life, all she'd heard about was how important it was for a woman to be beautiful, and how important it was to be thin in order to be considered beautiful. It was an obsession her grandmother had learned from her own mother, something she'd exposed Selina to from a young age. Ever since Selina's mother had died and her father was sent to Azkaban, Dominique had been responsible for raising and feeding Selina. Selina had been fed very small and light portions for every meal, ruining her appetite from a young age. Selina had always asked her grandmother why she ate so little while Dominique would eat bowl after bowl of rich, heavy foods that Selina was practically forbidden to eat. Selina never forgot the kinds of things her grandmother would say to her. "Look at you, and look at me," Dominique would say to her. "You eat one sandwich, and you might as well gain a kilo! Look at me, I can eat anything I want, and I'm still forty kilos!" Selina remembered it all too well. Her grandmother had an unhealthy obsession with her own weight. She would constant brag to her granddaughter about being severely underweight, as if that was an ideal standard she should strive to. Selina had been taught that if not all of her bones could be seen at any given time, she was overweight, and needed to fix herself in any way she could.

That was the way Selina had lived her entire life, and it was the same way Adeline had lived when she was a child, raised by her mother. Jasper knew this about Selina, of course, but knowing how to deal with it was another matter entirely. He didn't know what to do when she refused to eat, or when she felt sick after eating a piece of bread. As much as he tried, he just didn't understand why Selina couldn't eat even when she knew her stomach was aching in hunger. At times, when they would be together, Selina would remain silent for longer periods of time, until Jasper would speak up and ask her if she was okay, and what was wrong. Sometimes, her answer would simply be 'I'm hungry'. And although Jasper loved her and always listened to her without judgement, there were times where he really did want to ask her, 'So, why don't you just eat?" That night, when Selina stormed off to the girls' bathroom crying, like a true fourteen year-old girl, she found she didn't even have it in her to try and pretend she wasn't in there to cry. Not even bothering to try and find an empty stall, Selina sank to the ground in her white dress, looking defeated.

Lo and behold, the next person who entered the bathroom was the one person she didn't want to see. Pansy stopped in front of her, as if confused by the sight.

"Romanov?" she questioned.

"Yes, Pansy, I'm having a terrible fucking night, so let's hear it," Selina groaned exhaustedly.

"Why would you assume I have something smug to say?" Pansy Parkinson asked haughtily.

"Because you have something smug to say," Selina said bluntly.

"You're right, I do, ha!" she laughed in her face, relishing her victory momentarily.

Selina just blankly stared at her, batting her eyelashes as tears continued to fall.

"Okay, now that that's out of my system," Pansy decided, carefully kneeling beside her so as not to get herself dirty, "What's happened?"

"Why on earth would I tell you anything?" Selina demanded.

"Because you're drunk?" her mortal enemy hoped.

"Not drunk enough to talk to you about my boy troubles," she retorted.

"So this is Jasper's doing, then," Pansy deducted.

"Go ahead, tell me my relationship's doomed," Selina encouraged her, "Whatever gets you out of my face faster."

"I wouldn't be happy if you and Jasper broke up, you know," she told Selina. " He's the only thing keeping you away from Draco."

"I've told you a million times, Pansy, I'm not trying to steal Draco from you," Selina argued, "He's yours! You're not my best friend in the world, but I'd never go after another girl's boyfriend! My self esteem isn't that low."

"I don't hate you because I think you're trying to steal Draco away from you," Pansy sighed, moving next to her on the bathroom floor. "I hate you because... Well. If anyone could, it would be you."

"Why me? Why is everyone so obsessed with the idea of me and Draco?!" Selina demanded.

"Because, you look the way you do!" Pansy cried in agony, "You look like you walked out of a fashion catalogue! No one in their right mind would believe anyone would want to be just friends with you!"

"Yeah, don't I know it?" she scoffed. "Everyone makes up a different idea of who I am, and no matter what, if I get it wrong somehow, they hate me. Some people want to think I'm an angel, and when I'm not, they hate me. Some people want to think I'm a total cunt, and when they find out I'm not, they also somehow hate me."

"Well, that blows," Pansy scoffed.

Selina glared at her with every ounce of hatred she could possibly muster up. "You think?"

Pansy sighed heavily, knowing she had some explaining to do. "Look. I know I've been kind of a bitch—"

"Kind of?! You're an emotional terrorist, and a psycho bitch!"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware."

"You realize you told the entire school that I lied about Flint raping me, right?" Selina asked calmly.

"Yeah..." she paused for a moment, avoiding her gaze. "I suppose I do owe you for that one."

"You wanna give me what you owe me? Testify in front of the school board that you lied about Flint being innocent, or at the very least, don't testify at all," Selina scoffed. "I've never cared about any of the other things you've said and done to me, but that was different."

"I'm sorry," Pansy said, as Selina was shocked to see tears making an appearance. "Selina, I'm... I'm really sorry about that."

Selina's expression didn't soften, but she felt there wasn't much of a point in still maintaining her fury towards the girl.

"Then why did you do it?" she questioned her. "It wasn't just a momentary decision, it was ongoing, and consistent! You intentionally went around telling anyone who'd listen that I'm a lying slag who deserves to be raped, but still wasn't. I have the right to hate you. I have the right to kill you."

"I'm sorry, okay, I was hurt," she breathed, her eyes full of sadness.

"By what?! I never even looked your way until you started this fucking war with me!"

"Because I wanted you to notice me," Pansy sighed.

Selina stared at her, baffled, as she tried to come up with a response. It proved to be more difficult than she thought.

"So you decided you'd rather make yourself my arch nemesis than not talk to me at all?" she concluded.

"Yes!" Pansy exclaimed. "I mean, I'm Pansy Parkinson, but you're Selina Romanov! You're the only worthy enemy I have at this godforsaken school!"

"Huh. That's weirdly flattering," Selina remarked, "But also a little pathetic."

Pansy just shrugged.

"Listen. We're definitely not going to be best friends anytime soon, but if you stop making my life miserable, I'd have no reason to hate you," Selina offered an olive branch. "I mean it. If you want, we can be civil. Maybe even pleasant, with good behavior."

"I don't need your friendship," Pansy rolled her eyes at her. "But, I suppose I'll stop spreading that Flint thing around."

"Good," Selina told her.

There was a brief moment of silence between them as both girls stared at their feet, not knowing what to say to the other.

"So, er, Flint..." Pansy looked at her. "He really did that to you?" she asked softly.

She nodded. "Yes. He raped me, and sometimes, I feel dirty saying that word, but it's the only word that describes what I felt."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched on that. That was out of line," Pansy admitted.

"Yes, it was," Selina replied, "But if you don't say any of that shit you said to, and about, me to the school board, then I don't care."

"That's fair enough," Pansy nodded. "I, er... I don't think I could convince most of the people testifying for Flint not to testify, but I can talk to Daphne."

"Fair enough," Selina shrugged. "I know it's not just you... There are plenty of people who think I'm just a lying slag. You didn't help, but it's not just because of you, either."

"You're not that bad," Pansy Parkinson sighed. "Maybe you don't deserve all the hate you get."

"Maybe not," Selina agreed, quickly wiping her tears away as she stood. "I'm going back to the party now. You should too. Dance with your boyfriend," she offered.

"Oh, I don't think so. You saw how we were earlier. I'm going to bed," Pansy announced in exhaustion. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Selina murmured, surprised at how their conversation went.

Deciding she'd rather enjoy what was left of the party, leaving the girls' bathroom. She found that the second she walked out, Jasper was there, standing right in front of her.

"What do you want?" she asked, unable to stand talking to him any longer.

"I'm not here to fight," he informed her, "I just... think we need some space from one another. For a while," he concluded, his eyes dark and glassy.

"Agreed! I thought I made that clear before!"Selina yelled tearfully, growing frustrated. "God! Did you come here just to tell me that?"

"Stop acting like I'm an arsehole, I just came to you to clear the air!" he cried. "Fuck, I can't fucking talk to you about anything!"

"You can't talk to me?! I told you about my problems with eating, and you yelled at me, at a party, in front of my friends!"

"I can't deal with this right now, Selina."

"You came to me!" she argued. "After I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with you right now."

"You know what, enjoy the party, I'm going to bed. I don't care anymore, eat, don't eat, grind on Blaise, I don't care."

Selina watched him walk off as she wiped away black, glittering tears from her eyes, storming back into the party on a mission. As angry and hurt as Jasper was in that moment, watching her walk away from him, he still couldn't deny how beautiful she was. Selina had the face of an angel and the eyes of a demon. She cried glitter and mascara, and she was the most confident when she was angry. This was the first time Jasper had ever thought he could hate her. He didn't, of course, but this was the first time he ever felt he could. He wanted to hate her, or be angry at her, or even just see her flaws for what they were and hold her accountable, but she was pretty when she cried and beautiful when she screamed. No one ever took her seriously. Selina went around looking for her girlfriends, unable to find them, until Blaise Zabini had informed her that the two of them had drunkenly wandered off to bed. Unsure of what to do with herself, she scanned the common room for Draco and the other boys, joining them in dancing as loud dance music blasted throughout the room.

She and Draco were jumping around wildly, enjoying themselves immensely, along with Theodore Nott and a few other Slytherin boys.

"Hey, Sel!" Draco Malfoy yelled to his friend.

"What!" she shouted over the music.

"Wanna go grab shots?! Kelly just broke out the Firewhisky!" he called.

"You know I do!"

The two of them shoved their way out of the crowd in search of liquor.

"There you two are!" Kelly Cross exclaimed, pouring alongside her date. "Come do shots with us!"

"What did you think we were doing?!" Selina laughed, knocking back the glass of Firewhisky that had been slid towards her.

"Hey, you didn't wait for me!" Draco complained, knocking back the other glass on the table. "Whoo!"

The four of them laughed as Blaise finally joined them, along with a pretty Hufflepuff girl he'd managed to get to dance with him. Kelly poured another round for the six of them, as they all clinked their glasses together excitedly. A few more rounds passed before Selina became aware of herself again.

"Shots for everybody!" Blaise declared, now visibly drunk.

"That's the most you've spoken all year," Draco remarked.

"Ah, Blaise just needs to warm up to people, is all," Kelly laughed.

"I wanna dance!" Selina complained. "Kelly?"

"I need more shots," the older girl insisted.

"Draco?!" Selina Romanov asked.

"I also need more shots," he responded.

"I'll go dance with you," Blaise offered.

"Alright, let's go!"

After they both took one final shot, she grabbed him by the arm and rushed him onto the designated dance floor. They eventually made their way towards the very middle, where people seemed to be the most rowdy. It seemed that, in a genius bid to keep the party going, Kelly had given the second bottle of Firewhisky to the obscenely drunk Weasley twins to dole out, causing all sorts of mayhem. Seeing her dancing as everyone around her watched, most of them staring at her for all the wrong reasons, Fred Weasley wrapped a friendly arm around Selina.

"Come on, Romanov! Want a sip?!" Fred asked her, holding the bottle out in front of her.

"Make it a good pour," she grinned, lifting her head back and opening her mouth as wide as she could.

Blaise cheered loudly for her along with everyone else as she drank, spitting out absolutely nothing.

"Romanov's a fucking monster!" George screamed at the top of his lungs.

Selina lost herself in the music, and in the self-indulgence that everyone allowed her. She relished feeling nothing and swayed freely with the music, throwing her head back, finally relaxed, as she danced sandwiched between the Weasley twins, who were both her friends and her rivals. She thought about absolutely nothing, and moved to the beat of the music as her body became a spectacle. She ended up sticking right between Fred and George so that none of the questionable boys near them could bother her. They were perfectly helpful, dancing with her and laughing while also shoving anyone who seemed to be getting too close to her. Selina reached her hand behind her to loosely feel George's hair as he held onto her from behind her, laughing at the ticklish sensation on her collarbone as Fred fell out laughing into her shoulder. She couldn't see George blushing beet red behind her, but could sense his gaze as he watched her dancing with her arms hooked around Fred's neck for balance. Selina was now fully aware that he was much taller than her, and had to keep his hands on her waist to steady her.

Fred, being the friendly person that he was, constantly checked to make sure that his hand placement was appropriate, even if it didn't necessarily seem like she would notice. He figured that was all the more reason why he should make sure he looked out for her. But Selina seemed perfectly comfortable with Fred, knowing she could trust him more than most of the boys at that party. She was too drunk to care, but still sober enough to understand that Jasper had earlier yelled at her that he basically did not care whether she chose to dance in a less-than-platonic manner with someone who wasn't him, and she was currently dancing with someone she knew he had also been attracted to. But, considering the way he'd behaved earlier, guilt wasn't necessarily something on her mind at that particular moment. Giving into attraction was a lot easier than being in love, and it was a lot more fun.

"Have I ever told you how fun you are off the pitch, when you're not landing me in the hospital wing?" Fred asked gently.

"This is just the beginning," Selina assured him.

"I like the sound of that," he replied, more platonically than it came out. "Where's Jasper?" he wondered.

"He went off to bed. He's done bitching at me, I suppose," she shrugged.

"Are you two okay?" Fred instantly turned serious.

George also became fully aware of the situation, pausing to gauge his reactions based upon hers.

"Who's to say?" Selina shrugged, not bothering to stop dancing. "Maybe we'll get back together, maybe we won't," she said apathetically.

"Selina. Are you alright?" he questioned, starting to worry about her wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she promised, "He's the one who's got his tits in a twist."

"Do you want to go outside?" Fred leaned in.

"No, I'm fine," she promised. "I just want to dance."

"Okay, then we'll just dance," George smiled, dancing in a rather embarrassing manner behind her to lighten the mood, "No problem."

"You're sure?" Fred asked her again.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Freddie," she teased him, ruffling his hair as he stifled a laugh, "Loosen up."

"Listen, I don't know you very well, but you're cool, Selina. Really cool," Fred told her. "If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm always around. You know where to find me."

"Detention?" she quipped, eliciting a smile from him.

"Yes."

"Glad we got that out of the way," she grinned, "Now let's dance!"

With that, Fred and George both put the earlier events of that night out of their minds, enjoying the Valentine's Day party the way Selina had hoped to. She admittedly felt like a star, dancing in the middle of the common room amongst everyone else, sandwiched between the two fifth-years. Whether or not she felt she should have some sort of guilt for her momentary happiness, she had no idea in that moment. Eventually, it became that point in the night where most of the songs that played were a lot slower, songs that were meant to be slow-danced to by couples. As the dramatic classical music played, Selina looked around the room, knowing she wouldn't see Jasper anywhere. Blaise had someone, and so did Draco, even if it was Theodore, as the two of them thought it would be hilarious to slow dance like a couple as a few other Slytherin boys whistled at them. Not knowing what to do, Selina looked up at Fred.

"Do you have anyone to dance with?"

She watched him glance in someone's direction before speaking.

"No," he shook his head, without any humor in his tone.

"Don't worry, Romanov. Neither of us are going anywhere," George sighed regretfully.

"Okay," she murmured, not seeming to have a problem with that.

Smiling at her sympathetically, Fred instinctively took her hand as he placed his other hand in her waist, allowing her to keep her arm hooked around his neck.

"Things get better, you know," Fred provided quietly, the moment existing just between the two of them.

"Except for when they don't," she said.

He nodded, understanding how she felt. "They will for you, though. You're a force to be reckoned with. Even off the Quidditch pitch."

Selina cracked a smile involuntarily, which was to be expected with either of the twins. "Will you just shut up and dance?"

"Of course," he agreed, cheerfully swaying her to the music.

She actually started to laugh once again, giggling gleefully as he spun her around in a circle and dramatically dipped her, his smiling face inches above hers.

"May I cut in?" George asked, smiling as he held out a hand to Selina as she and Fred danced.

She and Fred chuckled as she nodded, accepting the kind-hearted invitation. She wrapped her arms around George as they swayed slowly along with the slow song. She started to feel what she'd drank that night really kicking in for a moment, as she buried her face in George's shirt in embarrassment. The room was spinning a little, but he made sure to keep her upright as she then gripped his arms tightly, trying not to fall.

"I'll go grab some water," Fred sighed, prudently taking charge.

*****

"Are we too young for this?" Draco asked miserably.

"Yes," she replied without a trace of doubt, watching as Draco threw up into a table cloth that had been converted into a vomit bag.

She did the male equivalent of holding his hair back and patted him repeatedly on the back, encouraging him to get as much out as she could. It was disgusting, but none of the other boys, being boys, thought to help Draco to make sure he was alright. So, Selina was stuck watching Draco throw up in his dorm.

"Okay. I think that's the last of it," he coughed, disgusted as he handed the table cloth off to Selina.

She made a face, carefully rolling it into a ball and tying it up as she tried not to vomit herself.

"Here. Have some water. But don't drink too much, or too fast," she instructed, handing him a cup of water. "There's mints on the bedside table. I suggest you take one, or five."

Draco nodded, making faces as he tried to revive himself. Running out of the room with the vomit tablecloth, Selina dumped it into the garbage with everything else, glad to be rid of it, if nothing else. She returned to Draco's dorm to check on him, finding him sitting up on his bed, contemplating life, as one does.

"You alright?" Selina asked in a deep, concerned voice as she sat down at the edge of his bed.

He nodded silently, seeming embarrassed about what she'd witnessed. "Not a word of this to anyone," he reminded her.

"I know," she smiled, successfully putting him at ease. "Your secret's safe with me."

He nodded, going quiet for a moment as he thought.

"I think know more about me than anyone else at this school," he remarked, a certain emptiness in his voice.

"I don't think that was intentional," she pointed out. "We just kind of get thrown together sometimes."

"Yeah. Thrown together," the words slowly fell from his lips. "That's what it is."

"You know... You've been there for me a lot, since everything happened," Selina stated. "But you haven't really given me too many opportunities to be there for you."

"There's nothing I can really say," he shrugged avoidantly.

"That's not true," she insisted.

"Okay, maybe I don't know what to say," Draco offered blankly.

"Now that I can understand," Selina nodded.

"You... You understand me better than anyone else. And I don't know why," he expressed with frustration.

"Maybe because your friends are Crabbe and Goyle," she suggested.

"Yeah, that's definitely a contributing factor," he admitted in agreement.

"You just need people who can actually talk to you about things," she told him, "People you can be yourself with."

"But I don't know who that is!" he sighed.

"Well, I do," Selina responded, "And I think that that person deserves real friends."

"Sometimes," Draco admitted frustratedly as he sat with her, "You're the only thing that's real."

She frowned, a confused and concerned expression on her face as she tried to think of something to say. She came up short, but Draco had quickly moved onto something else. Completely driven by Firewhisky and hormones, he pulled her towards him, kissing her on the lips as he held her face in his hands, feeling her soft skin and silky hair. Alarmed by the sudden, and drastic, movement, Selina was completely lost, unable to open her eyes. He eventually broke the kiss and pulled away, his breathing now fast and erratic.

"Sorry. I just had to do that once," he panted softly.

"I—Draco. No," she blurted out. "You have a girlfriend."

"You don't care about Pansy," he scoffed.

"You're right, I don't, but I do care about right and wrong...! Sometimes!"

Draco now seemed irritated at this, as if her behavior had somehow inconvenienced him.

"You're telling me you didn't want to do that?!" he demanded.

"Did I not make that clear?! No!" she insisted.

"Why not?! It's not like Carroll's man enough to love you!"

"And you do?" she said angrily.

"No," he decided spitefully.

She blinked profusely, flabbergasted by the entire situation, and consumed with rage.

"I hate you, Selina," he hissed under his breath, "I really do."

"I hate you too, Draco," she replied, her voice dangerously quiet. "Every time I try to be your friend, you just make it that much harder."

"Just say it already," he spat, resenting her.

"Say what?!" she demanded, not following his sporadic train of thought.

"Just say that you love me," he pleaded. "You know that you love me! Tell me that you love me, and that your heart stops beating without me!"

"Now why would I do that?" she sneered at the very idea.

"Because it's true," Draco said, consumed by passion. "You love me."

"No, I do not! Not in the way you're insinuating."

"Then why are you still here?" he huffed. "You love me. You need me. I'm the one you really want, not Carroll. He's just a placeholder."

"You think you've got me all figured out?" she provoked.

"Oh, I know I do," he nodded, "You'd never say it, but you're in love with me. It was always me; you could go around the world searching for something that feels half as good, but you'll never find it. No one else will ever be enough with you, and you know that! Life is only worth living to you as long as there's a chance I might love you."

"You're delusional," Selina stated simply.

"But so are you," he pointed out. "You're in love with me, and you'd do anything for me. That's the only reason you still put up with me."

"I think you're projecting," she concluded, "I think things aren't going so well for you with your girlfriend, the girl you thought you were supposed to end up married to, so you're trying to make sure you can jump ship by convincing me I need you just so you don't have to be alone,"

she snarled.

Draco swallowed hard as he glared at her spitefully.

"That's the difference between us, Draco. I'm not afraid to be alone. I don't care if I end up with no one, but you? That's what you're afraid of. That's the one thing you're trying to escape, and you'll do anything to escape it," she realized, standing up.

"That's not fair, and you know it! You know I try with Pansy!" he argued.

"Do you?!" Selina exclaimed. "Because it seems like every time something happens, you start acting like it's over."

"Do you know how hard I try to make her the person I care about most?! Do you know how hard it is to tell my girlfriend she's the most beautiful girl in the world when your face is stuck in my head, Selina?" Draco scoffed.

"All I hear is you being a shitty boyfriend," Selina said smoothly, her voice not showing any signs of emotion.

"And all I see is you being the snake everyone thinks you are," he told her spitefully.

"You know you only hate in me what you see in yourself," she murmured.

"You're right," he nodded. "I hate you. And I hate myself for falling for your bullshit. You, and your lying eyes, and your sick smile. You're nothing but trouble."

"You're worse, Draco," Selina promised him, "At least I know I'm no good."

"God, you're like stabbing my own gut."

"And you're like... drinking poison," she decided. "I guess we're both just stupid."

That was the last thing she said before leaving the room, shaking with anger as she stepped out into the corridor, only to realize that she now had to deal with someone else.

"Seriously, Selina?" Elspeth Laurier murmured.

She had clearly been drunk and crying for the past few hours or so, her eyes red and puffy, and her mascara running down her face.

"Don't look at me like that," Selina Romanov hissed.

"I knew Draco had feelings for you, but I never thought you actually reciprocated them," she told her.

"He kissed me, but I didn't want that!" Selina insisted.

"Yes, you did," her supposed friend said. "I don't know if it's because you actually have feelings for him, or you just hate Pansy, but you did."

Selina could hardly handle what she'd just heard. If it hadn't been Elspeth that said it, she would have thrown a punch by now.

"Fuck, Elspeth, just leave me alone!" she growled impatiently.

"He doesn't love you, Selina!" Elspeth cried angrily, watching her walk away.

"Yeah, well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" she muttered.

"He doesn't love you," the ever-heartbroken blonde repeated, "He'll never love you the way you want."

"Yeah, well, sometimes poison is sweet," Selina threw her hands up in surrender, knocking on a door down the corridor.

After a moment, the door opened. Pansy Parkinson was standing on the other side, dressed for bed.

"Romanov?" she questioned.

"Hey. Sorry if I woke you," Selina said shakily, "But, you should know, your boyfriend's an arsehole."

"What?" Pansy asked, not understanding. "What happened?"

Selina gave her a short, but sufficient explanation as to what had happened in Draco's dorm. Although she seemed to be experiencing a whirlwind of emotions, like devastation, and fury, and humiliation, Pansy seemed most surprised by the fact that Selina had actually told her herself.

"Are you serious?" Pansy murmured, a dangerous look in her eyes.

Selina nodded. "I'm sorry, but I had to tell you," she explained, "I just... didn't know how, so I came here."

"No need to explain," Pansy said quickly, gesturing for her to stop speaking with her hand.

Selina then expected an angry and petty response, but received something else entirely.

"Thank you for letting me know," the girl said after a moment, an eerie calmness to her tone. "I think I need to have a little chat with my boyfriend."

And with that, Pansy disappeared down the hall, eventually slamming the door to Draco's dorm shut behind her. Selina was now exhausted, overcome with anger that she could hardly even place. She angrily shoved her way out of the party, rushing outside into the corridor. She sank to the ground, relieved to finally be alone as she sobbed into her knees, hugging them to console herself. She only sat outside the Slytherin common room for about five minutes or so before someone else came to speak to her, only it wasn't who she'd expected.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred Weasley's cheeky yet deep tone interrupted her thoughts.

She looked up at him in surprise. From where she sat on the floor, he looked about seven feet tall. He sat down beside her, offering a gold cup from the party. Selina took it after looking at him for a moment, taking a considerable swig of the clear liquid in the cup. She frowned, holding the cup as she sat with him.

"It's water," she expressed her disappointment.

"Made sure of that when I poured it," Fred nodded prudently. "Don't need any more quiches being thrown at anyone tonight, do we?"

Selina just shook her head as she smiled, knowing she should have realized Fred Weasley would try to be funny. However, she was uncertain as to how exactly he knew about that.

"Just trying for a laugh, or two, no need to get the quiches out," he assured her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she told him, drinking the water he'd provided her with in defeat. "Where's Johnson?" she questioned, changing the subject.

Fred raised an eyebrow, not understanding the nature of the question. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on. Everyone knows you wanted to come to the party with her," she told him.

"Never asked her, though," he responded regretfully. "Not sure why."

"In my experience, when a guy isn't beating himself up over that sort of thing, it's because he doesn't care enough," Selina remarked.

"You saying I don't care about her?" he questioned with a wry smile.

"I'm just pointing something out," she supplied. "What you do with that information is up to you."

"Well. Thank you for the input, Romanov," he smiled humorously.

"Any time," she assured him.

"So. Did something happen?" Fred asked perceptively.

She didn't meet his gaze. "Nothing worth talking about," she said icily.

"I see. Well, what would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know," she confessed.

"Well. We've got all night," he smiled, looking in front of them at the empty corridor. "Or, all day. It's already five."

"In the morning?" Selina gasped.

He nodded.

"Fuck," she murmured, as everything began to set in.

"Fuck," Fred agreed with a sigh.

#draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x reader angst #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #george weasley #george wealsey x reader

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scuttling · 4 years ago

Text

California

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 4,547 Tags: SFW, Making out, Phone calls, Getting to know each other, Mentions of sex Summary: Monday, the first full day they spend on the case in Los Angeles, after vacation, is tough. The week gets better, and gets worse, as cases like these do, but there are moments of light in the darkness. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 1 year-1 year 3 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! Monday, the first full day they spend on the case in Los Angeles, after vacation, is tough. The unsub they are looking for brutally tortures his victims—his teenage victims—and he’s escalating, kidnapping the third child just 72 hours after the second, so everyone is on edge, working themselves to the bone.

They don’t get back to the hotel until well after eleven, and Sophie plans to take a quick shower and then crash pretty hard after such a draining day, but something makes her head for Aaron’s room after her shower instead.

“Hey,” she says softly when he opens the door, and he smiles, looking as exhausted as she feels. “I just wanted to check in with you really quick. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes, but I always have time for you.” He steps back and lets her into the room, and she fidgets nervously—why, she’s not entirely sure. Maybe because this is their first face-to-face in the real world, no hazy, happy vacation feelings making everything softer and easier? She’s not certain, and when he closes the door they just stand there, looking at each other for a moment.

Whether she or he or they both bridge the distance, Sophie can’t say, but one moment they are staring at each other with an electrically-charged foot of space between them and the next they are kissing hot, slow, sultry. One arm wraps around her waist, the other touching her face, her wet hair, and she moans softly against his lips.

Kissing him is everything she thought it would be and more: his hands are strong, but gentle, his lips soft but firm, his body as she presses against him big and solid and delicious, and if he expects her to break the kiss first, he’s going to be waiting a while.

When he eventually pulls back, he rests his forehead gently against hers, smiling down at her like there is some sort of inside joke between them. “Coconut,” he murmurs, and when he presses his nose to the hair at her temple, she understands, smiles back.

“Didn’t realize you like it quite that much,” she teases, still a bit breathless, and he chuckles softly, pulling back a little and putting space between them.

“It’s not just the shampoo I like. I think you’re an incredible woman.” She smiles, maybe a little shy about such a direct complement, and he touches her cheek gently. “I knew that from the moment I met you, but working so closely l got to know you as a person, and I really like who you are.”

“I really like you, too. I like how, in front of outsiders you’re tough, impervious, unmoved, but when it comes to the people you care about you’re just a marshmallow.”

“A marshmallow?” he says, pretending to be offended, and he leans down for another kiss, this one less heated but more indulgent: to Sophie, it feels like the first one, he just needed to get out of his system, but the second is all about tasting her, feeling her. It makes her knees weak, honestly, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders so he can support them both.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs into her ear when they break apart. “Of what I would do if you came into my room, in your little pajama shorts,” he emphasizes by squeezing her butt affectionately, “and told me that you wanted me.” She leans back at that—because he’s hot, so hot, and she gets to look openly now, to touch—and presses her hands against his chest.

“Hmm. What’s your plan, in this situation? When I tell you that I want you?”

“I give you what you want, of course. Anything you want.” She bites at her bottom lip, because she could get really used to hearing that, and takes a few steps back, pulling him with her; she lays down on the bed, guides him so that he hovers over her, and his eyes are dark and wide. When she tugs him closer for a kiss, his hands find her waist again, pushing up the bottom of her shirt.

It feels so good to be under him, another taste of making out like they did on the couch at the beach house. He is a solid line of heat along her body, though he keeps himself from fully dropping his weight onto her, and his hands are deliciously rough on her skin, his teeth perfectly sharp as he nips at her ear. It’s heaven after months of wanting him, absolute heaven.

“Anything I want, you said,” she murmurs, looking up at him when he pulls away, and she brushes a hand through his hair. “Because I want a lot more of that, maybe even a little of this?” His tie is already off, the top button of his shirt unbuttoned, and she slips the next two free, eyes on his face to make sure it’s okay.

“I did say anything,” he confirms, voice low, and he’s breathing hard above her, and that makes her think deeply dirty thoughts...

Someone raps on the door, and Aaron jumps up like she burned him, and she slides off the bed and into a heap on the floor.

They exchange a look, and Sophie hurries to the desk chair across the room. She smooths the front of her clothes, and he buttons his shirt, exhales long, and then opens the door.

“Hey, Hotch; sorry, I know it’s late, but I saw the light on.” He swings the door wide, letting Morgan in, and he looks apologetic when he sees her sitting at the desk. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were here, Cortes. I can come back.”

“No, that’s okay, I got what I came for. It’s getting late, anyway.” She stands and makes for the door, briefly pausing between the two men. “Thank you, Hotch. We can finish that discussion tomorrow, if you like.” She tries to convey a few different things with her eyes, and judging by the gleam in his, he understands them all.

“Absolutely. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Night, Morgan,” she says with a nod, and she smiles softly as she ducks out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, when she’s lying awake thinking of the feel of his hands on her face, her phone chimes.

AH: I’m sorry our discussion ended so abruptly. I was enjoying it very much.

SC: Me too. So was I.

SC: I have high hopes for the future, though.

AH: So do I. I’ll be hard at work coming up with a plan for our first date.

SC: Mmm, I love it when you talk plans.

AH: Now now. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.

SC: Goodnight, Aaron.

AH: Goodnight, Sophie. Tuesday doesn’t go any better, is spent canvassing the neighborhoods and schools and parks near the dump site and basically praying they don’t find another victim. Sophie stares at the crime scene photos, truly some of the most gruesome she’s ever seen, for so long that she’s not even sure how she falls asleep that night, but she’s out as soon as her head hits the pillow. Wednesday is better, in a way. A fourth child is taken, but the unsub makes a mistake, and they get a partial plate which leads them right to him. The third and fourth victims are found alive, if a little worse for wear, but they’re reunited with their families by the afternoon.

Sophie plans on having some pizza and a couple of beers, maybe a bubble bath, to celebrate the victory, but they are all gathered in the lobby of the hotel when JJ’s phone rings, and by the look on her face, it’s not time to celebrate just yet.

“An acquaintance of Strauss’s is asking for our help in San Diego. She wants us to head there right away, since we’re already in California.” Aaron looks a little irritated at the case coming from above him, but he nods—what can he say, no?

“Alright, change of plans, then. Sorry everyone.” There is a chorus of groans—clearly Sophie wasn’t the only one with a different idea of how her evening would go—and they board the jet for a new destination.

Sophie doesn’t even register it’s San Diego until Aaron takes a seat next to her on the flight.

“Hey,” she says quietly, looking around them. It’s suspicious as hell, she knows, but it’s instinct.

“Hi. I used to sit here and talk to you all the time, before; don’t make it weird,” he says with a half smile, and she matches it fully.

“Sorry, have you met me? I make everything weird.”

“I know. I like that about you.” She wants to grin, and keep on grinning, but she knows she looks smitten and tries to tamp it down. “I was coming to ask if you planned to let your brother know you’d be in town.” Realization must dawn on her face, because he frowns. “I take that as a no.”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it. I didn’t even really put two and two together. And I’m not sure if I should, anyway.”

“I don’t know if I’ve earned the right to weigh in on something like this, yet,” he begins, and she tilts her head, surprised.

“You earned the right a long time ago. I’ve trusted you with some of the most guarded, tender parts of me. I would have thought you knew that already.” He looks into her eyes, nods.

“Yes, I did know that. I just don’t want to overstep.”

“Weigh in all you like,” she says with a soft smile. “If you overstep, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, well. I think you should at least make an attempt to contact your brother while we’re here. If he doesn’t want to see you—that's his loss, but at least you know you tried.”

“What’s the point, though, if I’m 99% sure he’s going to say no? Why put myself through the heartache?” She may hide it well most of the time, but not staying close with her brother after their father’s death is one of her biggest regrets in life. It hurts deeply, and often.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d hold onto hope for the 1% if it meant one more day with someone I love.” She exhales deeply, wills the sudden rush of tears to leave her eyes so she doesn’t cry on the plane, nods.

“You’re completely right. I should at least try. Nada arriesgado, nada ganado. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” His face is soft, and she can tell he wants to touch her, comfort her, maybe kiss her, but there are too many eyes on them. Even Reid is watching their interaction curiously.

“I just want you to be happy, and it’s clear that losing your brother like this has hurt you. This could be your chance to patch things up.” She swallows, puts her hand on his arm; she’s done it before, in front of the others, and it’s painfully obvious they’re having a heart to heart, so it shouldn’t be too unexpected.

“Thank you. Really. I appreciate you.”

“I know. And I appreciate you. Let me know if you need a couple hours, we’ll make it work.” She agrees, and picks up her case file; he does the same, and doesn’t leave.

That night, she can’t sleep, and when a text to Aaron confirms he’s still awake, she presses 'call’, sinks back against the pillows while it rings.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice deep and quiet, and she closes her eyes, soaking it up. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I thought it might get suspicious if I ended up in your room every night, but I wanted to talk to you. Is this okay?”

“This is great. It’s funny how I can miss your voice even after being around you all day.”

“Yeah, for me too. I miss hearing you say my name. My first name.”

“Sophie,” he whispers, low, and she licks her lips.

“Hmm, that’s better. Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“Anything is alright with me. Did your brother ever text you back?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll call me when he wakes up tomorrow—so, around noon, probably,” she says with a laugh, and he chuckles too.

“Well that’s something, at least. A good start.”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you.” She feels herself getting emotional again, and hates that vulnerability, so she forces herself to brighten up. “Maybe we should talk about our previous relationships.”

“Okay. I can go first. You know Haley was my high school sweetheart. We met when we were 15, went to college together, got married at 25. Divorced at 37.”

“Because of your work,” she recalls sadly.

“That’s right. I tried to be very present when I wasn’t working, but it wasn’t enough, of course. We grew apart.” He sighs. “Honestly, she put up with me longer than she should have.”

“It’s the nature of our job, and our personalities. We obsess. It’s not an excuse, but I get it.” She turns onto her side, curls up against her pillow. “What was your favorite thing about her?”

“I always liked how optimistic she was, and ambitious. She was with me every step of the way as I became a prosecutor, then an agent, unit chief, and she became a teacher, then vice principal, principal. For a long time, I thought we were growing together.”

“And for her to encourage you to join the FBI, to do the job you love, and then leave you over it… that must have been hard, even if she had legitimate reasons for wanting to end things.”

“It was hard for me to reconcile for a while. It made more sense when I found out she fell in love with someone else.” Her heart sinks.

“Oh, Aaron.”

“She didn’t cheat on me, but I gave her the time to fall in love with him by not being there. They’re married now, with two kids.”

“Do you still see her?”

“We meet up once a year for coffee, to go over what’s been happening in our lives. I always talk about work, and you can see it makes her feel like she did the right thing. And I’ve started to think that maybe she did.”

“I’m a little biased, so no comment. But I am sorry your heart was broken. Did you date much after?”

“I dated one woman for about 4 months, but we broke up because I wasn’t available.”

“This job makes it hard to be available for anything else. In a way, I’m glad I don’t have much family, that my brother doesn’t want to see me often.”

“I think that’s why we come together the way we do. Found family. It’s almost necessary.” He sighs, and she can tell that’s it for him. “So I know you have said you don’t date much.”

“Yeah, my last real relationship was back in Chicago. Taylor. He works Fire and Rescue.”

“What did you like the most about him?”

“He had a way of making people feel comfortable that I’ve always admired. He makes friends easily, and it translates well to his work, when people are scared or hurt.”

“How long were you together?”

“A year. Doesn’t exactly compare to 22 years, but it’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had. I was busy with school and didn’t really have time to date. Then work got in the way.”

“So you’ve been alone for a while. No family here, no boyfriend.” It makes her sound kind of pathetic, and she laughs lightly.

“Yeah, I guess, but I get by.”

“I know you do. What did you like least about Taylor?”

“He wasn’t like this at first, but before we broke up he… I’m not trying to take this down a sexual path, but the story involves sex, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, so you know that a lot of women need direct clitoral stimulation to have an orgasm. I don’t, particularly—I like it, but I don’t need it, I can have an orgasm from intercourse. Well he would just batter my clit, all the time, to the point that it hurt. And when I told him it hurt, he basically mansplained my own body to me, and how that couldn’t be true because he knows ‘the clitoris is one of the most sensitive erogenous zones due to its high concentration of nerve endings’, like he was reading it out of a textbook when a living, breathing woman is sitting there telling him it’s too much. It was the first time I ever cried during sex, and when I can’t trust you with my body, I lose all emotional regard. Things just kind of fell apart from there.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. That he broke your trust that way.”

“Thank you. I think that’s another reason I don’t date. It’s hard for me to fully give myself to another person, to trust, sometimes.”

“I promise I will listen when you’re telling me how you feel, physically or otherwise. I would never do what he did.”

“I know. I trust you. I don’t think we’d be doing this if I didn’t.” She takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. “Okay, let’s lighten it up. Um… If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?” He hums thoughtfully.

“What a question. I’m assuming this is strictly based on what I want to eat forever, without taking nutrition into account.”

“Of course. What would make Aaron Hotchner smile every time he takes a bite?”

“Okay,” he begins, and she can hear the smile already. “I’m sorry, vegetarian, but it would be a big, juicy cheeseburger, with lettuce and tomato and extra pickles, the skinny French fries, and a cherry Coke.”

“How All-American of you. That’s cute.”

“And what meal would you eat for the rest of your life?”

“So, my instinct is to say tacos, but there’s this jalapeno popper pizza at the shop by my house… If it were legal for me to marry this pizza, I would have done it already.”

“Wow. That must be some pizza. I’m a little jealous.” She laughs softly.

“You probably should be, it’s amazing. It has jalapenos, obviously, but two other types of peppers too, and three kinds of cheese, and ranch sauce. So I’ll make a commitment and say, that pizza. For the rest of my life.”

They talk a little more before heading to bed, and she’s so happy it makes even the prospect of meeting up with her brother seem a little bit less daunting. Thursday is a blur of interviewing witnesses who worked with the victim, but she’s able to sneak away at two to meet her brother Leo for lunch. He looks taller, somehow, more like 6’2” than 6’0”, and darker, from all that good California sun; she grins when she sees him. “Hola, broki. Creciste!” she says, marveling at his height, and he pulls her into a hug, smiles the same goofy, charming smile as always.

“I haven’t grown, I think you shrunk. And you’re so pale.”

“That’s life on the East Coast for you,” she explains as they pull apart, and they take their seats.

“That’s office life, hermana. You need to get out more. I bet your lungs are tired of all that recycled air.”

“I get out when I can. Been soaking up your sun and air the last few days working on this case.” The waitress approaches, and they order drinks; Leo’s a regular, knows what he wants to eat right away, and she orders the same to make things easy.

“The murder of that financial guy, right? Stockbroker, or something?” She raises her eyebrows, surprised he knows that much. “I heard on the news the FBI was on the case, figured that meant you, when you texted.”

“You watch the news?” she teases, because he has always been type to avoid real life at all costs, and the news is about as real as it gets.

“It was on at the DMV; don’t get too excited.” She laughs, because some things never change, and they chat a little more about the case, about what’s going on in his life—girlfriends, boyfriends, parties, surfing—as they eat.

“Actually, I wanted to tell you,” she says after a tale about a tall, dark, and handsome guy named Daunte, setting down her fork, “I have a boyfriend.” His brows shoot up his forehead.

“A boyfriend, ‘mana. I never thought I’d see the day. You’re such a lone wolf anymore.”

“Not by choice, by necessity,” she mutters, stabbing at her salad. “But yes, I have a boyfriend now. It’s really new—like, less than a week new—but it’s been a long time coming.” He takes a sip of his lemonade, smiles softly.

“He’s a Fed like you?” She must appear surprised by his astuteness, because it morphs into a grin. “You’re at work 24/7, Sophia, where else would you meet him?”

“Oh, for a minute I thought you were taking after your profiler sister there, buddy.” He frowns down at his plate.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I hate how you can get into people’s heads.”

“I do it to catch bad people, Leo. Rapists, murderers. I don’t do it to you, and you know it.” She sighs. “I didn’t want to talk about this today, anyway. I just wanted to come see you, catch up. It’s been nice.”

“Yeah, it has,” he agrees easily, and they steer away from the topic of her work, onto safer things. He pays for their meal—she almost falls out of her seat just to get a laugh out of him, and it works—and she has to get back to the precinct, but they make a pact to talk more often, so she considers the whole thing a success.

When she walks into the conference room they are using, she catches Aaron’s eye, points down the hall. “Can I borrow you for a sec?” she asks, and he excuses himself, follows her to the other end of the station; he presses his palm to her lower back when they are out of eyesight.

“Did everything go alright?” he asks seriously, and she pulls him in for a hug. His arms wrap around her easily despite their location, and he sighs, rests his cheek on the top of her head.

“It was really great, Aaron. It was hardly tense at all, and I… I would never have done it if it weren’t for you. So thank you.” When she pulls back, she tries to show him how grateful she is with her gaze, and he can tell, she knows it.

“You’re welcome. I just want you to be happy.” Their people aren’t around, but other cops are, so this is already bordering on too much PDA; she wants to kiss him, but restrains herself, takes a deep breath.

“What can I do to help?” she asks instead, and he fills her in on the new details of the case.

“So what’s your favorite movie of all time?” she asks that night, over the phone again. They’re all hoping it’s their last night in California, that the lead they have will pan out so they can finally go home, but no one more than Sophie and Aaron.

“A Few Good Men.”

“Oh, that’s so lawyerly of you. I probably would have guessed between that and… Witness for the Prosecution.”

“That movie is older than you. It’s older than me.”

“I like old movies. My mama always watched the classics in black and white, so I find it soothing.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, that’s such a hard question. Maybe… The Maltese Falcon? I love the drama of noir films, but I also like romances like Roman Holiday. Or anything with James Stewart.”

“Now I know why you’re attracted to me; you’re an old soul,” he teases, and she laughs softly.

“There are many reasons I’m attracted to you; I’d list them, but I can’t afford to keep you up all night.”

“Not tonight, anyway,” he murmurs, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, smiles like an idiot.

“Right. Not tonight.” She hums as she thinks of another question to ask him. “If you could only use one of your senses, which would it be?”

“Forever?”

“That seems cruel. Let’s say, just for one day. And you wouldn’t have to work, so don’t take that into consideration.”

“Would I be with you?” he asks, and her heart feels soft.

“If you want to be.”

“Then hearing, I think. The way your voice wraps around me when it’s just the two of us, it feels almost like we’re touching, anyway.” God, she’s such a sap, melting completely at his words. She says nothing for a moment, and he clears his throat. “You?”

“Oh, touch, for me. As much as I love the sound of your voice, I’m very tactile, and I don’t think I could go the day without touch without losing my mind.”

“That’s good to know. Explains why you’re always hitting Morgan.” She laughs.

“Yeah, that’s an easy way to get some touching in for the day. I prefer softness, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’ve got a question for you, and then we should probably get some sleep,” he says after a moment. “Which of your personality traits are you the most proud of?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Resiliency, I guess? I’ve always been able to push through hard times and focus on my goals. I’m very fortunate in that way. What about you?”

“I would say rationality, I think. It makes me better at what I do, even if it’s not always appreciated.”

“You know that you’re more than this job, right? I mean, I know we agreed that we obsess over it, that we let it be a part of who we are, but it’s not all you are. I can think of so many great traits you have that make you a good person, Aaron.”

“I don’t often tell myself that I’m a good person. A good agent, sure. A good boss, sometimes.” She frowns, feels for him.

“In that case, I’m happy to be the one to tell you. Often. Loudly.” He breathes a laugh, then yawns. “Yeah, I’m ready for bed, too. Maybe tomorrow we’ll get to go home, and we can work on having one of these conversations in person.”

“I would really like that. Sleep well, Sophie.”

“You too. Goodnight.” Friday morning, they catch the murderer, put him behind bars. It’s high profile, and Sophie’s there when they take him in; she hates having cameras in her face, hates California because there are always cameras, but she feels a rush of satisfaction when she gets the killer in the squad car and shuts the door in his face.

A couple of hours later, when she’s packing her bag, she gets a text from Leo: Nice job, hermana. Te amo.

Maybe some things will change after all.

#aaron hotchner/original female character #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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sanaxking · 3 years ago

Text

When Night Comes - Prologue

arrangement by @kaexloey • credit to all OPs, do not repost.

Genre: Vampire!AU

Rated: M, 18+

Word count: ~1.7k

TW: mild sexual themes, language, violence/gore, blood, mentions of alcohol & intoxication

As Sana opens the door to the dive bar, she is immediately hit with the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. Taking a look around the bar, everything perfectly matches the smell. There are plenty of gross looking men (and women, for that matter) all over and in various states of intoxication.

“Ugh, I hate these fucking bars. Why did he have to be at a shitty place like this,” Sana mutters to herself as she takes her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Unlocking the phone, she opens her photos app to a specific picture of a tall, fair skinned man with blonde hair and green eyes. He's smiling directly into the picture without a hint of anything he does in his free time. Looking up from the phone with her temper already boiling, she begins to scan the room in search of the man in the photo.

It doesn't take too long as her eyes settle on the handsome man deep into conversation with the unsuspecting bartender. "Got you, motherfucker," Sana says to herself with a villainous smile as she makes her way over towards the bar.

As she walks towards the bar, a pair of eyes watches her closely from the other side of the room. The unseen person slowly takes a sip of her drink as she watches Sana approach the bar next to the blonde-haired man.

"So that's when I said, 'I'll have whatever he's having!’" Sana rolls her eyes as she hears the punchline of what was no doubt a terrible joke from the man she was searching for, feeling bad for the bartender that has to act like she likes this in order to boost her tips.

"I'll have a Jack & Coke on the rocks," Sana says to the bartender, giving her a look to know she'll be taking this idiot off her hands for the rest of the night. The bartender looks incredibly grateful for the gesture, mouthing "thank you" before turning to make the drink.

Within seconds of settling onto the barstool, Sana can feel the man already burning the side of her face with his intense gaze. "Just push through, Sana. You need this," she quickly says in her head as a way to work up the courage to continue on.

“I haven’t seen you in here before, blondie. You must be new in town. I would have for sure remembered a face like that,” he says to Sana, raising his voice to get above the chatter of the crowd inside the bar. Her skin crawls slightly at his cheesy pickup line as she gathers herself to respond.

“Somewhat. I’ve been here a few months, but just thought I would try somewhere new. Can’t find many men as hot as you at my usual spots,” she responds, hoping that she didn’t lay it on too thick with the comment. Thankfully, this guy is as dense as he seems, not noticing at all that she’s obviously just leading him on.

“Well, you’re not wrong there. How about we get another round on me?”

Sana really would rather not spend more time talking with him than she absolutely has to, but in order for this to work, she knows she needs him to drink a bit more. She begrudgingly obliges as the drinks flow for three more rounds. By this point, the man is pretty drunk. Not drunk enough to blackout, but certainly too drunk to drive. Which is all Sana needs.

“Alright, alright,” Sana says into the man’s ear after he tries to push the date to a fourth round. “As much as I would love another drink, how about we call it a night and get out of here? I know a perfect place.”

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice. Let’s go,” he responds, while fishing his car keys out of his jeans.

“Not a chance in hell. No way are you driving us anywhere like this,” Sana says as she snatches the keys from his hands.

“Hey, you had just as much as I di-,” he begins to say in protest as you put a finger up to his lips to silence him. “I’ll be just fine, trust me,” Sane replies, hoping that he buys it without further explanation.

Once again, the guy is too dense to notice much of anything as he simply shrugs and grabs her hand as the pair head out of the bar into the misty night air.

Getting him to the car wasn’t much of a struggle, as he was perfectly content to lean as close as possible into Sana’s body to steady his stumbling feet. As she slammed his door shut and made her way around to the driver’s side, Sana took a quick look around, making sure no one saw her getting into the man’s car. Not a single soul was spotted on the empty street, giving her enough peace of mind to see this through.

As she got into the car and started the engine, a pair of eyes once again was keenly watching her every move. A few seconds after Sana pulls the Audi out into traffic and down the street, a black BMW slowly falls into place half a dozen car lengths behind.

After a painfully long 30-minute drive filled with plenty of handsy advances from her passenger, Sana pulls the car up to the seaside cliff she had previously scoped out. She puts the car in park and shuts off the engine before turning in her seat to face her passenger.

“How did you find out about this place? Seems kind of random. Hey, were your eyes always that red?” he asks her as he undoes his own seatbelt with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. All you should care about is making this a night neither of us will wanna forget,” Sana responds, internally cringing at the ridiculousness of her words. She always hates this part of these encounters. As she utters her response, the man seems to catch a glimpse of something flashing in her red eyes before his expression seems to go slack.

Sana then crawls over the center console and into the backseat, making sure to jut out her ass to give him an enticing view. When he seems to hesitate for a few moments, she quickly takes off her shirt and tosses it into his face in the front seat.

This seems to be all the encouragement he needs as he quickly snaps out of his trancelike state and climbs into the backseat with far too much eagerness for her taste. Swallowing her own hesitation, she then crushes her lips into his, allowing herself to get lost in the moment. He may be an asshole, but she was going to let herself enjoy this, even if briefly.

Sana feels his hands slide up her waist towards her semi-exposed breasts, completely bringing her out of the moment as she remembers who he is and what he did. She then feels something take over her senses as she pulls back from the kiss to get a better look at his neck. Her vision begins to pulse and it’s as if she can see his blood pumping through his veins.

A slow, sinister smile begins to spread across her moonlit face.

“How about we take this a bit furth-,” he begins before his sentence is cut off by a searing pain in his neck.

As he was beginning to mutter his advance, Sana was seeing red and finally exposes her fangs. She slowly ran her tongue along them, taking one last whiff of the intoxicating smell before swiftly latching onto his neck.

The man’s guttural scream is cut short as her fangs sink deeper and deeper into his neck, Sana attempting to suck out as much blood as she can in her first few swallows. It takes less than a minute before he loses consciousness, his body going into shock. By the time 20 minutes has passed, any traces of life have completely left his body. She continues to drain his body until she’s finally had her fill.

Feeling satisfied, Sana sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. As she leans into the front seat to grab her shirt, she looks down and catches a glimpse of her bra, noticing the blood that’s smeared all over it.

“Fuck. I just bought this last night!” she curses out loud, annoyed at the carelessness of wearing brand new clothes out tonight. Before she has too much time to berate herself, a pair of headlights illuminate the interior of the car. She quickly grabs her things and hops back out into the cool air.

Just as she slams the door shut, she hears the tires of the black BMW screech to a halt along the dirt road.

"It's about fucking time, Sana! The sun is up in a couple hours and the crew still needs time to clean up your mess. You always cut this shit so close."

"Calm down, Momo. We have plenty of time to get back before dawn. You worry too much."

"Maybe if you actually followed the rules for once in your life, I wouldn’t have to worry so much," Momo responds with an annoyed look on her face.

Sana rolls her eyes at the insinuation. “Whatever. I follow the stupid rules just fine. Let's just get the fuck out of here, okay?"

As Sana gets into the passenger seat, Momo doesn’t even wait for Sana to get her seatbelt on before she throws the car into gear and speeds off down the road.

It was at about this point that Sana used to feel guilt for taking the life of a stranger. Looking into the mirror in front of her, she sees that her eyes have gone back to their normal, warm brown tint.

“Eh, he was a piece of shit anyways,” she thinks to herself with a sly smile as the car lurches forward towards their estate.

#sana #twice fics #twice fanfic #twice sana #momo twice #vampire au #when night comes #sanaxking #new writer #once #minatozaki sana #sana minatozaki #like and reblog #new series

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?”

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #my fic #ans #mitsuhide gets so few POVs in the fic I can't help but let them get away from me okay #he's a gift #the actual six flags chapters are gonna have rotating POV #and it was just supposed to START with him #but then i was like WHAT IF I INCLUDED THE SCENE FROM BEFORE THE CANON DATE #and now we are here

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whisker-biscuit · 4 years ago

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Silent as the Grave Chapter 4: A Story for the Ages

Fandom: Sly Cooper

Summary: Inspector Pennington recounts a story about Connor Cooper, and a fateful decision is made.

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Inspector Singh has a million questions on his mind, but he remains quiet as he goes to retrieve the records his partner has requested. That quiet lasts until the heavy folder of paperwork hits their shared work desk with a heavy thump.

“So, you planning on telling me why this particular criminal group is supposed to be related to the Cooper case?”

Francine’s ever-present frown is even more pronounced, and she opens the first labeled tab to pull out four photos. Then she places them side by side on her desk to face her partner and taps the child’s notepad list.

“Tell me what you see.”

Bodie looks across each picture.

A giant green frog in a blue metallic top hat sneers at the camera while adjusting the cuff links of his white gloves. An incredibly muscular bulldog wearing a wife beater and suit pants, caught in a grainy black and white picture from a camera feed as he holds twelve people hostage in a bank robbery. A panda, in only a pair of red pants, has at least five different kinds of fireworks strapped to his back with a separate rocket in his hand aimed right for whoever took the photo. The fourth picture is blurry and an almost intangible mess of colors, but half the head of an alligator with dark curls and a red bandana is recognizable in the bottom left side.

Bodie looks at the scribbled list. Frog. Dog. “Aligater.” Bear. He glances back at the pictures a second time.

“Alright, so four members of the Fiendish Five check out with the species,” the younger inspector says slowly as his mind churns. “And I know they’re an international criminal group, which would put them as potential suspects above a lot of others at least. But what made you think of them first? We’re not usually made to be aware of criminals outside of our assigned targets.”

The elephant has been flipping through the rest of the folder as her partner connected the dots, and she ignores his question until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls it out triumphantly and holds it up.

“Because of this.”

It’s a fifth photo of the fifth member – but all Bodie can see is a vague bird-shaped silhouette against a darkened sky. He raises an eyebrow.

“Who is that supposed to be?”

“Clockwerk.”

“And…am I supposed to know this name?”

Francine sighs, exasperated, and rubs the space between her eyes with her trunk. “Why couldn’t they assign me someone who actually knows the Cooper case?”

“You’re the one who knows the Cooper case. I’m here because it was a double homicide with a witness, and Interpol needed info on the perps as soon as possible.” The sun bear plops into his desk chair like he hasn’t a care in the world, but there’s ice in his tone. “Which I got. So enlighten me, Ms. Expert. Who is Clockwerk and why does it matter so much?”

His partner shakes her head, having quietly accepted that winning this argument would get them nowhere. “Clockwerk is the fifth member and leader of the Fiendish Five, and the only reason we know that for sure is because of a three-way confrontation between us, him, and Connor Cooper about six or seven years ago.”

Bodie leans forward to grab the silhouette photo. He squints at it and makes a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. Francine rolls her eyes.

“I was leading a team to catch Cooper in the act of a heist, because we received an anonymous tip that matched up with his M.O. and his activity was starting to peter out around that time. Actually, that –” she snatches Sly’s birth certificate up and scans it, then grunts. “Yeah, that coincides with his child’s birth almost perfectly.”

“So, Cooper got busy and then realized he wanted to be a family man.”

“Not quite. He and his gang were still doing heists, just more sporadic. This one was his last big one though, because there was a run-in with the Fiendish Five that neither of us expected.”

“What makes you think he didn’t expect it? Cooper’s been known to drag other criminals into his messes all the time, right?”

“He didn’t expect it because Clockwerk almost killed him,” Francine states grimly. She steeples her fingers together to prop her mouth against them. “He was stealing from this massive corporation that had just unearthed the fabled Rockhopper Crusoe treasure in Chile, and I was laying in wait for him on the specific ship that was transporting it. Sure enough, he showed up along with his muscle man, Jim McSweeney, that very night. I was with a squad of four and we were less than a second away from revealing ourselves, when the sky went dark.”

The elephant pauses, expression glazing over in a memory for just a moment before returning to the present.

“It was Clockwerk. He was so big that hovering right over us blocked out the moon.”

“What happened?” Bodie asks, riveted by the story and surprised by the fact that he is.

“Chaos happened – my team and I watched as this massive, massive bird swooped down and made a grab for Cooper with his talons. The man barely got out of the way in time and so they went right through the hull of the ship instead. That was easily a meter of pure steel, pierced in one single blow. It was…it was terrifying.”

Francine has been through many close calls and brushed up against death more than once. But that moment, witnessing someone so monstrous in size, strength, and killing intent, had brought out a primal fear that she never even knew she had. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of the inspector’s life and she hadn’t even been the target of the great bird’s hatred.

She shakes off the shivers running up her spine and continues. “Of course, we had to make ourselves known right then because the ship started sinking, and we were afraid that Clockwerk would either kill Cooper or kill us unintentionally in his attempts to. The crew came up on deck too to see what was going on, and it was pandemonium. People were shouting and shooting and god knows what else.

“I still went after Cooper, because he was my target first and foremost. He and his crony were booking it for the far side of the ship – no doubt their getaway boat was that way – and I ran after them until Clockwerk landed right in front of the two.”

Bodie whistles. “How close were you?”

“I was behind Cooper and McSweeney about…probably about five meters or so. Close enough I could hear them talking.”

“They started talking? Just having a pleasant chat after the guy almost crushes his skull?”

“It was the farthest thing from pleasant, I can assure you.” Francine says flatly. “But to sum it up, Cooper called Clockwerk by name, asked him what he’d ‘been up to lately’, and the bird said he’d started assembling his own team.”

“The Fiendish Five.”

“Yes, although we didn’t have that name at the time.” The Chief Inspector picks up the photo of Clockwerk, almost clutching it to her chest in the way she examines it. “Clockwerk said one last thing before taking off, and I was too preoccupied with trying to stop Cooper and his crony from escaping to give it much thought at the time.

“He said, and I quote: ‘I look forward to meeting him.’ With the way both Cooper and McSweeney reacted, I’d thought he was referring to the third Cooper Gang member, Dr. Zaroff Mandrill, since he mostly worked on the technical aspects and almost never went into the field.”

They both look down at the homework assignment with the drawing of the silhouetted bird blocking out the moon.

“Do you think he told the kid?” Bodie asks after a long, shared silence.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he’d ever have a reason to, but Cooper never ran by any logic I could follow.”

The sun bear sits back in his chair to stare at the ceiling in contemplation. “Well, even if the kid didn’t know about Clockwerk, Clockwerk sure knew about the kid. Wonder if he would’ve left him alone if he knew where he was in that house.”

“He had a grudge against Cooper strong enough for murder, and there’s a whole slew of heinous crimes credited to the Fiendish Five. I wouldn’t put pedicide past any of them.”

“So…what do we do?” Bodie eyes the homework assignment again.

“I’m going to start by opening an official investigation into Cooper’s murder. Publicly, we’ll announce that we’re looking into every conceivable source of the slaughter without mentioning the Fiendish Five at all. If they find out they’re the primary suspects, they’ll know someone was close enough to identify them. However, some of these criminal groups consider it an honor to have taken other high-profile groups out, so with any luck one of the Five will announce that they were the ones behind it. It won’t help us much in pinning them down to arrest, but it would be hard evidence for a long sentence at least.”

Francine writes out the plan as she says it, already making notes about who and what she’s going to get involved in the investigation. Inspector Singh starts taking his own memo.

“Leave the PR to me, I know how to spin a crowd and tease out the information we want released.”

“Fine. Good.” The elephant pauses, then points her pen at her partner. “Do not bring up Cooper’s child in any interviews or statements. Even if the Five weren’t planning on killing him too, it’ll be dangerous for knowledge of him to get out. Cooper’s old gang are still at large and they might whisk the boy off. That’s not even mentioning the countless other enemies Cooper has made through the years who might want their own form of revenge.”

“I’m already one step ahead of you,” he replies easily. “How’s this for a headline? Cooper Family Found Slain in American Suburb, Culprits Unknown. It’s the truth, we won’t have to mention the kid, and no one will be the wiser.”

She only grunts in response, her trunk pressed against her chin as she stares at the family information and tries to figure out what they’re going to do about the surviving child.

“We need to make him disappear completely,” the older inspector says softly. Bodie looks up, confused, and she clarifies. “Cooper’s son. He still needs to go somewhere. We can’t keep him in that hospital forever.”

Bodie follows her gaze to the stack of official documents on the desk. His eyes alight on the marriage certificate and a specific name jumps out.

Charlotte James-Cooper. James-Cooper. James.

“Then we won’t. We’ll give him a new identity and drop him off somewhere inconspicuous. No fuss, no media attention, just treat him like any other kid who’s in the system.” He taps a pencil to his snout. “Honestly, we don’t even really need to check up on him either. We already have the suspect list from him and I doubt there’ll be a will anyone can track since Interpol is going to seize all of Cooper’s assets. Maybe if the investigation runs cold or we need every gruesome detail of the attack, but that’s the only thing I can think of.”

Francine gives him a hard look. “You just don’t want to deal with him again.”

“You’re the one that said it out loud, not me.”

“Knock it off with the games. I hate games.” She shakes her head and turns back to her work. “Do we have a name for the boy? The sooner I can get legal documents made the better.”

“Sure do!” He points out the dead woman’s name with a grin. “Sylvester James. Close enough to make the paperwork easier but far enough that it won’t be immediately recognizable for anyone really looking.”

“That’s…actually not bad,” the elephant concedes.

“I have my moments.”

She adds the new name on her computer system, then stops. “The only issue with this plan is if the boy starts spouting off about his identity to people.”

“Francine, that kid is as silent as his dad’s corpse. I have a good feeling he’s not going to blab. And even if he does, people will think it’s just his imagination. Kid loses both his parents in a terrible accident, he happens to be a raccoon, and coincidentally Connor Cooper himself has been found slain in the same town. It will just look like this kid wants attention, closure, or both. The end.”

She can’t fault his logic, and so the separate requests are made to open a homicide investigation for Connor Cooper and create the needed documents for one Sylvester James. With finality, Chief Inspector Pennington sends both requests to their supervisor. Then she turns to her partner.

“It’s done. From now on, what happened in this office is classified information. No one can know the connection between this case and Sylvester.”

Detective Inspector Singh gives a single nod, more serious than he’s been the entire last day and a half.

“For all intents and purposes, Sly Cooper doesn’t exist.”

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A/N: Well that statement won't backfire spectacularly lmao

This story is no longer dead! I can't believe it's been over a year and a half, and I honestly don't have any excuse beyond that I just....wasn't as interested in Sly for a while. Luckily for all of us, the interest is back full force and I have evening and weekend free time to actually write now! Hooray!

Apologies to everyone who waited patiently for this fic to update. You deserve a lot better, but I will try to make it up to you.Next chapter we'll get to see how the decisions made here affect Sly, and maybe get some outside perspective on things ;)

#sly cooper

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dansnaturepictures · 4 years ago

Photo

14th Match 2021-Crossbill and more on walk

We had another great and quite athletic walk this weekend today taking in a marvelous open space, with more nice sky scenes largely cloud compared to yesterday with the sun just trying to peep through throughout the walk. I took the third, fifth and sixth pictures in this photoset of scenes like these, the fourth of water, seventh of more great buds it was nice to see and the eighth picture in this photoset of something I won’t see much of soon that I have rather appreciated in a way this winter with me noticing everything around me thanks to working from home bare trees. I also managed the first two pictures in this photoset of the flowers on the balcony looking very well grown and nice and colourful this morning.

We had some top wildlife moments in quick succession at the start of the walk, firstly as I looked in the binoculars towards a big black bird a possible Raven flying I poised my binoculars perfectly to be able to catch sight of some Fallow Deers fairly hidden in the vegetation between us and the bird. A delightful herd to see, I do love these mammals they are beautiful looking. Next we got a quick view of a Dartford Warbler one of my key birds this year so far.

Later on in the walk as we went through trees I heard a chirp I didn’t really recognise, a sharp call. A bird we had wondered when we might see lately was the Crossbill. It was more or less the right habitat for them, I didn’t know their call off by heart. I then repeated something I did last spring on an exercise walk at Lakeside Country Park where I didn’t know a Whitethroat call off by heart but had it on my mind as a bird I might see very locally, so heard a bird I didn’t particularly recognise and thought I bet that’s a Whitethroat and then I saw the bird making the noise and it was. I thought this bird calling today could be a Crossbill. We walked on further along the path and two birds flew over, one settled in a tree and it was making the noise I had heard further down. My Mum said it’s a Crossbill she had first spotted the two birds, and when I got the binoculars and camera with big lens on it I saw it was! We watched it for a little bit before it flew on to another top of a tree and I was over the moon to make out the ruby red plumage and distinctive, quirky and surreal beak of the male of this finch. What an honour to see it. I took the final two photos in this set of this bird.

This was my first of the year, and as I said on Twitter earlier I saw my first of 2020 a year ago today. This was really quite something a fun little quirk that I get in wildlife watching now and again. I remember before seeing the Crossbills a year ago with the pandemic just starting to hit I had wondered whether March 2020 would be the first month since November 2015 that I wouldn’t get at least one bird year tick in. Crossbill saved me from that fate a year ago and it did again today. When I was younger and just getting into birdwatching I would pick a date and name days after a bird mostly my favourites but others too, so I’d have Guillemot Day, House Sparrow Day, Oystercatcher Day etc. completely made up obviously. I shall have to call 14th March Crossbill Day. I believe a year ago was the last time before today I saw them too which was interesting. Seeing this bird was one of my wildlife moments of the year so far one of my best birds of 2021 so far. On a walk where I saw a variety of birds it was beautiful to hear the exciting trill of a Greenfinch one of the Crossbills relatives and then see it high on a tree. A beautiful view.

Also today I got a great view of a male Mandarin Duck, my first of the year as well and one I had wondered when I might next see. It was a great view of a colourful, exotic and special bird I really enjoyed seeing it. It marked the first time I had got more than one year tick in a day since my birthday on 7th January so this felt great and almost surreal. It was great to reminded of the real buzz and satisfaction I get at ticking off a species this year twice at once. It takes my year list to a relative milestone of 110, making it the joint fourth highest a bird year list of mine had ever been on 14th March level with how many I had seen in 2014 but I did get a year tick in 2014 on 15th March. I am very pleased with this and how I am doing in these times for my year list. It is great to have got through these last 10 species as it seemed to take a whole getting from 100 to 110 but I am so thrilled to get here and have seen some fantastic birds for quality of species recently. A great Sunday for me today. Now I look forward to relaxing the next two days as I am off work. I hope you all had a nice weekend and have a great week.

Wildlife Sightings Summary for today: My first Crossbill and Mandarin Duck of the year, one of my favourite birds the Dartford Warbler, one of my favourite mammals the Fallow Deer , handsome Stonechat, Meadow Pipit, Great Tit, Goldfinch, Chaffinch, Greenfinch, Blackbird, Woodpigeon, possible Raven, Carrion Crow and a good few Mallards it was nice to see.

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morethanithoughtofficialblog · 5 years ago

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Chapter 3: They deserve to be heard too... well. Some of them.

Spoiler: Sans is finally here.

You are welcome.

*Your POV*

After agreeing with Mr. Dreemur and W.D. Gaster, my work partners just watched them go, then they stared at me. Those looks, the hate in their eyes, and their whispers made me uncomfortable. When I'll be able to do something without being criticized.

But at that moment, I didn't care. I nervously laughed, then went to my office to take care of some business, that including the cleaning. It's not as bad as my apartment, but it's not the cleanest place in the world either. And that's how it went; cleaning and typing. Lots of fun, of course.

I arrived at my apartment and... I don't remember clearly what I did. Probably the basic. Or well, maybe not the basic, since I bet I didn't sleep that much.

'Cause after that nap I was eating fucking cereal at 5 am, not to say I was already showered.

"Stupid brain" I muttered, feeling tired yet excited. Today marks the day I sold my soul for the monsters and to show humanity that these creatures aren't freaks. Well, I'm not sure. I haven't met enough, after all.

After eating, I put some makeup in my i-want-to-die-but-not-yet face. Just a bit, since society asks for it. I really hoped it wasn't like this but, hey, I can't change everything! Besides, a lot of girls like makeup, so I feel obligated to at least look "presentable" in that aspect.

And then, my day started. At 5:15 am. Just great.

Since I'm just a young person who's still dealing with college, my money it's not enough to actually buy a car. But hey, I have a bike. And public transport. And that's what I picked.

The underground subway was somehow a quiet place, mostly because everyone's still craving for their beds. I strongly relate to these people, if I'm honest. Everyone's minding their own business, too tired to talk or to make a strong scene.

I silently put my headphones for a bit, listening to those classics of rock. Yeah. This is pretty much my life. Hell, even my ringtone is a rock song, that being "Sweet Child O' Mine" from Guns N' Roses. I was thinking to change it into something more... professional. Then I remembered that nobody should give a damn, so I shrugged it off.

A whole playlist was enough to make the trip more bearable, trying to not lose my adulthood on those legendary guitar solos or in Bon Jovi's wonderful voice. Those little yet powerful details on each song reminded me why I still had faith in this world. And the sign indicating my destination brought me back to reality. I sighed.

I walked a short distance and finally arrived at that living hell called the Congress. Being part of this greedy government it's completely out of my standards, but now, I wasn't regretting it at all.

I took a seat in the non-workers area, looking like I was a mad teenager coming to reclaim her rights. Except, that I was looking pretty calm and patient. I checked quickly my phone and see it was 6:10 am. Oh well. At least I can play Mario Run for a bit; it has been ages since I did.

While a simple yet pretty loading picture showed up on my screen, my mind only had one thought: "What if they decide not to show up?"

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*Frisk's POV* (lol)

I was giving my hair the final touches when I heard Goat Mom shouting my name. I rushed down the stairs and met with everyone- well, almost everyone...

"SANS! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE IF YOU DON'T COME!" Papyrus screamed in a horrified voice, looking at the clock for the thousandth time.

"gimme a sec bro, k?" Sans answered lazily, not even making an effort to raise his voice.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID TEN MINUTES AGO!" Papyrus cried, again, looking at the clock.

And then Sans teleported, wearing the same freaking clothes.

"Are you serious?!" Undyne exclaimed, visibly angry for such a waste of time, then we all rolled our eyes when he just winked and shrugged it off.

"Now that we all are ready, let's go!" I exclaimed enthusiastically, carrying Flowey's pot while I tried to forget that episode with Sans "We are still in good time! We have exactly... HOLY COW! FIVE MINUTES?!"

"welp, shit" Sans muttered like it wasn't his fault, getting some glances from his brother.

"Let's run, then!" Undyne cried out, carrying Alphys and starting to run.

I ran after her, Papyrus with Sans in his shoulders following me. Hell, even Mettaton was running like crazy. We can't miss this opportunity; this is our only chance!

We ran between students and boring workers, most of them with a hint of hate in their eyes. However, there wasn't any time to feel intimidated. God. If humans weren't so inconsiderate, we could have just teleported thanks to Gaster's powers. But nope. They are not allowed to use any freaking magic.

Well, I shouldn't be thinking like this. I need to be positive for everyone's sake. But still, I feel confused. Is this what hormones do? But wait, they only act like this when you are- oh. I'm twelve years old. I somehow forgot.

We ran and ran until we arrived. "Congress", the sign read. The building had an old look, but it seems it was purposefully done that way. The place itself looked pretty boring, so I just secretly prayed to don't fall asleep.

The door was slammed open, and people's stares gave us an uncomfortable welcoming. Sans climbed down of Papyrus's shoulders, realizing how bad it looked.

"*About time you take things seriously" I signed to him, with a teasing smile on his face. He looked like he was about to give me the middle finger until a young lady approached us, with a kind smile on her face.

"Hello," she said sweetly, making me relax for a bit. "My name's (Y/N) (L/N), and I'll be the one helping you through this".

Oh, so she's (Y/N)? I never thought she would be THAT young. She's really pretty, I must say. Bright (e/c) eyes that match perfectly with her skin tone. (h/c) hair not too long neither too short. She was tall, yes, but not a giant. She looked really fine. I wish I look like that at my twenties.

"Hello, Miss (L/N)" My mom intervened my thoughts, bringing me back to reality. "I'm really pleased about your kind behavior. I just hope we won't bother you that much..."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed with a cheery tone, trying to put any awkwardness aside "I am more than open to receiving all of you in my office. Just follow me, we'll discuss everything more privately upstairs".

She guided us to a place where two elevators remained. Since we were too many people, we had to divide into two groups. Lucky thing there were elevators in the Underground, so this wasn't anything new to anyone.

When she made sure everyone was on the fourth floor (asking us how many we were), she started to guide us through the hallway. Everyone was mumbling while looking at their surroundings, staring at some paintings of famous politicians. Well, I don't think they are that famous. I've only heard of them thanks to my history books and those cringy contests on TV. Like, knowing who was the president at 1895 doesn't make you the smartest kid in class. You are just a freak who talks too much with an old man, mostly being your grandfather.

Suddenly she stopped, then opened a door with the number '486' on it.

"You can come in now" She sighed sheepishly. Wonder why. "Let me know if there aren't enough seats".

The room was quite huge, actually. She had at least ten chairs in front of a dark chocolate desk, that had an intimidating and elegant seat behind it. That must be hers, that's for sure. She had a plaque with her name on top of her desk, a small glass with pens, and a Lenovo laptop. Strangely, she had no photos of her family.

It turns out we had enough seats for everyone, but we all couldn't be in front, so we ended up doing two rows. It looked like a really small cinema. One problem, though, was that Asgore couldn't fit comfortably on his seat.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Dreemurr?" (Y/N) asked worried, watching the embarrassing scene of Asgore shifting into multiple positions. Oh God, why me? Before he or anyone could answer though, she went for her fancy chair and started to move it.

"Oh, Miss (L/N), you don't need to-" He was cut off by the impotent seat in front of him, with a slightly panting girl a few inches away.

"You can seat here, Mr. Dreemurr" She smiled widely, probably 'cause of the King's shocked face. And yes, I just remembered I should think of him as the King. Then, (Y/N) took the other chair. "I'll sit on here, don't worry".

After making that move and putting the big chair in the center, she finally took a seat. She looked insecure for a brief moment but smiled anyway. That kind of reminds me of someone...

"Now that we are all settled up, I guess we can start" She stated. And with that, our talk began...

...

It was less boring than I thought. Yes, she asked us a lot of how life was in the Underground, but none of us seemed to mind. What we mind, though, was Sans's stupid puns which, surprisingly, made her giggle quietly. He seemed to notice this, so he kept them going. It's not like I don't like puns, but this was just too much. (Y/N) didn't seem to bother at any moment, though.

But, hey, everyone felt comfortable. She made some comments now and then, most of them full of irony and sarcasm. It was fun and for a moment we forgot about our problems. It just felt like meeting an old friend again, but that's impossible. I mean, I hadn't met her before, so... yeah.

But, as soon as the conversation started, it ended as well. Everyone shook hands with her, including me.

"*Are we going to see you tomorrow?*" I asked in signs, not thinking at all.

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*Your POV*

"*Are we going to see you tomorrow?*" Frisk signed with a smile that immediately made me feel shivers down my spine. That's not something I see often, that's for sure. Frisk looked at me worried, though. Guess I did some expression that wasn't supposed to be there.

"...sure thing, Frisk," I said, way quieter than I wanted it to be. Quick, change your tone (Y/N)! "We have a lot of work to do, after all!"

She let out a sigh of relief, along with other few. It was a nice feeling. Knowing that they wanted to see me again made me ridiculously happy. And I didn't put it away.

We were already out of the elevator, on the main floor. The sun was setting, painting beautiful colors in the sky, like always. The thing is, monsters couldn't say that before. Heck, some even didn't get the chance to look at this. Whole generations, I bet.

"Miss (L/N), is it okay if we have your number?" Mr. Dreemurr asked, and smiled wider once he probably saw my shocked face. It just caught me so off of guard I didn't have the words. A short skeleton just smirked at my reaction, then I could finally talk.

"S-sure thing!" I exclaimed, which made the skeleton laugh. Just great, I'm being shamed by a skeleton shorter than I am. Way to go, (Y/N).

I reached for my presentation card, and with hesitation, I wrote down my personal number on the back. Wow, it's been ages since I've done that.

"Here it's my business number, and in the back, you can find... m-my personal number" I reluctantly said, knowing it sounded really weird. Why I wrote it down, again?

I looked away slightly, only to notice that skeleton smiling again. Oh no. I swear to God if he says anything weird, I'm going to-

"kinky" he chuckled, containing laughter. I want to kill myself so bad right now.

"SANS, WHAT'S KINKY?!" A taller skeleton asked, and I mentally cringed. And I quickly took note of that name, since it's familiar as fu- oh wait.

"Sans? Like, Comic Sans?" I asked bluntly, forgetting the whole other topic.

"oh, so now catching my name?" he joked with a wink, making me feel worse. "nah, just kidding. but, yeah, that's my name. it's 'catchy', isn't it?"

I sighed, while he just chuckled- again. This Sans guy is making me look bad. And Asgore just watched this whole scene. Great.

"Great! We can add you to our group chat, sweetie!" Mettaton (who I learned their name in the middle of the 'celebrity topic' conversation) winked. What's with the winks today? I feel like they are kink-shaming me (which it's probably what this guy and that skeleton are doing).

"And we'll just call you with the business number if it's something more serious" Mrs. Dreemurr added, obviously unaware of Mettaton's intentions. I gulped. I just hope he doesn't spam me with lewd stuff or something like that. Already happened at high school, and honestly, I feel like an immature teenager again.

Then they all gave their quick goodbyes. Some shooked my hands. Some hugged me. Some smiled. And others even cried.

"Thank you so much for giving us hope." A female (judging by her voice) skeleton said, sobbing quietly on my shoulder. I froze in shock, but I eventually returned the hug.

"It's no problem, believe me" I muttered softly, while a soft smile made its way to my face. "After all, you deserve to be heard too".

#sans x reader #kink shaming xd #jk #sans the skeleton #undertale sans #more than i thought fanfiction

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beatyoutothepunchline · 6 years ago

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On Getting Dressed

Getting dressed in the morning has always been difficult for me. If I can, I will wear the same outfit four times in one week to avoid having to think about it any longer than necessary. My go-to outfit at the moment is my green and black J-Crew plaid button-down, my high-waisted Madewell skinny jeans with the button fly and my Doc Martens. At this point in my life, I do not ask myself, “Do you think somebody will realize you’ve been wearing the same pair of jeans for the last four days?” but, “Do these jeans look and smell clean enough that if someone were to realize you’ve been wearing them for the last four days, they wouldn’t call you out on it?” If the answer is yes, I will throw on the outfit again. I don’t dress to look nice most days. “Nice” meaning my makeup is done, my hair is straight and parts in a way that frames my face in a flattering way, my outfit is coordinated, cleaned and ironed and my shoes match the vibe I’m going for. When I look "nice" there is generally a vibe I am going for and that can vary day to day. A coat of concealer and a flat iron are nice, but it isn’t really necessary. Some days I run around Chicago in an oversized sweatshirt, with bags under my eyes and my naturally wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail. Sometimes I’m more dressed up, others I’m more dressed down. I’m most comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt and because I tend to get more done when I don’t feel like I’m sticking out for looking good or bad. There are certain days where I have to critically think about my wardrobe as I might an essay or an article for class--interviews, dates, holidays--and those days are agonizing. I would argue there is just as much nuance and subtext in the right outfit as there is in a Hemingway short story. Which is why most fashion related things go over my head. But every now and then, I force myself to stand in front of my closet and edit my wardrobe to what I wear. I’m not a person with many clothes, but there are always a few things I find I can get rid of. As I pick up each piece and I asked myself, “Is this still me?” I stopped to wonder, “How did this become my thing? Is it even my thing, or is it someone else’s?” Like most people, from birth till about I was old enough to make my own decision (and for those decisions to be preferably color coordinated, realistic, and weather/event appropriate), my clothing wasn’t my choice. So none of my clothes were my thing, rather what my mom thought would look cute on me. This is why there is a picture of me in an Angelina Ballerina tee shirts and pink capris with a fairy wand and crown on my fourth birthday, and a picture of me in fifth grade wearing a striped, pink white shirt and short sets from Old Navy while on our family trip to Hawaii, and why my first day of school photo from seventh grade I’m wearing a short sleeved and khaki jacket with a lacy pink tank top and black shorts. I can separate my current wardrobe, almost perfectly into black, white, denim, olive green, and varying shades of blue. I have one pink sweater (which my mother bought me) and while I will occasionally throw it on and wear it around my apartment, I end up tearing it off within twenty minutes because of the I cannot stand the color or cut of it. The reason I wear the monochrome is because I am pale and my skin has a naturally pink undertone. If you flip my wrist over, you can see every vein in my arm up to my elbow. You can see the veins in my feet, in my thighs and my stomach. Wearing, black, white, denim, olive and shades of blue makes the pinkish undertone is less noticable and helps the bright blue veins blend in better. Wearing pink, or bright yellow washes me out and makes weird details intense. As for the cut of it, it’s a cropped sweater with side splits up to my ribcage, on top of being wildly ineffective at keeping me warm, it makes my long torso appear even longer than it is, and it just isn’t me. Nothing in my wardrobe is really “me” though. I came to this realization after glancing at the mess of clothes scattered across my bedroom floor while taking a “break” from spring cleaning this last weekend. Everything in my closet I own because of someone else. I own a pair of Gold Cup Sperry Topsiders because my freshman year of high school there was a senior boy with a British accent who browsed the bookshelves of the library before school in a pair of Sperry’s. In the era of Victoria Secret yoga pants tucked into beat to hell Ugg boots and calf-length Nike socks slipped thoughtlessly into pairs of ADIDAS shower slides on the way out the door, his shoes, as well as the pressed khaki pants and button-down shirts, his perfectly gelled hair, and his accent, captured a kind of class that seemed lost on the rest of the students at my high school. Though my own Sperry’s seem to more closely resemble some douchebag college frat guys than the classy look of Boat Shoe Guy’s, when I look of them I think back to being fourteen, working up the guts to sit at his table in the library, not quite brave enough to say anything, and listening to him talk in what I later found out was a fake British accent about things I can’t remember with other, older people and feeling cool. Not in a conventional way. Cool in a nerdy way I didn’t realize I could be until I met him. When I look at the gold hoop earrings I keep in my great grandmother’s teacup with the rest of my small jewelry collection, I realize that my love for them comes from mother, who wore perfect silver hoops earrings frequently throughout my childhood. When I think of them I think of box blonde hair, and regrettable bangs and her capped tooth smile. I’m the opposite. My hair is dirty blonde, I don’t have bangs (never again after my mom cut thick ones so far back on my head that for several months I had Joe Dirt’s mullet). My hoops aren’t perfect circles and they are gold color, not silver.I don’t look or act much like my mother, but occasionally when I put them on I feel like I can fake that same kind of magnetic charm and try to smile with my teeth like she does. I decide I can pull off the hoops, but not the toothy grin and leave it at that. I own a black pea coat because of the movie Giant. Which doesn’t seem like it would make sense give it’s a movie set in Marfa, Texas, but let me explain. My freshman year of high school my grandma bought a copy of Giant for my dad’s birthday and one day a few weeks after she’d given it to him, I found it lying on the buffet in our living room. Being the movie buff I am, and being intregued by the front cover I decided to watch it. The entire time I just kept thinking the blond guy from the front cover was cute (which, in retrospect, is the dumbest take away a person could have after watching that film). After the movie I decided to Google him and came upon a picture of him walking down the rainy street in New York City. Wet cigarette hanging out of his mouth, collar of his iconic black black pea coat poped. And Where I can’t say I’ve ever fallen in love at first sight, I imagine it’s similar to seeing James Dean in that jacket. In an excerpt from ‘Women in Clothes,’ an anthology about how clothes define and shape us, Leanne Shapton, author and artist, writes of a similar love-at-first-sight feeling she with an Isabel Marant dress she saw a woman wearing at a party, “I admired her hair: worn loose, flecked with grey. And her manner: warm, thoughtful, sincere. She wore no makeup, and the dress, which was sack-like, lent her a modesty I liked. We spoke about our children. Then, in a lull in the conversation, I came back to the dress, complimenting it again. She nodded, knowing. Then I did something that surprised me: I leaned down and picked up the edge of her skirt and touched it, marveling aloud at the light, smooth fabric. I have never touched another woman’s dress like that before. A fur sleeve once, but I’ve never had that grasping, clutching impulse.” In her essay, Sharpton wonders if her feelings she had about the dress “also had something to do with admitting I want something. I’ve struggled with admitting what I want most of my life, not admitting until the last possible moment that I wanted a child. Admitting I flat-out wanted this dress was new to me. I was nervous.” Where I can’t say I relate to the wanting a kid portion of that statement, I can relate to the feeling of wanting something. Wanting to be unique and confident, two feelings I don’t feel like I’ve ever fully had but have just been chasing after my whole life. The reason my go-to outfit is what it is is because of directors like Sofia Coppola and Point Break era, Kathryn Bigelow. There is this picture of Kathryn Bigelow standing in front of a monitor next to Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze: white tee shirt, baggy blue jeans, cool boxy shades, and a Reebok baseball hat. When I don’t know what to wear, or when I need to do something I’m not sure I can, I dress up and pretend to be somebody I think can figure it out. Be the woman who can direct a surfer bank heist movie, the woman who can speak French, beautifully while eating a croissant, scarlet lips pouted, Rick Blaine tripping over his shit, the Dude who’s got no idea how the hell things are going to work out, but isn’t too worried about it. Cause maybe things just will in the end. It isn’t an exact copy, it looks similar enough to them that I’m able to capture their attitude, power. . . their magic, but different enough that it’s still me. So I put on my version of that outfit when I don’t know what else to wear because it is comfortable and easy and because I’ve tricked myself into thinking it will inspire some sort of brilliant direction and confidence I don’t feel like I have on my own. Even if it doesn’t do what I think it will and my voice gets caught in my throat and I let someone talk over me, or I get rejected, or I fail and fall flat on my face. When I wear my navy Calvin Klein wrap dress, everyone I know groans and says, “You wear that all the time. Don’t you own another dress?” I do. There is the ombre floor length prom dress that lives back of my closet at my parent's house which I bought because it made me look like Jennifer Aniston, and the crochet white and orange dress that I bought from Urban Outfitter’s because it reminded me of Shasta Fay Hepworth’s orange dress in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Inherent Vice. I don’t usually have the occasion to wear either of these dresses, but the navy wrap dress works for almost any occasion so that’s why I wear it. It creates some shape on my fairly shapeless form, and I like it because it makes me feel like Lauren Bacall. Equal parts sexy, mysterious and classy in a way that I am otherwise not. I’ve never worn it on a date, but I’d be lying if I said if I’d never worn it to a half hour meeting to look “nice” only to walk around downtown Chicago just to see people turn their heads and wonder, “Who is she?” Then, for a fraction of a second, I am the woman I’m not to somebone. When I am at home on Saturday mornings, and my hair is all frizzed out and drooled on and I can’t be bothered to put on actual pants, I walk around in my boxers, oversized and stained Sid’s Liquor tee shirt and a cardigan. I throw on some sunglasses, debate making myself a White Russian and go full-on “The Dude” from The Big Lebowski. Cause it’s hard to relax when you live and work in the same place and I can only seem to do it when I’m someone else. But it is me? Dressing up as someone else might get me through the day, but what if I never take risks as myself? Years from now, will there be some girl who sees a pair of Madewell skinny jeans at the bottom of a pile at a thrift store or finds an old pair of boots that will say, “Oh my god, I love it. It’s so Sidney Thompson.” if I can’t even dress up like her? Am I just a shot for shot remake with nothing new to offer, to contribute, to inspire? Will people see me or will they tease my style apart and say, “Oh, she’s ripping off So-and-So.” I’d like to think I’m more of a Quentin Tarantino homage to all my favorite fashion icons. You can see where I stole, but I’d like to think every now and then there’s someone out there is able to see that part of me poking through one of my costumes and thinks it’s pretty cool.

#essays #theblondefiasco #writing

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markrichardson · 6 years ago

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My Year in Spotify Listening

Like a lot of people I checked out the Spotify year-end summary thingy, and since Spotify is only a certain percentage of my listening, the results were surprising, and I tried to figure out what it meant. In general, I listen to new music via iTunes, if I am sent promos. That only encompasses a certain amount of new music of course, but if I’m sent a download, I tend to use that for my listening all year long. Often, I’m “done with” an album more or less by the time it comes out, but sometimes I’ll keep listening (as w/ DJ Koze this year) and I do that with my promo files. My Spotify listening tends to be a mix of things I stick on a few different playlists based on mood or genre, and they could come from anywhere (but they aren’t usually new).

In terms of my favorite artists (Bill Evans wound up in my top spot, somehow, followed by Joni Mitchell) it was hard to figure out how it’d happened, because I didn’t spend the year obsessed with either. Then I looked at my 100 most played songs, and that did bring back a few things. I’m not sure if the whole list is in order, but the first 5 songs in the playlist are the 5 listed when Spotify gave me my most-listened-to tracks of the year, so I think so? Anyway, that’s what I am going with here. This is how my Top 10 songs show up on the playlist, in order, with one exception: in the middle of the list was Bow Wow Wow’s “See Jungle,” which I already wrote about on Tumblr 8 years ago (and about which I have very little to say now, except that yes I do still listen to this song a fair amount), so I’ve omitted that and included No. 11.

Wussy: “Runaway” This was my favorite song of the year, it has 600 plays on Youtube and 5,400 on Spotify, which makes me a little sad. Technically it’s not from this year—Wussy put this out on a small-release tape or CD-R a few years ago—but I’m still counting it. This is the rare case where the streaming media playcounts tend to match the responses of folks I’ve talked to about this song—I mentioned to 4 or 5 people, and in each case they said “Yeah that’s kind of nice I guess...why do you like it so much?” I’ll try to answer that here.

First I should say that I have no real interest in or knowledge of Wussy. They’re an indie rock band from Ohio, most notable at this point for the fact that Robert Christgau loves them, and has written rapturous reviews of their work over the years, which surely has helped them to achieve whatever small amount of notoriety they have. I checked them out here and there but they didn’t make much of an impression on me. I wish I could remember how I came across this particular song, but I can’t, probably either Twitter or a streaming media algorithm. But I loved it immediately, like, stop-what-you-are-doing-and-listen kind of loved. It just clicked.

The first thing that comes to mind is the chorus: “I love you, let’s run away.” That’s the theme of so many of my favorite songs, I mean, the first album I bought in my life was “Born to Run,” and if you could sum up the first three Springsteen albums in in 6 words, “I love you, let’s run away” wouldn’t be bad. And I think I liked that this song didn’t try for poetic phrasing, just said it in the simplest way possible.

But the romance of a song like this has a shade of darkness to it, and that draws me in even more. Escape is never a long-term strategy. Eventually you have to figure out how to make life work when you’re in the thick of it. So while it’s such an appealing dream to exit the world with someone you’re crazy about, there is a shelf life to that sort of gesture. I relate to this idea of being fed up with everything in the moment and wanting to jump in the car with the only person who gets you, but eventually, the car is is going to need gas. What then?

I didn’t know when I first heard this song that it was a cover, so the immediate impact of it was as a Wussy song. But I learned that it was written and recorded by another Ohio artist that people in the band had known, a woman named Jenny Mae. She died last year. Pitchfork did a news story on her passing. She was 49. And when I found that it was her song, I listened to her version and I loved it almost as much (but not quite), though her take also made my Spotify Top 20. I did think enough of her version to order the 7-inch, which was her first release. When I read about Jenny Mae’s life, the song took on another layer of meaning. She suffered from mental illness and self-medicated with alcohol. And she was described by people who knew her as brilliant and creative and hilarious but also impulsive and self-destructive. Which for me gives a sentiment like “No one likes us anyway / I hate my job / Sweet, sweet are the innocent / I love you, let’s run away” and “40 ounce between your legs/ Shakin up my heart / Turn around and look at me / Light another smoke” a different tint. These are the kinds of things you say when in the throes of a rush of feeling, but they’re not impulses you can safely follow for a lifetime, even though goddammit, sometimes I want to.

Bo Diddley: “Nursery Rhyme” In Richmond early this year I bought an old Bo Diddley album called The Originator. I saw it in a used bin, it was $20, and, it was pure instinct, I had a feeling it was interesting. For me, buying used records, $20 is a fair amount of money, I don’t pay that for something I’ve no idea about, typically. But something compelled me to pick it up. I was intrigued that it had none of the hits I knew. And I took it home and when I put it on a short while later it blew my mind. This surprised me because on the one hand it sounds so much like the idea of “Bo Diddley” I keep in my brain, the one rhythm we know from the song he named after himself, but this was just so controlled, so well rendered, with so much atmosphere. The whole thing is brilliant. I became particularly obsessed with this cut from the record, and then I started exploring the “Bo Diddley” beat in general, reading whatever I could about it and listening to examples. This kind of random deep-dive is the best thing about the internet era for a music fan.

Mulatu Asatke: “Tezeta (Nostalgia” At nights when I hang out with my Mom at her condo in Michigan I play music over a Bluetooth speaker I bought a year ago. My Mom’s default has for a while been to put the television on, but at some point I asked her about playing music instead so we could talk or just hang out, and she grew to like it. Sometimes we’ll chat about stuff, and sometimes she will play Candy Crush on her iPad while I do things on my phone, which sounds distant but is actually very comforting to me. One of the things I’m doing on my phone during these evenings is finding songs to play. It’s quite fun (and interesting) for me to say to myself “What is a playlist that would make my Mom happy?” and then try and figure out what that might be on the fly. She was never really a music person so I don’t have a lot to go on, mostly her age, a story or two about a song she liked, and a vague knowledge of what she might have heard on the radio in my lifetime.

In September, my Dad died, and I stayed with my Mom in her condo for a number of days that month. I felt a strange mix of feelings. On the one hand, he was father, I missed him, I thought about never being able to talk to him again, to not be able to share the things in my life. I thought about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to learn more about his life, my knowledge of which is pretty sketchy. There were all the usual things a person would be sad about. But then there was the fact that he had a severe and debilitating case of Parkinson’s disease for the last eight years, and at times he suffered so terribly. I remembered how on a few occasions he called me while he was delusional, he would tell me that he was sure he was going to die. One time, he told me that he saw someone in the driveway who was going to kill him. Another time, he said that it was hard to explain but that he had been split into two people, and he couldn’t take it, he was terrified. I told him that it would be better tomorrow and he yelled, “I’m going to be dead by tomorrow!” I would get calls like this while I was walking to work in Brooklyn 700 miles away, and I would feel so helpless. And so when he passed, I thought about him during situations like that, and also felt like maybe not he had some peace.

A night or two after my Dad died I was sitting with my Mom, talking, and playing music. She dug out some old photos and we were looking at them, pictures from her in high school that I had never seen. I wanted to see everything, learn every detail. And over that Bluetooth speaker I was playing some random playlist I had found called something like “Jazz for late night.” I wanted background music. And while we were hanging out and talking, this song came on, “Tezeta” by the Ethiopian jazz bandleader Mulatu Astatke. And man, it’s hard to describe, but the mood of this song so perfectly captured the exact feeling I had. The phrase that comes to mind is “bombed out,” that’s the way it seemed, like I’d been beaten up and thrown in a ditch and my ears were ringing and now I was trying to reorient myself after all that had happened. There was a feeling of weariness and sadness but also a feeling that life continues, that we have to gather our memories and keep on. And this impossibly beautiful song captured every bit of that, the one-chord riff moving ahead, in spite of it all, while the sax line captures all the sadness dripping off everything at the same time. I listened to it constantly in the weeks afterward.

Galaxie 500: “Fourth of July” (live) One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite band in my favorite version. This song is indicative of how (as with all songs on this list) when I’m in the mood I can listen to one track over and over. On a couple of occasions in 2018, I listened to this maybe 8 or 9 times in a row, immediately hitting “back” when it had finished. And the thing I was typically listening to was Naomi Yang’s bassline, which to me holds the lion’s share of the song’s feeling. Her bass playing in Galaxie 500 is so incredibly emotional to me, and it was never more so than here.

Pusha T: “Infrared” The one truly “new” song on here.” I didn’t have an advance of this record so I listened on Spotify when it came out and I loved it. And this song in particular seemed so perfect, the carefully constructed rap, executed as if it’s coming off the top of his head, the sample—I listened to this many times in a row on a few occasions, and it also sent me to revisit Clipse, which brought me a lot of joy.

Joni Mitchell: “Carey” Another song about freedom, but here it’s real. Blue is a perfect record but I probably revisit this one more than any other single song because I’m so in love with the production—that bass, that hand percussion...sonically, an album recorded almost 50 years ago simply cannot be improved upon. I remember hearing this one on AM radio when I was very young. It was a single, b/w “This Flight Tonight,” one hell of a 7-inch. I’ve always thought the picture it painted was so incredibly romantic—”Maybe I’ll go to Amsterdam, maybe I’ll go to Rome / And rent me a grand piano and put flowers 'round my room.” Hey, why not! And if Carey is indeed keeping her in this tourist town, we know it’s only for another hour, another day, another week, whenever she’s ready, she can’t be tied down. But then, that’s the future: this night, now, is a starry dome, and we’re alive, inside it.

Arthur Russell: “That’s Us/Wild Combination” Sometimes w/ my favorite Arthur Russell songs you can hear the strain as he creates a new genre trying to get a particular unnamable feeling across. But not this one. Sitting in a room with his friend Jennifer Warnes he made a song that feels as natural as a breath.

Carole King: “Pleasant Valley Sunday” I’m in awe of Carole King’s ability to write songs that sound perfect on the radio. Even if her prime hitmaking years only lasted a bit over a decade, the number of her songs with her name on them that left a huge mark on culture is staggering. Her demo for the Monkees hit “Pleasant Valley Sunday” shows how perfect everything was before the artist who would bring the song to the public got anywhere near it. I found this one on Youtube 8 or 9 years ago and it’s been in regular rotation since.

Hank Williams: “The Angel of Death” In February and March I was doing research my Pitchfork Sunday Review on Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. It’s one of my favorite records, and I’ve wanted to write something long on it for years, so spending time w/ it as the winter wound down was an intense pleasure. It’s common knowledge that Springsteen was listening to a lot of Hank Williams when he was writing the album, and when I came across this song, I became obsessed with it. One, the melody sounds right off Nebraska, and “My Father’s House” (another song I listened to a lot this year) especially seems directly modeled on it. But this song has so much going for it on its own. It’s about death and the moment of judgement, but Hank’s melody and phrasing don’t sound frightened. It’s hopeful, a prayer instead of an admonishment.

Guided by Voices: “Motor Away” I’ve loved this song for years but I listened to it intently around the same time I was playing the Hank Williams, when I was thinking about leaving Pitchfork. I’ve never been a big fan of Robert Pollard’s lyrics (though I love many of his tunes), but he second line here is the one I couldn’t put out of my mind: “When you free yourself from the chance of a lifetime.” That’s where I felt I was. Editing this music magazine that I cared so much about was the culmination of a dream that took a long time, a ton of work, and a fair amount of luck to realize. When the chance of a lifetime comes along, you’re supposed to hold on to it as tightly as possible for as long as possible, until someone finally pries it away, which will happen eventually. I knew that. And yet, deep down, I knew that after 11 years, I wanted to try something else. Run away, motor away, drive away. Sometimes a song can give you the tiniest push.

#writing #myfather

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