#I pushed off being sick since Monday and now my body is punishing me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hajimewhore · 4 years ago

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Body Swap 👫 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader) ➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 1.6k words ➷Humor, fluff, awkwardness ofc ➷ Masterlist, Part 1, ✈Part 2

Thankfully, Hajime’s parents had busied themselves in the morning. Probably out grocery shopping, he’d mentioned off hand.

With Hajime the one blindfolding you now, you can finally place yourself in his shoes, an uneasy humiliation enveloping your bones.

“We can’t exactly dress each other everyday for school, can we?”

You mumble, as Hajime lets you tug the loose tee overhead. It seems he wanted little to do with this dress up game scenario, while simultaneously attempting to save himself from the embarrassment of you catching an eyeful of his junk.

He pulls off the blindfold and stares with an uncomfortable expression and blush. You’ve been doing a lot of blushing today since... well, since you woke up in each other’s bodies.

“I guess not. But I’ll respect your body, don’t worry.”

He huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

A short gasp comes from his lips, clearly not used to having a set of breasts, and he pulls his arms away quicker than you’ve probably ever moved yourself. Hajime awkwardly settles for resting his hands at his hips, and you stifle the snort that threatens to escape.

“I trust you, Hajime. Don’t worry. And same goes for me! I won’t eat junk food before bed, and I’ll work out a lot too!”

You announce while fist pumping the air, and he rolls his eyes.

“You better. Come on, let’s go before my mom and dad get back.”

A lot of changes had to be made to accommodate your... new lifestyle.

You decided it was best to swap phones, considering you each have the same model and should probably be conversing with your classmates and friends with some sort of vague continuity.

You also had a rather short lived and awkward conversation about bathroom time and changing.

And on the way to the park, you discussed the people you each talked with the most in class, how to talk to them, and to take notes properly.

You’re thorough if anything, trying to make this awful situation as easy as you can possibly make it.

“This is exhausting... and we haven’t even gotten to play volleyball yet.”

You bounce the volleyball in the grass, huffing at the torture this body swap is turning out to be.

“At least you can spike, and have a mean serve. It would have been way worse for me if you were a libero.”

At least Hajime is looking on the bright side.

“We just have to get used to our bodies.”

You attempt to reason alongside him, amping each other up.

By the time the sun sets, you’re both panting in the grass next to each other. All former encouragements and hype lost, replaced by the dread of the coming Monday.

“We’re so fucked, I’m not used to being this tall, or having these limbs.”

You wave your arms around in the grass for emphasis, turning to gaze at your partner in this disaster.

“I feel like I’ve been launched back to middle school, it’s hard to get used to being short again.”

Hajime hums in agreement.

“I’m not that short! You’re just tall!”

“Not that tall!”

He grimaces, and you think you hear him mutter something about one more centimeter.

Before you can delve back to wallowing in misery, Hajime speaks up again,

“Whatever, we actually started doing pretty good by the end. It’s not the level we’re usually at, but I’m sure we can fake it in practice well enough. Chalk it up to being sick or something. We’ll be back to normal soon enough.”

Sitting upright, he musters a confident look that warms your chest. You’re glad he’s being optimistic, pushing away the negative thoughts that keep rearing up.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Now let’s get food, I’m starved.”

“Agedashi tofu is the best after practice.”

He’s gleaming, and you think it looks more natural on your face than the stern countenance that seems trademark to Hajime. Though, you do miss the rare occasions you got too see that expression on his normal face... so you make a mental note to take plenty of happy face selfies while you’re in this body.

You can’t help the soft laugh, imagining all the faces you could make in Hajime’s body he wouldn’t be caught dead making normally. When he eyes you warily, you shake your head and respond before he catches on to your plan.

“The katsudon here is way better, you’re crazy.”

You grin, mouth watering as you bring a pork cutlet to your lips.

When you bite in, it turns out to be less satisfying than you remembered.

‘Weird, this place has really good katsudon.’

When you peer over at Hajime, he seems to be sharing a similar dilemma.

“How is it?”

You tilt your head up, gazing cautiously at him.

“It’s... okay.”

He frowns, can he seriously not enjoy agedashi tofu right now? Or was it just made bad?

“Right. Same here.”

The two of you pause, stewing for a second at the disappointment of your favorite meals, before both having the same idea to swap plates.

When you bite into your newly swapped dishes, you both simultaneously break out into wide grins.

“Whaaat, this is so good!”

“’katsudon’s not so bad either.”

You burst out into laughter,

“I guess our tastes have been swapped too.”

“I was beginning to think this would just be a nightmare. But there’s some fun things involved.”

Hajime hums, taking another hearty bite from the katsudon. You smile at his enthusiasm, before returning to your dish.

You continue to idly chatter about things that might be important to know, before walking home together.

When you reach the end of the street, Hajime almost makes the mistake of turning to the Iwaizumi residence. When he freezes, you realize you were equally ready to freely waltz into your own house.

You both awkwardly switch sides on the sidewalk, silently acknowledging the blunder with a light laugh.

“I’ll text you if I think of anything else. Have a good night,” you pause, “Y/N!”

You wink at him, chuckling at the sour expression. If you thought referring to yourself as Hajime was weird, it’s even more unsettling to call yourself by name.

Hajime rolls his eyes before waving goodbye.

“Yeah yeah... Hajime. See you tomorrow.”

The interaction certainly is odd, but you laugh with a grin nonetheless. Despite the fucked up situation, it’s kind of cool to have a secret to share with Hajime.

You just hope it isn’t permanent.

When Hajime turns to the your household, he feels the nervousness come back full force.

The two of you spent all day with each other, not really worried about a stranger’s perception of them.

But now he has to deal with the people closest to you, your parents. And he’s actually quite fond of your parents, they’ve always treated him like the son they never had (as well as Oikawa), but he’s not exactly looking forward to living out their wish for a son vicariously through you.

He swings open the door, kicking his shoes off before stepping inside.

“I’m home!”

‘Remember to be enthusiastic, and keep that RBF in check!’ he hears your insistent reminder echo in his mind, almost catching himself scowling.

“Welcome back darling! Did you eat?”

He hears your mother’s voice from the kitchen.

“I had something to eat with Hajime.”

He sweats a little, your mom is oddly calculated, always in tune with your emotions. Sometimes even his, but there’s no way she’d figure out what was going on, right?

“Good. If you get hungry later, there’s left overs.”

He calls out a thanks, almost sighing in relief, looks like the panic was for nothing.

Hajime casually (yet so, so, eagerly) heads for the stairs.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to say hi to Tooru? He and his mother came for dinner!”

WHAT.

“Y/N-chan! You and Iwa-chan were hanging out today? We’re you practicing volleyball?”

As if on cue, Oikawa rounds the corner and cuts Hajime off at the stairs, eyeing the athletic attire he’s wearing,

“I have something I want to practice more, you should’ve texted me.”

He huffs, arms folded as he leans against the stairway’s frame. Clearly a trick, Oikawa blew up both of your phones all day long despite being told you were busy. Hajime resists the urge to scowl at the backhanded comment. Brat.

Wait a second... how exactly do you talk to Oikawa again? Hajime should know, he’s spent a majority of his life with the two of you, but he’s currently drawing blanks.

He seems to have wracked his brain a little too long for a normal interaction, as Oikawa’s eyeing him again with an inquisitive look.

“Sorry... Tooru. You were sleeping in, and we both just happened to wake up early. Besides, you shouldn’t be practicing so much.”

He’s glad he didn’t let the ‘Shittykawa’ slip, that wouldn’t have been on brand for you at all. Out of habit though, he did punch Tooru in the arm.

“Yow! So mean, why are you hitting me?!”

Oikawa cries out, looking utterly scandalized as he rubs the sore spot on his arm.

“Because you deserve it.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, hopefully you won’t become aware of this interaction or he’ll get an earful from you. He’s still slightly convinced he’s an innocent bystander affected by some sort of cosmic punishment on Oikawa Tooru.

“Are you mad at me?!”

Hajime ignores Oikawa’s cry of complaint, jogging up the stairs. It’s hard being you, he grimaces as he beelines for the safety your room.

Finally in the comfort of privacy, he collapses into your sheets with a sigh of relief.

It could barely be considered a conversation with your mother, and Oikawa, but he’s already feeling mentally exhausted from the social exchange.

And tomorrow marks the start of the school week. Great.

Hajime slumps into your absurd amount pillows (seriously, you only need one). If he feels a little disappointed that he can’t recognize your scent anymore, he certainly doesn’t admit it, and definitely doesn’t entertain the intrusive thought longer than a moment.

A/N: I’m actually having so much fun with this au it’s adsklag;hj, I just like to watch my faves suffer in a chaotic mess I can not lie

Masterlist, Part 1, ✈Part 2, Part 3

#hqradiostation #haikyuu!!#haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime/reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 6 years ago

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Irresistible Danger - Part 50

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,921

Warnings: nsfw, swearing

Masterlist links are in the header at the top of my blog.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Author’s Note: I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I updated this story, but we finally made it to chapter 50 (holy crap)! I apologize to y’all for making it seem like I had abandoned this fic; I always promised myself I’d finish this, even if it took 50 years, and I’m holding to that. The past year was full of many ups and downs, and I really just needed a break from writing and to take a step back and focus on other things. Now, I’m hoping this update marks the start of a refocus on writing and this story, because I really really want to be able to mark it as completed at some point lol. It’s been such a journey (I started this over 3 years ago!!!), and I want to personally thank each and every one of you who is still hanging around and interested in the story. I seriously think I have the best group of readers a fanfiction writer could ever ask for. I know it’s been forever since the last update, so you might need to go back and refresh your memory of the last chapter, since this one is jumping right back in where we left off. Enjoy! <3

Semi-Rational Adults

Your ability to speak had momentarily left the building, as you stared back at Negan with what was sure to be a deer in headlights expression for a long, drawn-out moment. Mind whirling with how to respond to his accusation without also throwing Trixie under the bus, you finally stammered out a shaky, yet truthful, denial.

“I don’t know what you were told, but the test wasn’t for me.”

A muscle started ticking in the side of Negan’s jaw, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He looked as though it was taking all of his physical effort not to start yelling, for which you were grateful, since him losing control of his temper usually meant there was slim-to-none chance of reasoning with him.

Continuing hesitantly, you added, “I asked for one from Carson, but it was for someone else.”

At this point, you realized that it must’ve been the doctor who told him about the test. Your subconscious suggested that perhaps it was Amber, since she had probably been in here not long ago with his dinner tray. However, your brain insisted that Trixie had been truthful when she said she was done with Amber. Besides, Carson was terrified of Negan and would probably rat out anyone in the compound, especially if he thought it meant getting on the leader’s good side.

“You really expect me to fucking believe that?” he growled through gritted teeth, hands leaving the desk as he straightened to his full, imposing height. “Fucking think again.”

A spark of anger ignited in your gut at his immediate dismissal of your words. Part of you wanted to give some snarky reply or go off on him for his lack of trust in your honesty. How dare he jump to his own conclusions and refuse to consider that they were wrong! He wouldn’t be satisfied unless you gave the answer he was expecting, the only answer he currently saw as truth. The helpless realization hit that he’d rather you admit to fucking someone else behind his back instead of getting off his high horse and realizing that perhaps his assumptions about the situation were incorrect.

You didn’t want to go down this rocky path again, thinking back to your last fight a week and a half ago, out in the gardens. Both of you had thrown words like knives without stopping to consider the repercussions, and you had come away from the experience emotionally bloody. You didn’t have the mental capacity to go through that again, and if every hurdle with Negan was going to lead to an all-out brawl that set your relationship back multiple paces...then was it even worth it?

Shoulders sagging in defeat, all angry retorts died before they had a chance to leave your lips. If, despite the last few days, he could still think so lowly of you, then why even try to argue? He’d jumped to anger and accusations, rather than rationally asking for your side of the story, and that hurt. God, you were so sick of situations with him leading to you feeling hurt. No one deserved to feel unheard and misunderstood by someone they cared about, and you’d be damned if you fell into his trap by even continuing this conversation.

Looking him square in the eye, with what was hopefully a neutral expression, you deadpanned, “I told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.”

Turning for the door, you made it two steps before his voice barked out your name.

“I didn’t fucking say you could leave!”

Twisting your upper body so that you could glance at him over your shoulder, it took everything in you to stay calm, to not fight fire with more fire. Instead, you wanted to douse the flames of the fight before they could truly be ignited.

With a wave of your hand towards the box on the desk, you said, “If that’s what you really think of me, then we’re done here.”

And with that, you turned and walked out the door. Half expecting him to say something else or come out in the hall and demand you turn back around, you weren’t sure if it was relief or despair that cause a loud sigh to leave your lips, when all that came from behind was silence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Focused on getting back to your room, which was a safe space away from any prying eyes and ears, you speed-walked down to the third floor. You vaguely acknowledged passing Maria in the hall; she said your name as you walked by, as if she wanted to stop and have a conversation, but you ignored her and just kept walking. You didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now and just wanted to be alone. Your silent dismissal was probably rude, but you didn’t overly care at the moment, instead making a mental note to apologize to her later.

When you were inside the small bedroom, with the door closed and locked, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe. This tiny space had become your own personal sanctuary within the Sanctuary, and for the umpteenth time since your interactions with Negan first began, you were beyond glad to be assigned a single room with no bunk mates.

Refusing to just sit and dwell on the situation until you worked yourself into a panic or flood of tears, you instead grabbed your notepad and flopped down on the bed. Laying on your stomach with chin propped on the pillow, you tried to focus on the meal plan and kitchen job assignments you had started organizing for next week. However, you barely made it through Monday before the words turned blurry on the page and you were blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. When one of the bastards escaped, rolling down your cheek and plopping onto the lumpy pillow, you cursed before throwing the pencil and notepad onto the floor and turning over onto your back on the mattress.

Staring up at the ceiling, you started counting the tiles, noting a tiny crack in one that was two rows down and three columns over from the door. After you finished tallying up all of them, you did so again, and again. You were on your fourth round, the simple task just mundane and simple enough to calm your mind, when you were startled by a light knock on the door.

Rather than respond, you kept counting, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave. You had just started the exciting game of Tile Count for the fifth time when the knock came again, this time a bit more insistent. The hair raising on the back of your neck at the first light tapping had already given away who was on the other side, and you refused to fight anymore with the probably still pissed-off man standing outside your room.

“Go away!” you called, irritated that the noise had caused you to lose your place, and starting back at the corner from zero.

There was a long silence, so long that you started to think perhaps he had actually listened, when his voice came, deep and slightly muffled by the door.

“We need to talk, doll.”

The locked door as a barrier made you brave enough to flippantly reply, just loud enough for him to hear, “Why? You apparently think you know everything already.”

Another long silence. You had to admit, that was surprising. You had expected his reaction to a comment like that to be anger and a demand for you to open the door immediately. In fact, you could almost feel him struggling to keep his cool, which gave you a small zing of satisfaction.

“Doll, are you gonna let me in or…”

Sitting up on the bed, the tile game forgotten, you fired back, “Or what?”

You ignored your brain and subconscious, both of whom were looking at you with exasperated expressions. This might not be the most productive of interactions, but hey, you had tried to explain things to him in his office, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Why should you want to listen now?

“If you don’t open the door, then we’ll just have to talk about it like this,” he replied, voice still surprisingly calm and collected.

You paused and thought about that for a moment. Would he really discuss something like that out in the hall, where anyone could hear? Your brain and subconscious quickly answered at the same time with, Of course he would!

Giving a heavy sigh, you got up off the bed and walked across the room, dragging your feet with every step. You really would’ve preferred he give up and leave, because letting him in this room would give him a chance to either hurt you further or get back in your good graces. At this point, you didn’t know which was preferable. Did you want him to push you further away or bring you in closer? And what the fuck did it say about this “relationship” that you didn’t know the answer to that question?

Unfortunately, you knew that Negan wasn’t going anywhere, stubborn as he was, so with a deep breath for courage, you threw open the door and tried to give him your best neutral stare. It was a bit difficult, once you saw the look on his face. The heat you had expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there; instead, his face looked drawn and, dare you say it, almost ashamed. No, that couldn’t be right. It must just be the glare from the overhead lights and your own buried hope that was causing you to see things that weren’t there.

“What do you want?” you asked, trying to mimic his cool and collected tone.

“I want to talk, doll,” he replied, staring back and waiting patiently for you to decide what would happen next.

Holding eye contact in silence for a long moment, you finally gave a sigh and stepped back, letting him in. He was dressed in a simple, navy blue t-shirt and dark grey pants, and you got a lungful of his unique cedar and spice smell as he walked past. Once the door was firmly closed, you turned and leaned back against the smooth wood, putting both hands on your hips and lifting an eyebrow at him expectantly.

When all you got in response was him looking everywhere in the room but at you, impatience caused your foot to tap and your mouth to give a slightly sarcastic, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

Finally looking over at you, he took in your body posture and facial expression, mouth tightening as he ran a gloveless hand down over his beard. Seeing his bare skin made you realize that he also hadn’t brought Lucille with him, which caused a jolt of surprise. He took that bat everywhere, and you had to wonder how distracted he must’ve been, to forget something so important.

“Damnit, doll. I’m trying to fucking apologize!” he growled, hands now stuffed in his pants pockets.

Both eyebrows raised this time, as you gave him a quick look of surprise before schooling your features. “Well, then do it.”

While part of you was floored that he hadn’t come here to continue fighting, another part of you wasn’t ready to dole out brownie points just because he was trying to apologize. After the things he had just accused you of in his office, trying wasn’t going to be good enough.

He gave a sigh and gestured nervously with his hands, before saying, “Perhaps I was...a little hasty with my judgments...regarding the situation.”

You huffed out a humorless laugh at his stumbling efforts to say that he was wrong. “A little hasty?”

He chewed on his lower lip while looking at you with a gaze dulled by discomfort and guilt. When you didn’t offer any more support, just crossed your arms over your chest and stared back expectantly, his eyes dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he mumbled in a voice so low that you strained to hear. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch by adding, “I don’t want this to be a repeat of last time. I don’t want to almost fucking lose you again.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you were glad he was still looking downwards and so didn’t see your mouth hanging open as you stared at him with wide-eyed shock. While his words didn’t totally wipe the slate clean, you knew what they had cost him to say. A straightforward apology from a man such as Negan was about as common as a walker turning vegetarian. You took a tentative step towards him, then another. Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on his bicep, causing his gaze to finally rise and lock onto yours.

Giving a tentative smile, you whispered, “Apology accepted.”

The tight lines around his mouth visibly relaxed, as his jaw unclenched and shoulders slightly dropped some of their previous tension. You stared at one another, both seemingly uncertain what to say or do next. Trying to lighten the mood a bit, you joked, “Did we actually just make some progress and communicate like semi-rational adults?”

He gave a light chuckle and raised his hand to cup your jaw, the calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across your lower lip. “I’d say we did, doll. I’m about as fucking surprised as you are.”

His eyes became a bit more focused and intense, as if he was trying to read your mind. You had a split second to think oh no before he added, “I still need to know what happened though, and what you were doing with that pregnancy test. I’m willing to hear your side of the story and forget what Carson told me, but I need you to be fucking honest with me.”

Shit. You didn’t want to backtrack, not after how well things were going and the steps forward that were being made between the two of you. But you also couldn’t break your promise to Trixie, not when she had placed her trust in you.

You knew Negan saw the conflicting emotions and panic written all over your face, because his hand dropped and he gave a warning growl of, “Doll...”

Muttering a curse that made his eyebrows raise in surprise at your vehemence, you dropped your hand from his arm and took a couple steps back, needing space to get your thoughts together. Gazing at him imploringly, you replied, “I want to tell you, but I made a promise.”

You could see the first sparks of anger in that tawny gaze, and so hurried on. “Someone came to me, in confidence, and asked for my help. I can’t tell you who she is, but I will say that it wasn’t one of your wives. She thought she might be pregnant and didn’t want to cause a fuss if it wasn’t true. She didn’t even want the potential father to know unless she was certain.”

You took a breath and analyzed Negan’s reactions to your words so far. His head was cocked slightly to the side and he remained silent. Satisfied that you had his attention, and that he was still calm and willing to listen, at least for now, you continued.

“I wanted to help, so I asked Carson for a test, that way he wouldn’t know who it was really for. I told him it was for someone else, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. Not that I cared much at the time-” your eyes rolled upwards in annoyance, “-though I should’ve guessed he’d run to you the first chance he got. But the test was negative, thank god. And it wasn’t that she was being unsafe; she assured me that they were using condoms, and it was probably just stress that messed up her cycle and caused her to panic. The situation is handled, Negan, I promise. I was there when she took the test, and I even saw the negative results. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He studied you, searching your face as if looking for clues to fill in the gaps you had left. You knew that he didn’t appreciate having information withheld, and hoped he wouldn’t take your unwillingness to reveal Trixie’s identity as a personal offense.

“I hope you’re fucking sure about that. Because if it becomes an issue for me down the line, I’m gonna be fucking pissed, doll.”

Bringing up your chin and using your no-nonsense voice, you replied, “I said it’s handled. Which means it’s handled.”

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. “When did you get so damn authoritative?”

“When I started hanging around you too much.”

Giving a smirk and genuine laugh that let you know he wasn’t upset, Negan started towards you. You wanted to smirk in return, but instead backed up, maintaining the gap between your bodies.

“I’m still mad at you,” you warned.

“Why, doll? I fucking apologized, didn’t I?”

Just when he was about to reach out and wrap his arm around your waist, you sidestepped and scurried past him, stopping on the opposite side of the room, near the bed. “I want to know why you automatically assumed the pregnancy test was mine.”

The playful smirk that had been on his face dimmed, as he realized he wasn’t totally out of the clear. “I was being stupid, doll.”

“Stupid how?” You knew the intelligent thing to do would be to let the topic go. He had apologized and admitted to being wrong, but you still felt the zing of hurt from earlier, when he had believed you were sleeping with someone else behind his back.

He sighed and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “persistent woman,” before saying, “When Carson told me you wanted a pregnancy test, my mind automatically jumped to the other day in the kitchen. Benny boy was being awfully fucking protective of you, and I’ll admit my thoughts went in a direction that had me stewing by the time you came to my office.”

Not this again, you thought. You didn’t expect Negan and Ben to ever be the best of buds, but the pissing contest Negan had with someone who had been nothing but a supportive friend to you needed to stop. The easiest response would be to tell him that it wasn’t you he had to worry about Ben getting too close to, but knew it wasn’t your place to discuss Ben’s potential love life. Negan needed to trust you, because you weren’t going to keep defending against something that wasn’t even close to the truth.

This time it was you who moved forward, coming to a stop right in front of the tense man who was awaiting your reaction. Reaching up, you took his face between your hands, the scratch of his beard against your palms as you locked eyes with him from a distance of mere inches.

“I’m only gonna tell you this once more, so I need you to really hear me. Ben and I are friends. We’ve never been more than that, nor will we ever be more than that. My love for him is 100% platonic, and vice versa.”

His brows furrowed, and he reminded you of a petulant child, though you’d never say that aloud, as he questioned, “You love him?”

You’d swear his voice held a note of jealousy at the idea of you loving someone. No, that couldn’t be right...could it? Sure, you and him were taking steps towards what might be some form of a relationship, but that topic was nowhere on the agenda for him. You were too busy watching Negan’s face to see the exasperated look your subconscious and brain shared, as if they both wanted to throttle you for being in denial.

“As a friend, yes. I love him emotionally and platonically, but not romantically or sexually. And Ben has never given me cause to believe it’s any different for him. He cares about me, so of course he’s protective...just as I’m protective of him. And he’s not going anywhere, so I need you to accept that he’s a part of my life, and that his friendship makes me happy.”

Your hands dropped from his face to rub along his shoulders; you could see the wheels spinning as he processed this information, and hoped that the words were finally sinking in. You didn’t want two people who you cared deeply about to be at odds with one another, and you refused to be put in a position where you felt like you had to choose your friendship with Ben versus your...whatever this was...with Negan.

He finally gave a nod of affirmation, which caused you to exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. His large hands rubbed up and down your sides, and you weren’t sure if his actions were meant to soothe you or himself.

“You’re right, doll, I misread the situation. I saw that test and lost my shit without even fucking considering there was another possible explanation. And when I thought of you being with someone else, I…” his words dropped off into silence.

You made a shushing noise and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, standing up on tiptoes and tilting your head to brush his lips with your own. He took the hint and pulled you in close, so that the length of your body was pressed against his.

“You still mad at me, doll?” he murmured into your mouth.

You pulled back and gave a saucy smile. “Only if you don’t use that bed to show me how sorry you really are.”

The look he gave in response caused a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, which quickly shot lower and became a deep, pulsing flutter of an entirely different nature. He caught your mouth in a deep kiss and pushed forward, causing you to walk backwards the couple steps needed before the edge of the mattress bumped into the back of your thighs. You were breathing heavily by the time he lifted his head, and it took a couple seconds for the hazy cloud of lust to lift enough for you to realize his gaze was distracted by something off to the side.

Glancing in the same direction, you saw the pile of condoms laying on your bedside table. They were the ones you had stolen out of the drawer in his bedroom this morning, and suddenly you were patting yourself on the back for thinking ahead.

This time his lips landed on the side of your neck, goosebumps erupting along your arms as he sucked gently at where the sensitive flesh sloped down to meet your shoulder. “First you take coconut oil out of the kitchen, now you’re stealing condoms from my bedroom,” he said between kisses and nips to your flesh. “You’re outta line, doll.”

His hand came up to cup a breast through your shirt, at the same time he whispered in your ear, “Now, how do you think I should punish this insubordination?”

You could only moan in response and gasp out his name, before falling back onto the bed and pulling him down with you.

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

Tag List will be posted separately and in three chunks, to hopefully keep tumblr from doing anything wonky to this post. If you do not want to be on the tag list anymore, PLEASE send me a message and let me know. I won’t be upset because I don’t want to bother anyone with tag notifications who is no longer interested in ID updates. It’s been forever since I updated, so I totally get it if you’ve moved on lol.

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backbroke · 5 years ago

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A Spoonie’s Guide to Living in Pain 24/7: yes we know it sucks

Sunday

While sometimes you will wake up from a dead sleep in the middle

Of the night, from pain, and think to yourself what did I do

To deserve this, you’ll have to tell yourself, no it’s okay, no I don’t actually

Deserve to hurt with each breath, with each motion and twist

And you don’t even have to believe it, just know it’s the truth. It’s true.

I promise.

And while it may take time and years of pain and sweat and flare ups

And tears, you can’t hide from the truth. But you can’t hide

From pain either though. So you just have to keep living

With both, I guess.

Monday

Not being able to get up off the floor can be an interesting metaphor,

But really it just sucks a whole bunch.

And it’s humiliating and stupid and leaves you with the thought that

This is your life and you’ve gotten so bad that you can’t even

Stand up without help. And while being left with your thoughts is always

Fun, you’re still trapped on the floor by the body that was supposed

To be yours, supposed to bring something that helps rather than works against

You. I don’t know when I started seeing my body as a prison, a trap, a curse

In disguise. But I wish I could go back to when I still had enough energy

To drag myself off the floor and walk away from the fear of what I am now.

But.

Eventually, you will either get up off the floor, whether you drag yourself tooth and nail towards a chair or your cane or a counter or anything, or someone comes to find you.

Or you stay on the floor, for just a bit longer;

Either way you have to keep living with yourself.

Tuesday

It’s okay to cry from the pain.

It’s okay, and

I know that it hurts and that its horrible to live like this and this guide doesn’t help with the reality

That being in pain every waking hour sucks so so much. But

You don’t deserve this and neither do I and neither does anyone. But

That thought doesn’t really help anything by itself, does it?

So it’s okay to cry; it’s okay, just

Let yourself do this;

Do not punish yourself for simply existing.

Wednesday

It is not your purpose to

Educate everyone who decides to interrogate you about why

You have a mobility device, why

You are sick, why

You are tired every waking hour and not sleeping and why

You are crying from how much it hurts, god why does it hurt, please just make it stop;

It isn’t your job.

Thursday

You are not a burden.

Friday

Physical therapy is what I hate the most about having chronic pain because it shows me

Just how much I can’t do anymore, how far I am away from the average

Person’s stability and strength, how I fail at the simplest of actions and

It hurts so much. I’m not sure if the soreness afterwards that lasts for hours

And hours even with ice packs eating away the pain, or the shame of knowing

That I have so far to go, to even be considered improving, is worse.

My PT is unchanging and uncompromising, intelligent and kind enough

To know when to stop me from pushing myself too far, too hard, too fast to deal with the

Shame of not being enough for myself; I’m still not quite sure I’m glad he stops me from hurting myself

Or not. But when I look back at how far I’ve come since I started physical therapy, how good it felt to stop failing at the simplest tasks, I think

That while I maybe will never be at the level I want to be at,

Trying to get there will be a battle I will always be willing to fight, if only to deal with the shame of failing myself

And my useless expectations.

Saturday

I laid down in the back of my car the other day, in the pile of blankets and pillows I keep there for this exact reason, and I thought about how it was possible

To feel limitless and so very old at the same exact time, how it felt

To be a walking contradiction of a young face and an old body that’s already given up, and I think,

Maybe, if I was from the beginning going to be a practical joke made

By the universe, someone made from the irony of having a body that was already broken from the day I was born, the only way to deal with this is

To prank the universe right on back, and live out of spite and pain and happiness

To at least be alive and kicking in the first place.

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ltwilliammowett · 6 years ago

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The Batavia Mutiny or the Batavia Graveyard Massacre

Replica of the VOC Batavia (c) wikipedia

On 29 October, Batavia set off for Batavia (Jakarta) for the new flagship of the VOC Vereenigde Oost-indische Compagnie, the Dutch East India Company. It was to supply coins (260,000 gulden) and silverware worth about 30 million euros today, 30 cannons, two antiques by the artist Rubens and sandstone blocks already worked for a portico. According to official figures there were 316 (some sources said 341) people on board, including officers, traders, soldiers and passengers. The command was given by the experienced merchant Francisco Plesaert, the captain was Ariaen Jacobsz who led the Batavia in a convoy of seven ships.

But already in the North Sea the convoy was torn apart and so only three ships came together again, the Batavia the Assendelft and the Buren. On the way to the Cape of Good Hope there were more incidents on board. Pelsaert and Jacobsz clashed, which was due to Jacobsz drinking. This led to the Captain teaming up with a certain Jeronimus Cornelisz. Cornelisz was the third most important man on board and was a bankrupt pharmacist from Haarlem. At some point both forged a plan to get the Batavia into their hands and tried to instigate a mutiny. They did so by attacking the highest ranking passenger, 27-year-old Lucretia van den Mijlen / or Jans, who was on her way to her husband. She was chosen because she had her own cabin and only travelled with her mags, but also because she had rejected Jacobsz's advances. She was attacked in the middle of the night by masked men "hanging the Lady van den Mijlen overboard on her feet and indecently abusing her body". Later she claimed to have recognized the voice of Jan Evertsz, a man dedicated to the captain. Jakobsz and Cornelisz hoped to win several supporters for the mutiny by a disproportionate representation of these measures. But because the lady recognized her attackers, the mutineers had to wait until Pelsaert would arrest the culprits, which didn't happen because he had been ill for a long time.

On 4 June 1629, during a clear full moon night, the Batavia ran from the lookout to the Morning Reef at the Houtman Abrolhos (Lat. 28º 29.422S, Long. 113º 47.603E), off the coast of Western Australia, despite warnings.

FOURTH JUNE, Monday morning, on the 2nd Whitsunday, with a clear full moon (2) about 2 hours before daybreak, during the watch of the skipper (Ariaen Jacobsz), I lay in my bunk and suddenly, with a rough, terrible movement, felt the ship's rudder kicking, and immediately afterwards I felt the ship being held in course against the rocks, so that I fell out of my bunk. Then I ran up and discovered that all the sails were in top, the wind southwest, that the course at night had been northeast and north, and that was right in the middle of a thick spray. There was only a small surf around the ship, but shortly after that you could hear the sea breaking hard around you. I said, "Skipper, what have you done by your ruthless negligence to put this noose around our necks?" (from Pelsaerts journal)

The Batavia runs onto the reef (c) Pelsaert’s Journal

A desperate attempt was made to save the Batavia by pushing the cannons off the board but nothing helped and so Pelsaert decided to evacuate the ship. During the evacuation, 70 men remained on board including Cornelisz who planned to repair the ship and then kidnap it to India to sell it and its cargo. The survivors landed on Beacon Island. Commander Pelsaert, Captain Jakobsz and about 40 men set up camp on Traitor Island. They had saved some ship's supplies, barrels of biscuits and some water. But there was no fresh water springing on these coral islands. That's why Pelsaert decided to look for help and sail to Batavia with all those who were with him. It took them a total of 33 days to get there. But this help was misunderstood by the survivors on Beacon Island and so the island where the commander was became the island of traitors.

On arrival at Batavia, the Batavia boatswain was executed on charges brought by Commander Pelsaert for outrageous conduct before the loss of the ship. Skipper Jacobsz was arrested for negligence, again on Pelsaert's word. Seven days later Pelsaert was sent back to save the survivors, but it took him 63 days to get back.

The so-called mutiny or massacre of Cornelisz is based on the reports of the survivors and the report of the commander himself. Therefore, please do not take the whole thing for granted immediately, and consider it with caution.

During this time the survivors renamed the island the Batavia’s Graveyard, because they recognized that they would die without water and food on this stretch of land. The Batavia sank and with it Cornelisz and all the men left behind. But he and the other survivors used the bowsprit for rescue and came to the cemetery. There he immediately scraped all able men around him, turning the sails of the Batavia into a tent for himself and confiscating all firearms, knives and swords. He orders his subjects to build driftwood rafts. During this time he makes the plan that if a ship should come to the rescue he would use it as a pirate ship.

Cornelisz rescue and the beginning of the massacre (c) Pelsaert’s Journal

But everyone who could become dangerous to him had to be killed, so he sent the soldiers under the command of Wiebbe Hijes to the High Island to let them search for water and food there. Of course he doesn't keep his promise to pick them up again and believes that the men there are dying. He also sends large groups of castaways to Verraderseiland and Robbeneiland. There is no drop of water on any of the islands. At the Batavia cemetery only the faithful of Cornelisz remain, the sick and weak are added and the women he and the others hold as sex slaves. The most attractive, Lucretia van den Mijlen , was reserved for him. Probably from principle since she had indirectly prevented the first attempt at mutiny.

The masscare (c) Pelsaert’s Journal

The killing begins at night, first the strongest are removed, then the sick, women and children.

Parts of the Mass graves on Batavia Graveyard (c) National Geographic

Cornelisz men lurk near the tents, and as soon as someone comes out to pee, they cut his throat and bury his body. They also ask people to fish with them and then drown them in the sea. And some are tied up and then forced to go into the water themselves. From the 9th of July this also happens during the day, smaller groups who are put to die on the other islands unfortunately survive and are then slaughtered. At the Graveyard similar things happen, and the dead are thrown into mass graves. While Cornelisz plays with life and death, something else happened on the High Island. Because the soldiers under the command of Wiebbe Haijes had survived. They had searched on this island after they found no water and found on the neighbouring island Cats Island (now known as West Wallibi Island) which. But after some people who had escaped the massacres on the other islands had reached their island and told of Cornelisz's reign of terror, Haijes began preparations to ward off a possible assault by the murderers. Everyone on Cornelisz's side tried to pull the soldiers to his side, who were warned by a smoke signal that he had agreed with Haijes to find this water, that these men were still alive, failed. He himself went to them, travelled to Cats Island to use his powers of persuasion to lure the men into a deadly trap.

The rescue and the end of the mutiny (c) Pelsaert’s Journal

Here he met the end of his cruel reign. He and 5 of his men were overwhelmed and bound. Cornelisz was kept alive, but his companions were duly executed. On 17 September Pelsaert reached the stranded with the Sardam.

On the 17th. do. in the morning, at dawn, our anchor lifted again, the wind north; were then about 2 miles from the high island, ran towards it for. (45) - Before noon, as we approached the island, we saw smoke on a long island 2 miles west of the wreck, also on another small island near the wreck, which we were all very happy to find alive in the hope of finding a large number, or rather all people. - So I sailed by boat to the highest island that was closest and took a barrel of water, ditto bread and a barrel of wine; when I arrived there, I saw no one to wonder about. I jumped ashore and at the same time we saw a very small yoke with four men rowing around the northern point; one of them, called Wiebbe Hayes, jumped ashore and ran towards me and shouted from afar: "Welcome, but go back on board immediately, because there is a group of villains on the islands in front of the wreck, with two sloops intending to confiscate the yacht". (from Pelsaerts journal)

After a brief confrontation with the remaining mutineers who gave up immediately after facing a supremacy, the interrogations took place and after everything was cleared up, the verdict was pronounced on September 28. The condemned were to have their right hand cut off and, in the case of Cornelisz, both hands, before being killed on the gallows.

Cornelisz is hanged on the island; the other followers in Java are condemned and partly tortured to death (c) Pelsaert’s Journal

JERONIMUS CORNELISZ, from Haarlem, pharmacy, and late under the merchant of the ship Batavia, on Monday the first of October, when he asked for the baptism, to Seals Island, to a place prepared for them to exercise justice, and there first, to cut off both his hands, and then he will be punished on the gallows with the cable until death follows, with the confiscation of all his money, gold, silver, monthly wages and all the claims he may have here in India against the General's profits. East India Company, our Lord Masters. ( from Pelsaert's Journal)

In the end, after all was over and all mutineers had been executed, out of 316 (341) people on board the Batavia only 116 survived. The actual number is complicated because of the number on board the ship when it left Holland, some people left on the voyage or died, in addition one person was picked up in Sierra Leone and an unknown number of children was born on the voyage or died on the island. On 5 December 1629 the Sardam returned to Batavia with the other survivors and recovered a load of coins and jewels. The smaller perpetrators, who had been whipped, keel-pulled and dropped from the court arm as punishment on their way home, were executed. Wiebbe Hijes and some of his men were rewarded with a promotion for their resistance to the mutineers. Hijes became sergeant and the other non-commissioned officers, of course, received a higher salary.

Parts of the wreck, some cannons and the stone portico (c) western australian museum

Ongeluckige voyagie, van’t schip Batavia, nae de Oost-Indien … Amsterdam 1647 (Pelsaert’s Journal)

To what extent these narrated events actually coincide with the talking is questionable. The whole thing is based on witness statements and the report of Pelsaert, who in turn could only give witness statements and the statements from the interrogations, since he himself was not present. It is known that there were mass graves, also that many of them had been killed by force, but there were also graves with deceased that did not show any violence. That there was violence, but whether everything went as described, well that cannot be proven.

Sources:

Mike Dash, Der Untergang der Batavia. 2007

Ongeluckige voyagie, van’t schip Batavia, nae de Oost-Indien … Amsterdam 1647 (Pelsaert Journal)

M.R.C. Fuhrmann-Plemp van Duiveland (Hrsg.): Der Untergang der Batavia und andere Schiffsjournale und Originalberichte aus der großen Zeit der niederländischen Seefahrt im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Horst Erdmann, Tübingen 1976

https:// www.huffingtonpost.com.au/2016/07/01/the-batavia-mutiny-and-massacre-of-1629-is-still-rev ealing-secre_a_21422401/

https:// web.archive.org/web/20150417144427/http://www.spiegel.de/wissenschaft/mensch/batavia- massaker-die-blutspur-des-schrecklichen-jeronimus-a-1028583.html

https:// www.nationalgeographic.com.au/history/australias-most-infamous-shipwreck. aspx

https:// historianet.nl/techniek/scheepvaart/psychopaat-aan-boord-dood-de-sterksten-het -eerst

http:// museum.wa.gov.au/research/research-areas/maritime-archaeology/batavia-cape-inscri ption/batavia

#the end of the batavia #voc batavia #mutiny #article #tw: violence #long post #age of sail #dutch history #my article

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cinenthusiast · 6 years ago

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Previous Top Ten By Year lists: 1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 1978, 1925, 1969 1930

Previous Top Ten By Year: 1949 Posts: Top Ten By Year: 1949 – Poll Results 100 Images from the Films of 1949 What I’ll Remember About the Films of 1949: A Love Letter #10. The Queen of Spades (UK/Dickinson) #9. Rendezvous in July (Becker)/Au royaume des cieux (Duvivier) (France) #8. Too Late for Tears (US / Haskin) #7. The Heiress (US / Wyler) #6. The Set-Up (US / Wise) #5. Caught (US / Ophüls) #4. The Passionate Friends (UK / Lean) #3. Puce Moment (US / Anger) #2. The Third Man (UK / Reed)

For those unaware of my Top Ten By Year project: The majority of my viewing habits have been dictated by this project since September of 2013. Jumping to a different decade each time, I choose comparatively weaker years for me re: quantity of films seen/quantity of films loved. I use list-making as a way to see more films and revisit others in a structured and project-drive way. I was sick of spending too much time trying to decide what to watch, or watching films just to cross them off another dumb canon list. I wanted to engage. I wanted films to be enhanced by others, by looking at a specific moment in time. I wanted something that led me to seeing or revisiting things I might not have gotten to otherwise. Lastly, my lists are based on personal favorites, not any weird notion of an objective best.

This is the first year I’ll be doing separate posts for each film. #9 will go up Monday. After that, one will go up each day until the end. Then I’ll post them all together so they are gathered in one place. There are a lot of films I loved that did not make the cut. In particular, Flamingo Road, Such a Pretty Little Beach, On the Town, Inspirace, The Reckless Moment, Reign of Terror, The Rocking Horse Winner, and Samson and Delilah are all films I thought at one point would be on here. Of all of these, Flamingo Road was a sure thing until it wasn’t at the very last minute. Please go watch it.

#1. Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) (first-time watch)

Two women and two cultures intertwined.

There are two sides to Bitter Rice. One has neorealism, Silvana, and Italy. The other has film noir, Francesca, and America. When all is said and done these two women will have swapped places, for better and much worse. And when Italy’s other neorealist filmmakers see Bitter Rice, they will take it as a betrayal of truth and the political. In short, they hated it. In this time of crucial political upheaval when neorealism carried legitimate cultural cache, director Giuseppe De Santis had made something too slick, too tawdry, and too American. The message was tarnished by the method. But De Santis was a Marxist who happened to admire and study John Ford, King Vidor, and the visual patterns of Hollywood studio filmmaking. He saw mass appeal as a way to both entertain and denounce, and made a film in which neorealism is hijacked and reconfigurated to be a noir melodrama.

Bitter Rice has a lot of recognizably neorealist markers; location shooting, a focus on labor and economic struggle, the tactile particulars of rice worker life, and the use of the specific cultural practices such as the choral Coralita. The sound of women wading through water, the way it would around their legs, and the strain of being hunched over day after day — it’s all made vivid. But it is easy to see why Bitter Rice would seem a betrayal. Its mutinous synthesis of “authenticity” and artificiality was a signpost towards neorealism’s end. Soon there would be stars, genre, production in the Italian film industry.

The synthesis is clear from the very first scene. The authenticity of the mondine (female rice workers) is introduced with grandiosity and sweep. There are no docu-elements here, but plenty of elaborate tracking and crane shots to go around, the kind of gradually encompassing images you’d be more likely to find in a DeMille epic. Watching the very first scene I thought: “Wait — what am I in for?”. All preconceived notions were immediately scrapped, and I realized my trip to the rice fields of Po Valley would be a very different one indeed. Then, a couple carrying stolen jewels are chased into the station waiting to transport the workers to the fields. Their arrival feels like an alien invasion, as if some freak chemical accident at the film lab spilled one film into another. This dichotomy plays throughout with electric and arresting cohesion, making it so distinctly unlike any other film from its movement.

While De Santis was inspired by the Hollywood narrative format, he also uses American culture’s insidious postwar presence to illustrate the dangers of breaking from solidarity for hollow (the fake jewels!) individual gain. This is done using the two incredible and complex women of Bitter Rice‘s center. After Francesca the Moll (Doris Dowling, an American actress) is forced to assimilate in the rice fields, she finds purpose among the mondine. In order to stay in hiding, she has to advocate for the rights of her fellow non-contract workers. But this is never done as a means to an end. Francesca never schemes to stay on; she is always shown as sincerely leading the protests for the group. Life becomes bigger than herself, and she learns to stand both as her own woman, and as part of the mondine.

Francesca also begins to see her personal life more clearly. You get the sense that despite loving Walter (Vittorio Gassman), she is not blind to how reprehensible he is (I mean, in the first scene he literally used her as a human shield so….). But she had nowhere to go, and no strength to pull away. Life in Po Valley gives her that strength. The value of the collective is present throughout, with choral scenes, aerial shots showcasing the lines of working women linked together, and fragments of peripheral characters and their various troubles. They push themselves to the brink under oppressive conditions just to make it to the next job, and there is power in their (at times friction-filled) solidarity (I was also reminded of last year’s Support the Girls, also about a community of women united by unforgiving labor).

Then there is the shrewd but naive young Silvana (Silvana Mangano, who I’ll talk about later), a peasant that dreams of wealth. She is seduced by all things coded America and money (she should talk to Caught’s Leonora!). We first meet her doing the boogie woogie (she does a lot of dancing, employed for seduction and statement). In this group of women, where everyone is introduced as part of a whole, she immediately stands out as modern. She chews gum, loves big-band, and is seen reading photo-romances, the then-popular prepackaged fantasies that were read by lower and working class Italian women. Silvana wants out; she longs for adventure, riches, and a certain kind of romance. But the way out that presents itself is a different kind of way out, and she is too blinded by inexperience to understand it.

The camera links Francesca and Silvana all the time. Whether in two-shots or individual spaces, there is an invisible tether between them. Their lives and fates take part in a film-length body-swap. Silvana talks about fate a lot, but is seen making deliberate choices towards certain doom. She can’t see Walter for what he is — an exploiter and a monster. But Francesca gives her an out, replaying about her life with Walter and the terrible things he has done. She tries to take the abuse and hardship she lived through and save someone else from making the mistakes she did. But Silvana can’t see past the jewels and the suit. There is only the potential for excitement, for something that is not this. After all, Walter “looks like a gentleman” (aka a hotshot gumshoe); so he must be, right? While Francesca’s transformation is one of victorious camaraderie, Silvana’s (both actress and character) is altogether much murkier; one marked by punishment.

Silvana Mangano never wanted her body to represent the whole of Italy, but it did. Audiences were scandalized just seeing the unapologetically full female form (au natural, code for Armpit Hair), the kind that becomes sexualized simply by existing. She was the prototype of the “earthy women” that would cause such a stir overseas (later embodied by Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren). She started out by winning Miss Rome, a post-war contest that further enhanced the idea of body-as-nation, and an honor that became synonymous with future screen tests. Unlike Lollobrigida and Loren, Mangano didn’t cash in on overseas notoriety for a Hollywood career. She became resentful of her image, and of fame, eventually giving herself a drastic reinvention (her figure was now svelte and arch, her look cold) and starring in art films by Pasolini and Visconti in the late 1960s and 1970s (and Dune!).

The camera doesn’t ogle Mangano Tex Avery style; this isn’t Jane Russell in The Outlaw. But it aims to stay back, taking in the whole of her whenever possible. And you can’t help but take part in that — I love looking at her. She is the textbook case for why the male gaze is not an open-and-shut. For all its appallingly absolute authority on the almost-whole of filmic language, women enjoy it too! One of the great joys of watching films is watching bodies, both male and female. I am hypnotized and, yes, completely turned on by Silvana Mangano in Bitter Rice. The camera may not be that Tex Avery wolf, but I’ll admit that I am.

Critics felt her body, and Bitter Rice’s eroticism as represented by her, cheapened the film and nullified its political message. Yet a crucial part of its political message is the punishment her and her body endures for betraying the homeland (a tactic that opens up a whole other can of worms). She is eroticized, symbolic, made into a cautionary tale. Her final fugue march is just like Ann Todd’s in The Passionate Friends. Claude Rains gets there in time. Francesca cannot.

(TW: rape)

She is raped. It is a rape that takes away her body. We don’t see much of it after that. In those last thirty minutes she is made up of haunted black pupils, lit like she’s telling a ghost story. She is immediately ostracized by the filmmaking, quarantined off in shots of the mondine in ways you feel more than see. It’s not obvious, but intrinsic and heartbreaking. The most startling example takes place immediately following her assault. It is pouring out (during these scenes a stunning rain shower falls right in front of the camera like a curtain) and the women have banded together, refusing to let the weather set them behind schedule. Silvana walks in a daze, confused and in shock. Ahead, a sick woman who shouldn’t be out in her condition begins having an attack. She howls out, and begins writhing in pain as the women surround her and hold her down. They begin to sing in an attempt to calm her (they are all one). Silvana looks on in horror. This is a mirror image of what she just went through, her trauma reflecting right back at her. She is watching herself. She begins to scream. She is drowned out, not part of the coralita, not part of anything anymore. Her cries go unheard.

The meat locker finale is one last compare-and-contrast session. Both women have guns. Both women have a man beside them. One is shaking and shaken. The other is determined and resolute. Francesca is still trying to save the other end of the tether. There is something so moving and uncommon in Francesca’s committed efforts to protect Silvana despite the harm she causes and rivalry she insists on. It’s hard to put into words how much I love these women, these characters, these performances. Bitter Rice pays such close attention to how women communicate with each other (in both speech and body language, the silent glares and stares may as well be full conversations), and to the breadth of female experience, struggle, and loyalty. We see how hard it is for Francesca to break away from Walter. We see that Silvana’s sense of right and wrong are muddied by what she wants out of life. We see that Silvana’s actions are not unfeeling; there is such pain on her face as she undoes the mondine’s hard work. The list goes on as more layers are pulled back.

Watching Bitter Rice is that all-too rare sensation of not knowing where a film is headed, or what story it will tell (unless you’ve read this before watching). Francesca and Silvana are often hard to read. By the end, that body swap trajectory is clear, but only at the end. And despite the larger-than-life symbolic statuses they represent, they are two of the most layered and human women I’ve ever seen onscreen. They don’t fit into any neat box — not within neorealism, and not within noir. Francesca and Silvana are with me now, and I’m the better for it.

Top Ten By Year: 1949 #1 – Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) Previous Top Ten By Year lists: 1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992,

#bitter rice #doris dowling #giuseppe de santis #Italy #neorealism #silvana mangano

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thepatricktreestump · 6 years ago

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I Love Her Anyway: Chapter 16

A/N: sorry for that short disappearance! i needed to take a mental health break. school is starting tomorrow and so i’m thinking of switching uploads to mondays, wednesdays, and fridays if that works out... if not, just stay posted! thanks for hanging in there and bearing with me guys- now here’s what you all have been dying to read

revised tag list, but still long af: @cupcakesweetness @un-amoosed-padalecki @mtb04308 @dragonqueendany @kitykatnumber @svintsandghosts @greatheromuffinpalace @geekybeauty8793 @jigglypuff1999 @galaxy-moon @lugialagia @pageoftheclouds @moveondontholdon @myaestheticsareshit @brendonuriehimself @yagirlcammmm @wantyoubackpeter @vessyvk @loverontheleft @rupphirerydenphan @uriellybrendon @converse-or-vans @amazingtyjo

As soon as it’s time, you raise your hand, body shaking with anxiety. You had to go through with this. It was your only option to get to Brendon. You told the teacher you felt miserable and had a bad stomachache, which wasn’t totally a lie, and so they gave you a hall pass and instructed you to go to the nurse for some meds. When the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath, walking down the hall to where Brendon had instructed you to go. You check the time and you’re on schedule, ready for the escape. You don’t know what he has planned or how this is going to go, but you trust him. Eyes darting around nervously, you walk towards the door, looking outside and heart stopping when you spot his fancy sports car. You drop the hall pass on the floor and push open the door, rushing to his vehicle, opening the door and sliding in the shotgun seat. He locks it, smiling at you, then zooms out of the school parking lot.

“Thanks,” you catch your breath, buckling yourself in as he speeds off of the property. “Wasn’t expecting to skip school today but this is a pleasant surprise.”

“The least I could do, princess,” he reassures, leaning over to kiss you when you stop at a red light. “God I’ve missed you.” He holds your hand and he steps down on the gas as soon as the light turns green.

“Me too,” you whisper. “So much.”

“It’s okay,” he brushes his thumb against your hand. “We’re together now. And that’s how I plan on it staying. Alright?”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “It means the world.”

“We’re in this together,” he promises, squeezing your hand tight. “Now here’s the deal- I’ve spoken to my workers. They support us and they’ve promised to protect us, especially now that there’s a child involved. However, regarding the pregnancy, we need proof.”

“Proof?” you raise an eyebrow.

“We want you to take another test. Just in case the first one is a false positive,” he clarifies. “I mean, I believe you. But… I also kind of want to see myself. Seeing is believing, you know?”

“Alright,” you give a small smile. “I can do that.”

“God,” he breathes. “I can’t believe like, we have a child. You and me. You’re pregnant. That’s so crazy.”

“Little bit,” you give a small laugh. “Not necessarily how I expected things to go but I guess here we are.”

“Well me too, but like, I’m not going to pressure you into anything. You’re still extremely young for all of this and you have your entire life ahead of you,” he replies, taking a turn towards his neighborhood. “I assume we’re keeping the pregnancy. I mean, that’s how your dad’s spoken about it to me anyways. But it’s alright if you don’t want to. I mean, it is your choice. I just, I guess I don’t know what your plans are. But know that I’m alright with whatever you choose.”

“We’re keeping the baby,” you insist. “It’s ours, and nobody is going to take them away from us. No matter what. Not my parents, not your workers, not the police, not court, not anyone. It’s you and me and this kid, alright? Promise me we’re going to do this, Bren. I need to know.”

“I’m right here beside you,” he swears, squeezing your hand even tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m supporting whatever decisions you make throughout this as long as I’m by your side.”

“Thank you,” you close your eyes, finally feeling almost relaxed after this entire whirlwind of chaos. “Thank you.”

When you get to his house, the workers greet you with hugs and apologies. They claim to have gained a better understanding, that they want what’s best for you, that they’re here for you. You give soft smiles, reassurances, and praises of gratitude before Brendon whisks you away to his bedroom, maid following close behind. He hugs you tight, kissing your forehead, then handing you the pregnancy test, letting you use his restroom and telling you to come out after you’re done to share the news. Your shaky fingers pick up the test and do as told, then stare at the mirror and hold your stomach as you wait for the results. Technically, you hadn’t done this before. You only waited. It was your parents who brought the news to you. You never got a chance to be the first to see for yourself. Sure enough, three minutes later, you see the tiny pink lines, two of them. Positive. You unlock the door, handing the test to Brendon. His reaction is priceless.

His eyes are fixed on the results, tearing up almost, lips pressed together. He looks up at you, speechless, and you give a small smile. He hands the test to Moira the maid and then captures you in a huge hug, holding you tight. “I don’t even know what to say,” he confesses. “God. This is insane.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know.”

“Hey,” he releases the hug, looking into your eyes. “I’m right here. We’re going to get through this together, understand? You and me. Okay, babe?”

“Alright,” you nod, smiling.

“You, me, and them,” he presses a hand to your stomach. “Our little baby in there.”

“Yup,” you giggle, feeling happy about this entire situation for once. “All three of us, in this together.”

He sits you down on the couch, the rest of the workers included, and hands you a glass of water, beginning to map out the game plan. There’s no way you could possibly tell your parents. Any sane adult would flip if they found their daughter fucking a man his age, much less, their own boss. And then to add the pregnancy, it would just be a mess. They would for sure get the police involved, detectives, and send you both straight to court. Possibly even push towards an abortion. It wouldn’t work out. So you all collectively decided it was best for you to get out and live with Brendon while still keeping this all under wraps. How? That’s where the plan came in.

“You need to get out of school and then get out of your house,” Brendon explains. “Drop out of school. Just quit going all together. Obviously I still have a business to take care of even though I called in sick to take care of you today, but I need you to stay here. Once the school finds out you’ve been missing days, they’ll drop you after two weeks. I’ve contacted the principal anonymously to ask about the attendance record rules and regulations. If you’re gone for two consecutive weeks without permission, you’ll be considered dropped from your semester of classes until further notice. Education wise, I’ll hire a private tutor to keep you up to date with your studies. There’s no sense in having people bully you at school and not cater to your needs. Especially as you progress these next nine months, you’ll have doctor’s appointments, morning sickness, and other things to worry about other than schooling. However, it doesn’t mean that it’s not important.”

“Thank you,” you place a soft hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

“It was Moira’s idea,” he gives credit. “Thank her.”

“Carry on with the plan, Mr. Urie. We have no time to waste,” Moira urges, insisting there’s no need for recognition.

“As for getting out of your home,” he begins. “You’re going to need to tell your parents you’re leaving. Just straight up tell them you’re out. Say that you feel like you aren’t getting the support you need to birth and raise a child, that you’ve found somewhere else to stay, and that you’re going to support yourself. If they’re going to try and argue with you on it, tell them it’s your choice. You’re a single mother now and you need to be in a positive environment for the sake of your own mental health as well as the health of the child.”

“Do you think they’ll let me?” you become worried. “I don’t know Brendon…”

“Honey,” Moira puts a hand on your shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Your father is lax and your mother is angry at you. Although they love you, they’ll only see it as one problem out of the way. It’s for what’s best. You can stay here with Mr. Urie and we will promise to take care of you.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I appreciate the support and everything, I’m just going to take a little time to think about it. The getting away from home part. I can start dropping out of school starting today. Since I’ve broken my phone and I’ve been grounded, I haven’t had connections with friends so it won’t be hard to disappear. My brother is distant and my parents are cold, I shouldn’t think that this will be too hard. I just need time to contemplate my decision before I do anything too sudden.”

“That’s a smart move,” the gardener reassures. “I admire your bravery.”

“We’re all here for you,” the chef adds. “Remember that, y/n. Okay? We’ve got your back.”

“It means a lot,” you insist. “More than you will ever know.”

“I’ll send two of my workers to pick up your car from school and bring it here. I want you to skip your shifts at the bakery, start disappearing from there too. Once you leave your parents, I’m sure your mom will notify Ashley and word will get around. The important part is to keep this all under wraps though. Nobody’s allowed to know about us being together, it would only mean worse punishment for you and insufferable consequences for me. With a baby mixed into this mess, we can’t afford for that to happen. Alright?” he tells you. “You’ll stay here and have dinner with me until evening, and then you’re going to drive home and explain the situation to your parents whenever you deem the time is right. Until then, you’ll head to my house for school and work, then back home. When you decide to make the move, you’ll just head over here and stay here until then. We can set you up with anything you need, don’t feel pressured to pack up all of your stuff. Just the important things.”

“The only important things I need are right here,” you smile, putting on hand on your stomach and another hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “I think I’ll be alright.”

The chef fixes you up whatever food you’re craving and you catch up with Brendon on everything that’s happened. How hard things have been for you, how your parents ended up finding out, and how much you’ve missed him. He talks about how things are at work, how you’ve been on his mind ever since you parted, and how he’s been dying without you. After dinner, you just sit on the sofa and he holds you in his arms, mumbling “I love you” over and over again so you don’t remember. You don’t know what you did to ever deserve him, but you are so goddamn thankful. You don’t know what you would do without him.

When you get home, you’re waiting for your parents to yell at you. You’re ready for them to scream in your face, demanding to know why you didn’t show up to work and how the hell you just magically disappeared from school, but there’s nothing. They simply tell you to finish up your homework and then go to bed. When you tell them you’re not hungry for dinner cause you worked late shift and you’ve already eaten, they don’t say anything either. It’s almost a miracle, but you don’t take it for granted. You appreciate every second of them not being on your back and take it as a blessing from god. Perhaps they were giving you a little bit of slack knowing all the hell you’ve been through these past few days. So laying in your bed that night, although you didn’t really believe in god, you still said a prayer. Because heaven knows, you definitely needed another miracle if you wanted to get through what was about to come next.

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beesemporium · 6 years ago

Text

You’re Brew-tiful!

Summary: Simon is pining over the new barista at his favorite coffee shop. Baz likes to write horrible puns on Simon's cups. Coffee shop AU & Normal AU

AO3 LINK

Simon

I’ve been going to Coffee Island for over a year now, but somehow I don’t recognize the barista taking my order. Maybe he’s new. He’s probably new. Or he has shifts later in the day (this one doesn’t check out, I’ve literally spent an entire day here). I desperately want to order hot chocolate but the usual Barista, Ruth, isn’t here. Instead, she’s replaced by the new guy, he’s far too handsome to be real. Maybe I’m making him up. I don’t want Hot Barista (he doesn’t have a name tag on, what else am I supposed to call him?) to judge me. I mean what 20 year old man orders hot chocolate in the middle of summer? Me that’s who.

Instead of embarrassing myself I order an iced latte, a classic. Except I actually hate iced lattes, I hate most coffee in general. I’ve thought about just buying hot chocolate from the store, but I can’t even use a microwave correctly (Penelope is constantly making fun of me for it). “Simon! You’re twenty years old! How do you mess it up everytime?” she’ll say. Hot barista gives me my latte and I head out. As I’m walking to my first class, that’s when I notice it. Written in neat, loopy handwriting says, “You’re brew-tiful!”. I have to stop just so I can admire just how beautiful the handwriting is (this causes a few angry businessmen to throw expletives at me). The pun is atrocious, but I don’t hate it.

Just the thought of Hot Barista thinking I’m “brew-tiful” makes my insides flip.

---

I don’t have class today. Normally I’d be glad, but I’m a little upset that I don’t have an excuse to go to the coffee shop. I need to see Hot Barista. He keeps my heart beating, the blood pumping through my veins. Okay, maybe that’s a little exaggerated, but he’s hot, okay! His hair is beautiful, it’s wavy and sits just above his shoulders. And oh God, his FACE. He has a nice face, a very nice face.

Just as I’m about to declare this fine Saturday as Sulk Saturday, Penny’s voice rings out through our flat. “Simon could you please get me a black coffee from Coffee Island? I’ll pay”

Of course I’m ecstatic at the chance to see Hot Barista, but I can’t let penny know that I’m crushing on someone who’s name I don’t even know.

“I mean, I guess I could” I shrug out.

“You’re a lifesaver, Si” Penelope shouts.

I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and head out the door. I’m halfway down the first set of flights when I realize that I forgot the money, and my shoes. I run back up the stairs to the flat and grab everything I forgot.

I’m practically running to Coffee Island. Am I really this excited to see a barista? The answer to that question is yes, obviously. Who wouldn’t be excited to see Hot Barista? I’m kind of hoping that Ruth is there though, just so I can get my hot chocolate (I want to see Hot Barista more though). The coffee shop isn’t that far so I get there within five minutes. I take a moment to compose myself outside and make sure he’s actually here, which thank God, he is. If there’s a God I’d like to personally thank him for sending an angel down to earth. I open the glass doors and step into the line. It’s a long line, which means I have plenty of time to rehearse what I’m going to say in my head. One black coffee and one iced latte. One black coffee and one iced latte. The line moves unnaturally fast, or maybe I’m just so caught up in my head that I didn’t notice it. It’s my turn and I can already tell I’m going to stutter because my heart is beating so fast and my face is all red. How can someone be so hot yet so cute? Hot Barista has a name tag today. Baz.

“One black coffee and one iced chocolate- I mean iced latte.” Of course I fucking mess up, how fitting. Hot Barista- Baz- smiles. He actually smiles, it’s a closed mouth smile, maybe a smirk, but it still makes my insides twist. If my heart wasn’t already melting then it is now.

I grab the drinks when they’re finished and notice that there’s another pun on my iced latte. “Words cannot espresso how cute you are.” My heart is officially bursting. I walk back to my flat in a daze. When I reach the fourth floor I pull my keys out, only to realize that I don’t have my keys. You have to be kidding me. I rest my head against the door and let out loud sigh. Suddenly the door is being pulled away from me

“Simon I could literally hear you sigh from inside,” Penelope said.

I hand Penny her coffee and head to the kitchen. In the kitchen I dump out my latte (I know okay, a waste of perfectly good coffee, but it’s just so nasty.) and rinse the cup out.

---

It’s official, today is Sulk Sunday. I don’t have an excuse to see Baz. I could just go to the coffee shop, but why would I go outside if I don’t have to? I’m perfectly content with lazing in the living room with Penny and watching American Horror Story (except I’m not, I desperately want to see Baz). Penny must notice that something is up because the show is being paused and she’s pulling her feet out of my lap.

Simon,”she sighs, “What’s wrong? You keep staring off into space and you’ve been pouting all day.”

“Nothing's wrong, I’m perfectly fine. Great even,” I push my lips into a pout and reach for the remote. Penny jerks her hand back,

“I’m not pressing play until you tell me what’s wrong,” she rolls her eyes, and I look down at my lap.

“Penelope”, I drawl out her name, “Please don’t make me tell you. It’s embarrassing!”

“If I promise not to judge your life choices will you tell me?” Penny looks up at me.

“Fine, I guess,” I turn my body towards her. “There’s this guy at the coffee shop, named Baz, and he keeps writing horrible puns on my cups. Penny it’s so freaking cute,” I take a breath in and hold it, waiting for Penny to respond.

“Simon, that is adorable. You have to talk to him,” Penny is full on smiling now.

“You’re insane if you think I’m actually going to talk to him,” I cross my arms.

“Fine then, I’ll just let you pine relentlessly,” Penny grabs the remote and presses play.

---

I get ready in record time. I woke up late and barely have time to get my coffee (even if I was late I would still go to Coffee Island, just to see Baz). I think today is the day I order my hot chocolate. Probably not, but one can try.

Unfortunately, when I get to Coffee Island, Baz isn’t there. In his place is Ruth. I order my hot chocolate (they make outstanding hot chocolate, and it’s been too long since I’ve had one) send a text to Penny.

To Penny: Baz wasn’t at Coffee Island today :(. Why is God punishing me?

From Penny: Don’t be dramatic Simon, he probably had the day off.

---

I only have one class Tuesday, thank God. I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea to take morning classes, if I could go back in time I would slap myself. To say I’m excited to see Baz is an understatement, I’m buzzing with excitement.

When I arrive at the coffee shop I peer into the window just to make sure he’s here, which he is. I order my coffee, and head out. This time the cup says “I like you a latte”. My insides do the twisty thing.

---

I’ve been going to the coffee shop everyday this week, Baz is there everyday, aside from Monday. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to walk in. He smirks when he sees me, and always gives me a horrible pun. The ones I’ve gotten this week (discluding Tuesday) are:

Wednesday- “Not seeing you makes me despressod”

Thursday- “Been thinking about you a latte”

Friday- “I can feel something brewing between us”

---

Penny convinced me to go to Coffee Island today, instead of sulking. I’m not sure what I would do without her. I convinced her to go with me because today is the day I finally plan to tell baz that I like him too, with a pun preferably.

“Simon, are you ready to go? I want to see what happens. I can’t believe my bestfriend is getting to live in a cheesy love story,” Penny says.

“Penny I don’t know. I think I’m sick, maybe we shouldn’t go,” I sit down on the couch.

“Nuh-uh Si, we’re going. I will literally drag you out the door if I have to,” Penny walks over to me and extends her arm out.

I grab her hand and stand, “Fine, but if I make a fool of myself it’s your fault!”

We walk to the cafe in silence, Penny has to remind me several times to slow down. I stop in front of the cafe and took a deep breath. Why am I making such a big deal out of this?

“Penny what if he doesn’t like me? What if he’s been writing these puns because he thinks they’re funny, and not because he likes me? Oh god I’m going to humiliate myself,” I cling to Penny’s arm.

“Simon, don’t be stupid. He likes you! I don’t think he would write cute puns telling you you’re cute just because he thinks you’re funny,” Penny rolls her eyes.

I let go of her arm and we step inside. There’s only three people in line so it shouldn’t take very long.

Just as expected, the line moved fast. I stepped up and said the words that could determine my relationship status.

“Hi Baz, I like you a latte too,” I manage to breath out. Baz smiles at me (not a smirk! An actual smile, with teeth). His smile is beautiful, it feels like I’m staring directly into the sun (okay maybe not the sun, but something beautiful).

“I think you just made my day, Simon,” Baz says.

I order an actual hot chocolate this time, and on the cup is a number. Below the number he’s written “Call me?”

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #carry on #fanfic #bad puns #coffee shop au #normal au

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sufferthesea · 7 years ago

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Siriusly Annoying

Chapter 11 of Leather and Lace

Words: 3.093 Pairings/Warnings/Rating: Remus x OC, Sirius x OC / None / Teen Part 1 | Previous | AO3 | FFN

Saturdays were supposed to be comfortable, a time to relax and maybe catch up with homework, hang out with friends, sleep in until noon, do something fun. This was not comfortable. It was not fun. It was awful.

Okay, it wasn’t awful for Goldie who was preparing for her date (”Not a real date, it’s a study date!”) with Jake DeLeon and, unfortunately, Big Mouth Bernice. But she was the only one having fun in their friend group. Evelyn was stuck making Polyjuice Potion in the off-limits bathroom with Moaning Myrtle hanging over her shoulder and Catlin was being reprimanded by a flustered and very angry Madam Pomfrey who was still questioning how she got out and where she went. Truly she was thankful Catlin had returned of her own volition, though she commented on how the concussion was still too bad to let her wander off in the castle by herself and she’d be staying over the weekend.

Catlin awoke to the sound of Madam Pomfrey storming over to her bed and shaking her awake, shouting all sorts of things that sounded like gibberish to her still half-asleep brain. The long and the short it was that Catlin was, not totally unexpectedly, in trouble for leaving without being officially released. But Catlin wasn’t too worried about possible punishments (what would Madam Pomfrey do? It’s not like she’d give her detention since that would require Catlin leaving the hospital wing to do things), because when she looked over she saw a body slumped in one of the beds across the room. It was faced away from her but she could tell by its short hair and broad shoulders it was a boy - probably older than her too, judging from how tall he was. He was wrapped in the sheets up to his neck and a heavy quilt was laid over him. Pomfrey excused herself to check on him and when he stirred, she departed to grab tea and a block of chocolate.

Catlin continued to watch in silence, her mind still swimming with the events of last night. Thankfully she hadn’t forgotten anything and she was stuck on the idea of the werewolf running around the grounds. The boy sat up slowly as if his entire body was sore and stiff, and he graciously took the mug of tea from Pomfrey and a large chunk of chocolate.

The nurse saw Catlin staring and wagged her finger at her. “Chocolates don’t help concussions! If you really want to get out of here and help your friends then you’ll rest. Don’t you want to leave? You’ve been here longer than any of my other patients before. You sure are stubborn.” Then she set off at a brisk pace towards her office, block of chocolate in her arms.

Before she could turn away, the boy shifted and looked over at her. She was surprised to see that it was the last person she expected to see in the hospital wing. Or maybe not. The three girls (i.e. Evelyn) had been worried Remus was taken out to the Whomping Willow to be executed and then he'd disappeared when they weren't looking. Perhaps this is exactly where she expected him to be.

“Remus?” she said, her voice sounding distant in the large hospital wing. Remus looked just as surprised, but he blinked a few times and his face softened.

“You must be Catlin, huh?”

“How did you know …?”

“Your friends are worried about you. And they’re … I imagine you know by now - they’re doing everything they can to help you. And since we haven’t met, I’m guessing you know me because they told you?”

Catlin suddenly realized that she hadn’t ever met Remus; she’d been in the hospital wing since before her friends met him too. How did she know him? She had recognized him the night before when they were out by the Whomping Willow. She couldn’t recall how she knew him, his name was simply in her mind. He must’ve been right - Goldie or Evelyn must have described him to her, because there was no other way she’d know him. “What are you doing here?”

Remus sipped on his tea and nibbled at the block of chocolate but didn’t answer her question. “You should listen to Madam Pomfrey. The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get out of here and back to your friends. I know that’s important to you.”

Suddenly there came a loud banging sound, the hospital wing doors flew open and Sirius came striding in, holding an armful of treats, heading straight for Remus’s bed.

“You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had trying to get these,” he said, dumping the boxes of candy onto the bed. “I had to wait because no stores were open in Hogsmeade this early -” He stopped and looked over at Catlin, who was watching him curiously. Instead of trying to backtrack, he just smiled and gave a curt bow. “I remember you from last time I came in here. I imagine you’re almost better now? Oh, and I’m sure you’ve met my friends Remus here.”

“Let her sleep, Sirius. She probably wants to get out of here. You know how long she’s been in the hospital wing.”

“What? And miss all the fun of hanging out while you’re in here?”

Abruptly, like a shot from a cannon, Madam Pomfrey came barreling out of her office, face red as she shouted at Sirius. “Get out of here! You are not allowed to be in here! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Sirius gave a great slap to Remus’s back, who winced in pain, then lobbed half a dozen boxes of chocolate frogs to Catlin’s bed and gave her a salute. “Don’t stay in here too long, or else your friends will think I’m hexing you to stay sick. I’d love to stay and talk more but I’ve got to g -” Sirius turned and bolted out of the hospital wing, followed by Madam Pomfrey. Remus shook his head and raised the mug to his lips again.

“Let me know if you want to trade any of your cards. I don’t collect them, so you can have any of mine. And you better hide them from Madam Pomfrey, it sounded like she didn’t want you eating chocolate.”

Catlin quickly pushed the boxes under her pillow and smiled innocently at the nurse as she walked past them, giving her a stern look.

“If you stay put for the next two days, I’ll make sure I release you in time for classes on Monday along with Remus. Deal?”

Catlin nodded firmly. “Deal.”

“Good. Now … I better not hear any talking while I’m in my office. You’re both to sleep and that’s it. Understood?”

Remus and Catlin nodded firmly. Madam Pomfrey eyed them again before going back to her office. Slowly, the two patients exchanged looks and couldn’t help but laugh.

Evelyn was having a worse time being cooped up in a leaky bathroom with Moaning Myrtle. She kept floating around the room, whining about how she didn’t get to help more even though, as Evelyn reminded her, they only agreed to let her count how many times Evelyn stirred the cauldron. Nothing more and nothing less. Still, Myrtle was absolutely devastated that she wasn’t allowed to put anything into the cauldron.

“You could help by keeping quiet,” Evelyn said bitterly as she tried to read over the directions for the umpteenth time. “We can’t do anything until the lacewing flies are stewed for twenty-one days. It’s only been one day! So there really is nothing for you to do!”

Moaning Myrtle huffed in anger and floated back to her stall. “Fine! I guess it was a waste of time for me to steal your fluxweed. You aren’t even doing anything fun.”

“Wait - you what?” Evelyn barked, her head snapping towards the translucent girl.

Myrtle turned around and shrugged, giving a heavy sigh and dramatic pout. “I really wanted to be helpful so I stole your fluxweed. You remember yesterday? How it suddenly just disappeared? I took it.”

Evelyn crushed the parchment in her hands and strode towards the ghost, shaking the paper at her. “Why would you do that!”

“Because I wanted to help!”

“You almost got us killed! We saw - oh, you’re not going to tell anyone because no one comes to visit you. We saw a werewolf last night! We could have been torn to pieces!”

Myrtle shrugged again, sniffling as she balled her hands into fists. “I told you to be careful, that there were monsters out there during the full moon.”

“Are you serious! Ooooh my gosh, no wonder you died here alone! You’re awful!”

Moaning Myrtle screwed up her face as if she were going to start screaming, but instead she let out a soft, whining sound like a baby about to cry and said, “You’re mean. No wonder you only have two friends!” Then she shot into the bathroom stall and down the toilet, sending a spout of water into the air. Evelyn ducked out of the way and returned to the cauldron, smoothing out the paper. “Forget this, I’m going back to breakfast. I don’t have to even do anything for three weeks. And, by the way, Myrtle, two friends is better than none!”

Hiding the parchment in the pocket of her jeans, Evelyn slunk out of the bathroom and down the hall, keeping watch for any teachers or other students. If she didn’t have to do much for the next twenty days, then she wasn’t going to spend her time hiding out in a gross bathroom with an annoying ghost - she could be doing other things, like homework or sleeping or literally anything else. At least this part of the Potion making was easy, considering how complicated the rest of it was.

Evelyn turned a corner to head toward the dining hall and almost collided with Sirius as he ran past her, heading in the same direction.

“Watch where you’re -! Oh, it’s you.”

“Sorry, would love to talk but -” Sirius tossed a chocolate frog box into the air and it hit Evelyn in the face, tumbling down her sweater and to the ground. “You were supposed to catch that!”

“Like I knew you were going to throw it! Why are you running? Come back here - did you steal these?”

Sirius was gone, around another corner. Evelyn grumbled in annoyance, scooped up the box and looked it over.

“This seems unethical. Especially for a vegetarian and future magizoologist like myself.” Still, she stuffed the box into her pocket and headed towards the dining hall, hoping her absence hadn’t been noticed.

Goldie’s hands shook as she placed another bobby pin into her hair. It was hard to keep it under control when she was stressed. Perhaps it was magic flooding through her veins and out into her follicles, but whenever she was under stress, her hair seemed larger - curlier - even more unmanageable than usual. Now really wasn’t the time for it to be acting up. She only had fifteen minutes to get to the library to meet Jake for their date.

Study date.

It was a date. He had said so.

Giggling childishly, Goldie forced an extra long bobby pin into her hair and smoothed out the front of her clothes and looked herself over in the full-length mirror propped up against the wall in her dorm room. She thought she looked okay - nice enough for a date, but casual enough since they’d be doing studying. She was wearing high-waisted corduroy trousers and a cable knit sweater. It was very cold in the library and since she figured they’d be spending quite a bit of time there, she wanted to be warm and comfortable.

Happy with how she looked, Goldie grabbed all of her materials and headed out of the Hufflepuff House and towards the library. She continuously went over what to say in her mind - how should she greet Jake? Would Bernice already be there? Would she flake? Maybe she would and then it would just be Goldie and Jake. That’d be nice.

Smiling to herself, Goldie pushed open the library doors and scanned the tables. She quickly spotted Jake sitting alone and gave a silent prayer of thanks that Bernice was nowhere to be seen. Gripping her books tightly, Goldie took a shaky breath to calm herself and strode over to Jake’s table. He looked up at her as she approached and gave another soft half-smile.

“Right on time,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’re right on time. Unlike …” He motioned to the empty seats around him. “I don’t think she’ll show.”

Good, Goldie thought, then I’ll get you all to myself. “O-Oh. Right. That’s a shame. I really thought we could help her.”

“Yeah. You want to sit down?”

“Yes.” Goldie plopped down in the seat across from Jake and mentally cursed herself for not sitting next to him. She set her stack of parchment, quills, and her few textbooks on the table. “Did you hear? Professor Binns finally came back so Professor Uggeri is gone. Maybe - uh, maybe Bernice figured since Uggeri is the one who suggested she join us, she doesn’t have to do it.”

“Maybe. I guess if she shows, then she shows. If not, then it’ll just be us. Did you want to get started?”

“Sure!” Goldie spread out her items and drummed her fingers on the table. “What did you want to start with?”

Jake’s eyes flickered past Goldie and his eyebrow twitched upwards for a brief moment. “Here comes trouble.”

“What?”

Goldie turned around expecting, dreading, to see Bernice, but was even more horrified to see Sirius Black walking towards them. No! Don’t you dare!

Sirius spotted Goldie, smiled and rushed to the table, taking the seat right beside her. “Hello, Goldie. How long as it been?”

“Not l-”

“Too long, definitely. You know, I just ran into both of your friends - Cat and Evie?”

“It’s Catlin and Evelyn to you,” Goldie said quickly, feeling heat rise to her face. “And how did you see Catlin? She’s in the hospital wing.”

“I know! It’s really awful, but she should be feeling better soon. I got her a little gift.”

“I don’t think she wants any gift you have to give her. Unless it’s a … chocolate wand.”

Sirius slapped his chest with his palm and gasped, “Not want my gift? Why not?” He dug through a pocket and dropped another small handful of chocolate frog boxes onto the table, then he noticed Jake. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt you two? Are you on a date?”

Goldie, as nonchalantly as she could, stomped on Sirius’s foot. To her surprise, Sirius merely bit the inside of his cheek and gave a closed-mouth smile.

“Would you look at the time? I should be going. Goldie, I believe you’re helping me with my homework later, right?”

“I’ve already -” Goldie glanced at Jake who was watching them in silence. “I’ll meet you back here before dinner, if you want. We can go over … the material.”

“Perfect! It’s a date - sorry, not a date. Don’t worry - what’s your name?”

“Jake.”

“Jake! Wonderful.” Sirius stuck out his hand and Jake took it, shaking it. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m not going to try to steal her from you. Not my type -”

“Hey -!”

“You kids have fun.” Sirius pushed away from the table and hurried to another section of the library; Goldie couldn’t imagine why he was there at all, since he didn’t need to study or do research for homework. Maybe he was just there to antagonize her.

“Goldie?”

She turned back to Jake and flushed red when she realized he had been staring at her. “Y-Yeah?”

“You seem distracted. Did you want to resc -”

“No! No - this is fine! I’m fine! I just wasn’t expecting to see … him. But I’m totally ready to study now.” Goldie slapped the cover of one of her textbooks and smiled. “Let’s get started, huh?”

Jake glanced over the table, his expression unchanging. “Actually …”

Uh oh. Now what? Does he not like me? Did Sirius ruin this? I’ll kill him if he did!

“I don’t really feel like studying right now. It’s too nice of a day to spend it inside.”

Great. He’s going to cancel on me. This is so embarrassing. I’ll have to walk back to Hufflepuff House carrying all this stuff. At least I’ll be right next to the kitchen. I’m going to have to binge eat my emotions if he leaves.

“Do you want to go for a walk around the lake?”

Suddenly Goldie wished she hadn’t worn a sweater because her blush was creating more than enough heat to keep her warm. She grabbed at the corners of one of the large textbooks and stared at him with huge eyes. “W-Walk?”

“Yes. Outside?” He took note of her clothes. “Are you cold? We can stay in here if you want -”

“No! I’m fine! We can definitely go for a walk! I’d much rather do that than study any day of the week.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” Jake stood from the table and Goldie mimicked him, bringing one of the books up along with her. “You can leave those.”

“Shouldn’t I take them back to my House?”

Jake shrugged, “It’s Saturday and the weather is nice. There isn’t going to be anyone else in the library, if you’re worried about it being taken. Well except for …” Jake motioned behind Goldie and she turned to see Sirius was peeking out from behind a shelf of books, watching them. Once he was spotted, he hurriedly grabbed a random book, threw it open and nodded vigorously and muttered to himself, as if he’d been reading it the entire time. “I don’t think he’s going to steal these books.”

“Yeah, it’s not like he does his own homework anyway.”

“Hm?”

“Oh - no-nothing!” Goldie laughed nervously and set the book back down on the table. “Did you want to go out to the lake now?”

Jake nodded and the two met at the end of the table so they could walk out of the library together. Before the doors closed, Goldie threw another glance towards Sirius who still held the large book in one hand. With his free hand, he gave an eager thumbs up and she felt her cheeks burn red again.

What an idiot. How did HE manage to blackmail us?

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