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adenei · 4 years ago

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Could you write about Ron and Hermione going to a Halloween party and wearing a matching couples costume please 🥺

Hi Hufflepuff Pixie! Or do you prefer Pixie Puff (as I feel like I’ve seen on my feed from other mutuals?) Ah, no matter! Thanks for the ask! Once I got past the writer’s block of the actual costumes, this was a fun one to write! Hope you enjoy!

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Halloween at the Hog’s Head

“Hermione, are you sure this was a good costume choice?” Ron asked as he was looking in the mirror. He was dressed in a grey button up under his black dress suit. He was reluctantly tying a red scarf around his neck, and then placing a Gatsby hat on his head.

“Of course it’s a good costume choice!” Hermione came out of the bathroom dressed in a pleated maxi skirt, ruffled white blouse and red bow tie under a peplum blazer, and fedora with Gerber daisies hot glued to it. She went to the bed where she sat down to put on the Victorian boots she’d acquired for her costume.

“I just don’t see how this makes sense. We’re going to have to explain who we are to everyone at the Hog’s Head. Most witches and wizards have no idea about muggle movies,” Ron shook his head.

“Ron, you’re the one who wanted to dress up. You know I don’t really enjoy the whole costume scene. I’d much rather dress up as a movie character than some of those completely rubbish punny costumes. I think being Mary Poppins and Bert is a clever idea. You love muggle movies, and this was one of my favorites growing up. The book and the movie,” Hermione tried to reassure him.

“Yeah. Fits us, too. You’re the uptight rule follower that quietly loves the whimsy of the adventure while I’m the more laid-back, all for it type” Ron said with a lopsided grin.

“Just for that, now you’re definitely getting the charcoal makeup on your face,” Hermione shot back playfully. She got up and grabbed the eye shadow, and brushed some on various parts of his face. Hermione was almost done, and then doubled back to put a little smudge on his nose.

“Hey! Bert doesn’t have soot on his nose.” Ron went to wipe it off with his arm, but Hermione grabbed his arm to stop him.

“No! Leave it, please?” she asked him.

“Why?” Ron furrowed his eyebrows as he asked.

“Because it reminds me of the first day on the train. When I told you that you had dirt on your nose.” Her cheeks felt hot as they flushed with color.

They’d been together for a little over two years, but Hermione still became embarrassed sometimes when she made the realizations that she had been looking that closely at him as early as that first day on the train. Ron’s face softened as he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

“It’s really quite adorable when you admit that you were staring when we were younger,” he smiled. “Should we get going then? Harry and Ginny are probably there already.”

Hermione checked her watch. “Oh, yes! We are running late. Grab your chimney sweep!” she said as she grabbed the carpet bag she’d rummaged out of her parent’s attic earlier that week, and they made their way to the fireplace.

They flooed to the party at the Hog’s Head minutes later, which was already in full swing. Aberforth was tending bar and had managed to acquire a band to play for the evening. All of their friends were there, and Ron and Hermione made their way through to the bar for a drink before finding Harry and Ginny at a table.

“It’s about time you lot showed up,” Ginny said as they sat down. It looked as though she and Harry were dressed as Ariel and Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid.

“Nice costumes!” Hermione complimented. “And here Ron thought we’d be the only ones dressed up as muggle movie characters.” She gave Ron a look.

“What can I say, Hermione? Looks like we’ve converted them both into movie lovers,” Harry said as they laughed.

“Ariel’s just so relatable! She’s fun, knows absolutely nothing about muggle objects on land, and is fiercely independent, like me,” Ginny laughed.

“Well, that’s good for you,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh come on, Harry, like you haven’t always wanted to be a Prince?” Ron sniggered.

They continued to fall into an easy banter as Neville and Luna joined them, and other former classmates stopped by to say hello. At one point they got up to go participate in a Butterbeer Pong tournament. Ironically, Ron and Ginny ditched Harry and Hermione to be partners because they were an unstoppable team when they got going.

Hermione was fine with it as she and Harry mingled and sipped on their drinks, enjoying being on the sidelines of the game after they’d been eliminated fairly quickly. They made their way back over to the finals as Ron and Ginny took on Seamus and Dean. They were neck and neck until Dean missed a shot and Ginny sunk hers. The whole bar roared in applause and Aberforth shot them a dirty look.

The band started playing soon after and Ron and Hermione made their way to the dance floor. “This is fun,” Hermione said as they moved to the music, their bodies pressed against each other.

“You think so? I didn’t think you were going to enjoy this much. I know you don’t like crowds,” Ron commented.

“Yes, well, it’s not so bad when I get to stare at a fine looking chimney sweep all night,” she said seductively.

“That right? Have I done a decent job of ‘sweeping’ you off your feet?” Ron waggled his eyebrows at the pun. She playfully hit his arm as he pulled her in for a long kiss.

They reluctantly broke apart, and at that moment in time, Hermione decided that she didn’t want to be on the dance floor anymore. She discreetly looked around, and noticed some of the booths in the back of the bar that looked unoccupied. Hermione knew it was too early to leave yet, but they could disappear for a while, and hopefully no one would notice.

“You know, you’ve got a little something on your nose there,” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him as she gave him a look. “Maybe you could go take care of it in the loo, then meet me back there at one of the empty booths?”

He eyed her as if to catch her meaning before saying, “I think that’s a brilliant idea! Be right there,” as he kissed her cheek.

Hermione went to the bar to get them two more drinks, and made her way to the back of the room. It was a bit quieter away from the band, and she saw the top of Ron’s hat around the booth in the back left corner. She walked over and set the drinks down on the table before sliding into the seat next to him.

They wasted no time locking lips as Ron managed to pull her on top of him and unbuttoned her blazer, sliding it off her shoulders. “Ron,” against his mouth,” We can’t do that. Not here.” She’d observed that he’d lost his own suit coat and the scarf.

“I wasn’t meaning that we had to. It’s bloody warm in here and you can barely move your arms in that. We wouldn’t want to rip it,” Ron responded.

“Good point,” Hermione said, and then their lips met again as they continued to snog heavily in the back of the bar.

After a while they heard someone clear their throat and they broke apart to see Harry looking disgusted at them. “Last I checked you do have a place to go home to if you wanted to do that.”

“It’s too early to go home yet,” Hermione said as she grabbed her blazer and slid off of Ron’s lap and out of the booth. Ron reached for the rest of his own costume and put it back on.

“Yeah, we were just taking a break, mate. You and Ginny were off with Nev and Hannah, so we just snuck away for a bit. We didn’t ditch you or anything,” Ron assured him.

“Yeah, well they’re about to start the costume contest, so I figured you two might want to rejoin for that,” Harry told them.

“Er, yes, thank you, Harry,” Hermione said. She and Ron shared guilty smiles as they grabbed their drinks, and followed Harry back to the main room.

They may not have won the costume contest, but Hermione still deemed their choices a success. A group of students who were a couple of years younger than them took the prize for dressing as some of the professors at Hogwarts. They’re costumes were quite impressive. Neville had even thought that the person dressed as Professor McGonagall was the actual Professor McGonagall.

“I still think ours were better,” Ron said to Hermione as they made their way back to the table with Harry and Ginny to enjoy one more drink before calling it a night.

“I guess that means we’ll just have to be more clever next year,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Does that mean you’ll be willing to dress up again?” Ron asked hopefully. Hermione responded only with a smile as they continued on with the rest of their night.

#romione #side hinny #hp post war

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years ago

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Book Review

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley. New York: Bloomsbury, 2015.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical fantasy

Part of a Series? Yes, #1 of 2 (so far)

Summary: 1883. Thaniel Steepleton returns home to his tiny London apartment to find a gold pocket watch on his pillow. Six months later, the mysterious timepiece saves his life, drawing him away from a blast that destroys Scotland Yard. At last, he goes in search of its maker, Keita Mori, a kind, lonely immigrant from Japan. Although Mori seems harmless, a chain of unexplainable events soon suggests he must be hiding something. When Grace Carrow, an Oxford physicist, unwittingly interferes, Thaniel is torn between opposing loyalties.

***Full review under the cut.***

Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, racism (including micro-aggressions)

Overview: I honestly picked this book up based on the cover alone, knowing nothing about it when it crossed my path in a used book store. The premise was interesting, so I decided to give it a chance. While the book started out ok, it eventually took me about a month to get through the novel. I’m not sure if it’s because this book just ended up not being for me, or because there were some major inconsistencies with pacing, a lack of suspense or thoughtful character development, etc. All I know is that for me, personally, the book didn’t quite click, though I do commend it for creating a vivid atmosphere and exploring the lives of Japanese immigrants in Victorian London.

Writing: Pulley’s writing had its ups and down for me. On the one hand, I really enjoyed some of the whimsy, as well as descriptions of sounds filtered through Thaniel’s synesthesia (he associates a color with every sound). I also liked how Pulley described the sensations of things (how things sounded or smelled or felt), and there were some nice moments where the prose was almost poetic. On the other, Pulley’s prose noticeably left out things such as what characters were feeling at any given time, so there were long stretches where only actions were described or what things looked like without any emotional impact on the character. There were also times when I wished Pulley have given more background information or explained things more directly so that I could have a better understanding of what was going on or why characters were acting a certain way. Pulley also wrote her character interactions a bit awkwardly. While some of this awkwardness can be put down to the charm of the book as a whole, there were moments when it was distracting. For example, when Thaniel and Grace meet for the first time, it seems like they go from zero to best friends in the span of an evening, to the point where they decide to marry (a strictly business transaction, not romantic) after knowing each other for maybe 48 hours. Grace also validates Mori’s secret using a method I found odd and frankly, not convincing. Moreover, Thaniel is offered a job with some famous musicians seemingly out of nowhere and with very little justification. Even accounting for Mori’s special ability, for me personally, it stretched the bounds of believability more than the futuristic clockworks or fantastical phenomena. Finally, for reader who are wary of racism in their books, this novel does have a few characters who are racist towards Asian immigrants. While there isn’t any extreme, graphic violence, white characters speak of them as simplistic, “dirty,” etc. and frequently use the term “chinaman” or “oriental.” I don’t think the author herself is (actively) prejudiced - I think these things are included in the name of “historical accuracy.” But none of the characters are called out or correct their behaviors, so it was a bit irritating.

Plot: I don’t intend this to be mean, but I can’t remember many events that happened in this book. The overall plot seems to present a lot of things that are good on their own, but somewhat disjointed when strung together to make a narrative. In other words, this book seemed to me to lack overall shape. I understand that the novel is supposed to be a “slow burn” mystery, but I think “slow burn” is best when things are shown to gradually build on one another, and while some parts of this book did that, some didn’t. Not much work work is done at the novel’s outset to make the reader invested in the mysterious appearance of the watch or the fallout after the bomb. While I got the sense that this book was supposed to be finding out who the culprit is (is it Mori? Irish nationalists?), I wish Pulley had done more work at the beginning to create some suspense or a more compelling mystery, because there weren’t really any personal stakes for Thaniel, nor did I care much for the characters at Scotland Yard or about the politics between England and Ireland, or even England and Japan, because they just didn’t have enough of a presence to be felt. Honestly, I don’t even think the focus should have been on the bombing the whole time - I think, given the book’s structure as it is, the focus should have shifted (and to some extend, it does) to the relationship between Mori and Thaniel, perhaps becoming less a story about the bombing itself and more about Thaniel’s growing attachment to his friend and how that creates conflict in his life. I think the book was trying to do that, and the relationship between Thaniel and Mori was well done in that it made me not want Mori to be accused of the bombing, but too often, it seemed like the mystery took a backseat and there wasn’t enough tension in the story to make me feel like Thaniel was being torn between his friend and his job (or his friend and his country). Or being torn as to how to deal with the revelation that Mori has special abilities.

Characters: Pulley’s main characters are themselves very interesting on paper. Thaniel is a telegraphist who wanted to be a musician, but works a job to help support his widowed sister. Grace is a female physicist, headstrong and opinionated, not afraid to bend the rules in order to pursue her desires. You’d think that with such wonderful archetypes, they’d be fun to follow throughout a narrative, but unfortunately for me, it was extremely difficult to become invested in them, since their motives and feelings were so often obscured. I never quite got the sense that I understood why they did certain things or what they were feeling at a given time; all of that had to be largely inferred. I also didn’t get the sense that their goals were major parts of their lives - Grace probably had the most high-stakes goal in that she desperately wanted to continue her research, but it seemed like Thaniel forgot about his sister for large stretches of time and didn’t have much of an attachment to his job or country to warrant it being a huge influence on his life. I also had a hard time connecting to Grace initially because she gives off very strong “I’m not like other girls” vibes. One of the first things we see her do is go to a suffragette meeting, and she’s not shy about expressing her disdain for women who are interested in domestic work or express opinions on appearances, voicing aloud that she’s atypical because she’s educated (”properly” educated, mind you - she also looks down on women who are going to college to study the classics). She started to grow on me over time, but then she treated her maid horribly by pretending to threaten her job, and just like that, I was irritated by her again. I did enjoy her dynamic with the character Matsumoto - that was well done, but again, I found Grace herself hard to like. Mori is probably the character I was most invested in, simply because I didn’t want him to be arrested by the police. His relationship with Thaniel was probably the most well done in the book; I liked that Mori was kind but firm with Thaniel, as well as with everyone else around him, and that he was portrayed as a mechanical genius. In fact, I did appreciate that there were multiple Japanese characters in this book, blowing through the popular claim that there were few people of color in England before a certain date. I also liked how many of these characters varied in personality and avoided the worst Asian stereotypes.

Other Atmosphere: For all the complaining I’ve just done, I do think this novel does a good job of creating a Victorian atmosphere. The sights and sounds of 19th century London are quite vivid and immersed me in the setting quite easily. The clockwork elements were also well-incorporated in that it gave the novel a steampunk feeling without an overabundance of mechs or airships. It was a good balance of history and fantasy, leaning more heavily on the history to keep the fantastical elements rooted in something that felt real.

Continuing on with the series? Probably not.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re interested in clockworks, steampunk, Victorian England, and Japanese culture.

#book reviews

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gorjee-art · 5 years ago

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Advice

This is just a short story I’ve made for classes and whatnot, but I ended up liking it as a story so, for good practice and a lil bit of fun, I give you this. Hope you like it! Feedback is appreciated!

Through twisting and turning hallways of a castle, echoed a voice of a giggling woman, as a light beams through the darkened tunnels, shining like a heavenly gateway. Inside was a royal bath, bubbles floated everywhere in the room with a ceiling revealing the night sky, lit by hundreds of warm candle lights dancing on the marble walls decorated with potions and bottles meant for cleansing, with a heated pool in the center, bubbling with suds. A slim woman with fair skin and hair made of a twilight sky swirling with pink and purples shimmering with starlight, cupped a handful of the foam as set her palms near her pink lips and blew to make the foam break apart into a cloud of bubbles to make it all float back in the skies above her. She giggled once again, seemingly amused with floating spheres above her, legs splashing in the warm waters, happy like a child to be observing what was above her. As she gazed, she lost herself in thought and had an idea to spin herself a tale.

“At last, the Sandman sets his stage, the scene framed with curves and twists of shimmering gold. Upon the rooftops, his foot placed on the tops of chimneys like a marble statue, the moon shining down on his porcelain skin, a spotlight made for the star, in a galaxy of his own childish mind.”

Her tone was almost as though she was entertaining an audience, her voice dancing with energy and whimsy, with her hands playing along with setting a scene; her body spoke more than her voice for what she told.

“A mischievous creature, his aura demanding attention for those who saw him in their dreams, staring with eyes filled with curiosity and whimsy for he meets them with his own maddened gaze, a Cheshire in their wonderlands, painting his own twisted versions of fairytale and myth. For the fools that dare come closer to the man encrusted with gold, would lose their minds as he once did. For the King of Dreams never liked the concept of order, but would rather prefer the beauty that is chaos, and as a man that starved affection and attention, with an innocent smile, he’d display his work with pride, with the feeble mind of humanity that couldn’t bear to look away. His subjects would forever be in his imagination, keeping him company as they slept their days away. Henceforth, he was known by his name, for they took his title as “The Sandman”, he kept his audience, that cherished the thought of Willing Madness and welcomed them with open arms, with a promise of tea, sweets, and tales told by bold men and a man of his word, many have awoken happily. For each morning, the curtain will close, leaving the King of Dreams to sit alone in his throne…”

She finished, her hands laid on her chest and bowing her head with her eyes shut closed as if to end a scene.

“Ahem,” Her purple eyes shot open to focus upon a young lady, clasped hands hiding away her blacked claws posed in the center of a golden Victorian dress, her face bitter as her frown revealed orange tusks. The pair locked eyes, the lady’s own amber stained spheres met of those belonging to a goddess.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Gorjina.”

Her voice was filled with grace and patience but a hint of strictness and a respect for her ancestor. That seemed to please to whom was “Gorjina Star Nebula”.

“Not at all, dear.” She said with a smile “What is it you need? Or, would you rather join me for a bath, you look…tense.” She eyed the maiden with a cunning grin, making it well known to her that she was teasing the girl’s stress ”Every girl needs a spa day these days, especially you, Norma.”

Norma rolled her eyes at the remark and raised a brow,

“I’m not interested, I just-“ she paused, a moment of silence to chase her train of thought. Her expression faded from an annoyed sneer to a look of worry but quickly shook it off to set back to a tone of professionalism “I just need some advice.”

Gorjina stared and questioned her moment of silence. Concerned, she waited to hear her darling descendant’s woes, raising her hand and fluttered it as if to say, ‘go on’. Norma neared closer to the pool her eyes jutting away from side to side.

“Be honest…” Her voice softened “ do you… consider me as an awful person? Are you haunting my mind as a punishment?”

The final word was said with hesitation, as if it was a truth never meant to be revealed, with guilty eyes she struggled to look Gorjina face to face. However, the goddess stared back with shock,

“She couldn’t have, she wouldn’t, she couldn’t be this…moronic” she thought to herself.

With eyes wide and jaw agape, she laughed a wicked laugh, it was so loud that it screamed up to the heavens above, Norma quickly shut her ears closed and her face crinkled with anger and fury, black smoke spilling out from her gritting teeth.

“What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?” Norma spat with clear insult.

“You are merely pathetic! Not a monster! If you so consider your misdeeds as sin, then I would be Lucifer himself! You haven’t killed, stole, lied in front of a crying child, do you even HEAR yourself?” Gorjina continued to giggle, gasping for breaths of air as she fanned her weeping tears away

“A punishment? A PUNISHMENT? How low do you think of me Norma? I would be insulted and turn you into a useless doll if wasn’t so funny. Please, you’re only but a serpent living in the caves on top of a pile of gold you so greedily keep to yourself, yet you never bother anyone and they don’t bother you. How could you be horrendous, Norma? Please, I’d ADORE to hear how your mind would come up with this idiocy.”

Norma continued to sneer and growl at the woman who lived in her mind, with anger blinding her judgement.

“Then why does no one come over? Why is everyone that surrounds me takes a good look at me and runs away in a couple of seconds, look at me Gorjina I’m a freak! They’ve hurt me! I’m nothing but a parasite amounting to NOTHING!” As the outburst ends Norma heaves for breath as the smoke subsides, with a few tears sliding down her cheeks.

“What is… my purpose? Who am I? What’s the point in anything? Was I really meant to be an artist? Does my life have meaning?“ “Slow down, dear.” She lets out a sigh, letting the tips of her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she processed the questions given, “Your purpose is achieving your goals and making yourself happier and more fulfilled as a person. You are Norma Kit; you decide what is the point. You’ve already gone this far, why stop doing what you love? And everyone has some meaning and impact on the Earth so long as you’re not some parasite more useless than the ground you’ve walked on, by which you’re not. What’s gotten into you? These are idiotic sentiments; they have no use for you.” She hissed.

Norma sighed, with a look of defeat she buried her face in her palms. With a flick of a wrist Gorjina fashioned her a couch before Norma could sit down. Gorjina with a feeling of pity, swam across to her broken apprentice to make sure that she is comforted. She rested her arms on the edges of the pool and looked up at her.

“That’s it, let it all out…” Gorjina said in a soft whisper, with a snap, her own sorcery made fictional “servants” come to life, made with odd shapes and colors they had no identity besides being what Gorjina meant for them to be. One pet Norma’s caramel hair to soothe her woes the other released the bow that kept her hair in a bun and tidied it up.

“You should cease your little habit of hiding away what makes you human, you could burst one day.”

“I know.” Norma said admittedly.

“Then why continue dear? I’m tired of reminding you that you are my flesh and blood, yes you may be strong, but you are also fragile, I’m here to aid my family and these choices you make in life are…”

Gorjina bit back her tongue and re thought her choice of wording

“…silly. Why close the doors of which are in front of you?”

“I don’t know.”

Feeling slight disappointment for her descendant, she sighed, rolled her eyes and asked a simple question.

“Why are you really here, Norma?”

“I just wanted to be sure, I suppose. It’s been getting to me again. It bothers me that these thoughts come around so…often. I needed just, an answer I can be sure is true.”

“It’s normal, darling. Humanity is known to push themselves and question life to do remarkable things. However, these questions about yourself will grant you these thoughts, and it has simple answers. So stop it before you waste anymore of my time.” She said with a huff and a raised nose, as she turned her back to Norma, sinking into the bubbling water submerging her body. The servants disappeared with her, fading into colorful bits of shimmering smoke, as Norma realized this, she fell on to her knees to call for her.

“Wait, wait, wait! No, you get back here! At least tell me how I stop it!”

Gorjina stopped for a moment, and looked up at her young apprentice, raising her hand so her chin may rest on it, and with no amusement she asked:

“-And what do I get in return for this favor?”

Norma thought for a moment and reached for her ears, removing two pearl earrings and set them in the palm of her cupped hands. “Here, you can have them. Just fix me.”

Gorjee stared at what she put in place, chuckling to herself, “I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer.”

“What?! But these are real pearls! Don’t bail out on this!”

“Oh, I know they are, and they are quite lovely,” She raised her hands from the water to shut Norma’s cupped hands, “but you need to keep them.”

“I’m…confused.”

“You need to keep those that simply cannot have a price. That should end your troubled thoughts. Look how you gave them away with no thought, no love for these lovely treasures. So desperate to let someone fix you, when the answer was right in front of you.” After a bit of thought Gorjina raised a brow and chuckled. “Besides, dear. I’m an artist.” With a quick flick of a wrist and a sudden puff of smoke, she was covered in encrusted jewels, pearls, gems, and treasures alike. “I can make my own, don’t you know…?”

“But- But you- I.”

Gorjina quickly hushed Norma, “To put this simply, you focus on those that don’t desire your presence, and you get hurt by it. So you hide away to a place that you believe no one will ever harm you, when your mind is your worst enemy. Thus, I stay here and you’re not alone, and many of us would be delighted to help you with your journey of life, and I’m afraid you don’t have much time as you think you do. You’re fragile, stop making these gray hairs for yourself.”

Norma looked at her earrings and looked back at Gorjina with a smile and an eased expression, as Gorjina looked back all the same. Displaying a love only a mother can have for their child.

“Now shoo, I’ve done enough for you.” As Gorjina turned away and exited her bath, quickly covering herself in robes of silk, both looked up to see the moon starting to set and the sun rising with birds beginning to chirp their own songs.

“It’s time to wake up, dear. It’s going to be a beautiful morning” she chuckled, and snapped her fingers.

Suddenly, Norma was in a modern room, laying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling. No dress except for a t-shirt and hair a ratty mess she groggily, turned her head to look at her clock for it to be 10:34 am.

“Not so bad.” She thought to herself, with a few stretches and popping bones she sat on the edge of her bed to face her window. A beautiful day, as Gorjina had predicted…

“Meh.” she said with a gruff and closed the curtains and buried her face on the pillow with a smile.

“You’re an absolute disgrace, you understand that right?” her head echoed.

“Mm…you love me.”

The voice sighed and chuckled “You at least understood something, Norma.”

#original story #oc #gorjee #norma kit #gorjina star nebula #writing

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la-knight · 6 years ago

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BOOKS I (RE)READ IN 2018: FURTHERMORE BY TAHEREH MAFI

"Alice Alexis Queensmeadow, 12, rates three things most important: Mother, who wouldn’t miss her; magic and color, which seem to elude her; and Father, who always loved her. Father disappeared from Ferenwood with only a ruler, almost three years ago. But she will have to travel through the mythical, dangerous land of Furthermore, where down can be up, paper is alive, and left can be both right and very, very wrong. Her only companion is Oliver whose own magic is based in lies and deceit. Alice must first find herself—and hold fast to the magic of love in the face of loss." "Red was ruby, green was fluorescent, yellow was simply incandescent. Color was life. Color was everything. Color, you see, was the universal sign of magic." "Love, it turned out, could both hurt and heal." "Narrow-mindedness will only get you as far as Nowhere, and once you're there, you're lost forever.” "Alice was an odd girl, even for Ferenwood, where the sun occasionally rained and the colors were brighter than usual and magic was as common as a frowning parent." "Making magic is far more interesting than making sense." So I actually read this book a few months ago and then recently reread it via audio so I could remember all the details for this review. I was first introduced to Tahereh Mafi’s work through her book Shatter Me, her debut novel. Ironically, it wasn’t through any of the ways I normally hear about books - Booktube, Goodreads, my best friend, Booklr - but from my husband’s aunt. She runs - or used to run, not sure if she’s still doing it - a book review blog. And she posted a review of Shatter Me and I was like, “What a weird, interesting writing style, lemme check this out.” At this point the entire Shatter Me Trilogy plus novellas had been published and I devoured all of them (still need to review those, too). So when I heard Tahereh Mafi was writing a middle grade book, I got super excited! Especially because this was during a time when I was too stressed out to read any YA, since most of the YA I like involves having to save the world and all the stress that entails. I need to lay out some trigger warnings real quick: the main character, Alice? Her mom is incredibly abusive, both emotionally and physically. It’s treated as not such a big deal in the book, which is honestly the story’s only real flaw, but it’s bad. It took me seven tries and resorting to an audiobook (and even with a fantastic narrator, that short audiobook took me almost a month to get through) because the abuse was so bad. So:

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS EMOTIONAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE OF A CHILD BY THEIR PARENT

Let’s get started, yo! First of all, the setting. OMG. See, I love tthis thing called Victorian fairy tales, which is something you can find in books like Mary Poppins - these super fantastical bits of whimsy that just warm your heart and make you grin because they’re so creative and fun. In the Mary Poppins books, you can jump into chalk drawings and go to a circus amidst the stars and make friends with a woman who sells living candy-cane horses. In Catherynne Valente’s Fairyland series, there are shadow balls and talking phonographs. And in Furthermore, there’s light raining down from the sky in literal drops, sticks of magic you use like money, and forests full of invisible berries. The way the world is put together and described, so full of color and imagination, is awesome and beautiful and I could picture it perfectly. It reminded me in all the best ways of books like The Phantom Tollbooth (one of my favorites). But I wouldn’t want to live there, because Ferenwood is full of colorism and ick. Alice, the female lead, is an albino in a world where color is important and the darker you are, the more magical you’re considered to be. So Alice gets treated like garbage.

Also I think Alice may be autistic, but I don’t know if she’s deliberately coded autistic or if Tahereh Mafi did it by accident while trying to make Alice eccentric, but she comes across as autistic. I’ve actually begun to pay more attention to that sort of the thing in recent years, being autistic myself, and I see it a lot - authors giving their characters autistic characteristics, often without meaning to. I just touch on it here because Alice is already treated badly for being albino, but she’s also considered a freak because of the way she behaves - like an autistic preteen. And I wonder if Tahereh Mafi did that on purpose as a sort of commentary or not, because while Alice is treated badly by the people of Ferenwood for her behavior, the Narrator (who is an actual character in the story; love when that happens) always sides with Alice in this regard. The storyline is sweet and I love it. Alice tries to compete in the magical testing all the preteens do on their twelfth birthday, and so she dances. And her dancing is magical but it’s not Magical, you know? So she fails the test. Well, turns out a boy who passed the test the year before, Oliver (the brat), needs Alice’s help fulfilling a quest - rescuing Alice’s missing dad. So they go on a quest together, although Alice hates Oliver (and rightly so, he’s rude). They go to a dozen different and cool places, all of which are dangerous and all of which are different. I wish we could’ve spent more time in those places but I understand why we didn’t. The only annoying thing is there’s an origami fox on the cover but it only pops up in one of the worlds for like two pages and then it’s gone and I thought we could spend more time both in that world and with that creature since it ended up on the cover. But alas, not. I understand why - middle grade is often cursed to be short, especially if it’s the author’s first MG novel ever. Once you get big and bad like Rick Riordan you can start tossing out gihugic tomes like Son of Neptune or Blood of Olympus on the regular. Oliver’s reason for needing Alice was one I didn’t see coming, nor was her magical talent - a talent they hint at throughout the book but never explain until near the end, at the perfect moment. I thought it was an interesting commentary on how young girls perceive themselves, that Alice hates this marvelous, amazing talent she has of bringing color into the world from nothing...because she can’t use it to change how she looks. Society has trained her already, by the age of twelve, to discount something incredible about herself because she can’t use it to make herself into what society wants her to be. That’s pretty impressive for a book this short. I loved some of the more deliberate messages in the work - the thing I mentioned about society’s pressures on young girls, and also that it’s okay to tell boys to screw off if they’re mean to you, and to have hope and to look for second chances (Alice thinks she only has one chance to pass the test and believes her life is over when she fails, only to find out she can try again the next year). I love all of that, and the lyrical and whimsical quality of the prose, and the world building is so creative and also makes me a bit hungry (people eat magic in this book, among other things; I wonder what it tastes like). Now...let’s talk about the abuse. That’s my biggest issue with the book. Alice’s mother is a total bitch. And not in a cool, kickass way like the lady in the show Empire. She’s vicious, she’s cruel, and she’s abusive. Alice knows - and the Narrator confirms - that she turned bad when her husband went missing, and apparently the worry for him and the strain of raising four kids on her own is making her hard and sad, but I don’t give a shit. I was hoping Tahereh Mafi would’ve gone all Hansel and Gretel on this lady and when Alice comes home with her dad, the wife’s dead or something. She beats Alice (at one point she beat Alice for chasing a boy out of the place where she was sleeping, even though he kept staring at her in her sleeping clothes, because apparently the boy - Oliver - had the right to break into their barn at 3AM and ogle Alice???), she verbally abuses Alice, she sends her to bed regularly without dinner, is constantly criticizing, won’t hug her or kiss her, and - this one really got me, for some reason - forces her to do illegal things. Those invisible berries I mentioned? Alice can find them and bring back whole baskets because of her magical gift, and so her mom sends her out to pick them all the time. If she brings home enough, her mom smiles. If she doesn’t, her mom yells and calls her names and sometimes beats her. Guess what? Picking those berries is illegal. We don’t find this out until much later in the book, but it is. The thing I didn’t like about the berries is that Oliver, who’s thirteen, is less concerned about Alice’s mother beating her for not picking enough contraband berries and instead focuses on how her ability to find the berries in the first place means Alice has really impressive magic. NOBODY seems to care how much Alice is being abused, not even the Narrator. The Narrator sympathizes with Alice’s hurt feelings and despair over her missing Father, but it’s never objectively stated that her mom is abusing her AND SHE IS. Yeah, her mom is sooo glad to have her back after Alice almost dies on her trip with Oliver, but so what? My roommate’s mom is so abusive that my roommate’s clergy leaders, doctors, and psychological therapist all said my roommate needed to cut ties with said mom, even though my roommate’s mom has also exhibited the same kind of “oh baby I’m so sorry, I love you so much” bullshit. That’s what abusers do. So I hate Alice’s mom. She literally makes her daughter feel like if she doesn’t risk her life numerous times AND bring her father back, there is no chance her mother will ever love her. And if she pulls that stuff off (which she does), then MAYBE her mother will love her. Nuh-uh. Nope. Hate that bitch. Other than that, I really loved this book. The characters felt real (Alice is me, but without my anger), Even the ones I didn’t like were still REAL, and well-drawn. The world building and word choice is fantastic. Basically, if you can get past the evil mom, read this book. World Building: 1 star Realism: 1 star Word Choice: 1 star Plot: 1 star Characterization: 1 star - ¼ star because Oliver Newbanks is an obnoxious little creep - 1 star because the mom is AN ABUSIVE EVIL BITCH - ¼ star because NOBODY DOES ANYTHING ABOUT THAT +½ star because Alice is amazing and has a genius brain and I love her Total score: 4/5 stars Would I Buy It: Yes! I own it and loved it enough I got the sequel for Christmas (in...2017...I've been sitting on this review for months...)! Would I Recommend: yes, but with trigger warnings. Again, highly abusive evil bitch mom who somehow doesn’t die.

#books of 2018 #book review #aesthetic #Furthermore #Tahereh Mafi

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thecastingcircle · 6 years ago

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Costume designer Jenny Beavan has won Oscars for dressing the English past and the apocalyptic future. Now she’s marrying the two, melding historical verisimilitude with fantasy in Disney’s “The Nutcracker and the Four Realms.”

“We set it in 1875 for the basic story,” says Beavan, of keeping the fantasy elements rooted in reality. “You’ve got to have an anchor. When you do films where they say, ‘I don’t care about the period’ and they’re all over the place, I think, even when people don’t know the period, they know it’s kind of wrong.”

Beavan took home Oscars for films about as sartorially varied as they come: the circa-1908 period piece “A Room with a View” and the circa-who’s-keeping-track-after-the-end-of-the-world “Mad Max: Fury Road.” Also a Tony nominee, Beavan has racked up eight other Oscar nominations.

The new “Nutcracker,” opening Nov. 2, is a live-action fairy tale, with nods to the ballet as well. In it, Young Clara (Mackenzie Foy), still mourning her late inventor-mother during the first Christmas without her, comes to a party at her godfather, Drosselmeyer’s (Morgan Freeman). She discovers the magical wonderlands her mother created and learns they’re in danger. Victorian England provides the grounding from which the magical worlds sprout.

“We decided to think about what the mother had in her closet or her cupboards,” says Beavan. “When I have nightmares or dreams, they’re often anchored in something I’ve seen that day or something I have around. So we went to the sort of Staffordshire [porcelain] figures people would have; they’re 18th century, and they were perfect for the Realm of Flowers. It translated brilliantly for all the realms. We covered them with ice and snow and icicles and frost and glitter, covered them in candy and sugar and sweet motifs. So they’re based on memory.”

“Nutcracker” was a titanic undertaking, she says, estimating that after a 12-week prep period, she had more than 100 people working, cutting and embellishing, fitting and dressing. Beavan estimates that the movie’s principals required 150 costumes (counting “repeats” — copies for stunts and such), plus hundreds more for the magical realms and about 700 rented costumes for big crowd scenes.

“It was massive,” she says of the approximately 1,500 total outfits. “Massive fun as well, don’t get me wrong.”

Some designs let her whimsy fly, such as the getup actor Eugenio Derbez dons that gives new meaning to the words “floral pattern” and the gorgeous embroidery on Freeman’s gown (“He was just so easy,” Beavan says of the veteran actor. “He loved the shoes. He has very wide feet.”).

But some of the less fantastical creations are among her favorites, such as Clara’s “mauve organza dress” as she emerges, vulnerable, from a tree into a frozen world, and her “Little Soldier” costume, based on what women of the period wore when serving in the military.

“They were out with the troops in various parts of the world, normally not actually fighting, but being backup services, nursing, what have you,” Beavan said.

The costuming team’s work is remarkably intricate: the detail, the fineness of the fabrics’ textures, the use of color. Then, for the film’s lone ballet sequence, prima ballerina Misty Copeland’s garb is anything but complex.

Beavan says, “With ballet, what you’re trying to do is show the body and the line. She’s a dancer like you get in a music box, the ballerina going around. To me it was the simpler, the better. We’re so elaborate everywhere [else]. What we wanted to see from Misty and Sergei Polunin, you just want to see good ballet. And she’s the most amazing dancer.”

#the nutcracker and the four realms #ballet

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xiaq · 2 years ago

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[Mis]Adventures in House Hunting

Why do realtors think everyone wants ultramodern turn-key new builds/remodels that are all white and grey and awful?? I want a shabby mid-century modern in need of love. I want a Tudor with good bones. I will go absolutely feral for a victorian fixer-upper. Just give me wood floors and embellished doorknobs, curly wrought iron garden gates, casement windows, and pretty custom light fixtures. Give me character, whatever its form.

For god's sake, I want to live in a home with some color and whimsy and personality, not one that used to have all that before someone gutted it and now it's just a sad white-on-white shadow of its former self.

#sigh #house hunting #real estate

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ignla · 4 years ago

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Final Product Evaluation part-1

In the final product you can see that initially I was going to keep ST's initial design but then I decided to draw her again in a more simple line less style and she turned out pretty different.

I ended up making her look more like a traditional femme fatale which I kind of like more that her first version as it lends itself to her character as a temptress that lures away children to do her bidding. (Oh boy that sounds bad haha). It also helped me visualise what she'd look like beneath the mask.

It's pretty visible that I was still indecisive on which design to go with so I ended up merging bits of both attires to encapture the femme fatale but still have the whimsy of the victorian dress. I went with a more dark color theme instead of the green in the end because it wasn't meshing with the ideas(corrupted, mesmerising, alluring) I wanted to portray for ST anymore.

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lethe-distillery-blog · 5 years ago

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Frūctus

My mother always taught me to be wary of dangerous things. Throughout all my life I have memories of her voice telling me to be careful, to look around and be aware of my surroundings. When I was small she taught me to look both ways before crossing the road and to not get into a stranger’s car. As I grew older the lessons grew more mature. She taught me not to eat berries or mushrooms that I didn’t recognize and to watch out for snakes and spiders. She taught me to curl my fingers while using a knife when I helped her make dinner, to be careful with the chemicals under the sink. As I went through puberty she taught me to avoid the boys that smoked, the ones that went out and drank on weekends that drove too fast and wore leather jackets. As I went through college she taught me about unsavory me and unwelcome contact, she gave to me all the experience she had in her possession about safety, she taught me to be wary of the things in life that can hurt you, to reading warnings and labels, just in case. She taught me to be prepared for anything.

I had done my research. I knew what I wanted in my life. I would finish my degree before I went seriously looking, there was no point otherwise, a man would simply be a distraction otherwise. Something I didn’t need as I worked long hours making sure I passed with honors, the volunteer work easily took care of the rest of my time. Between general care for my patients and being the assistant of Dr. Jim Anthony Phillips I had calculated that I could function effectively off of five hours of sleep. Everything was planned, calculated to minimize risk and the possibility for danger. Every procedure was carefully planned, every step taken to make sure of the quality of life afterward. A pet was as precious as a human and should be treated with no less dignity. I thought of every potential danger, every risk, every possibility was covered with contingents in place should any one of them happen.

But with him, I had nothing.

There was no way to be prepared for him. There was no way to research him because I had encountered none like him. There was no information, no labels to read, no directions to follow. There were no planned procedures, no fall back contingencies for what he was. All my life I had been taught to be wary, to be mindful, to do my research and make sure I stepped forward with purpose and determination. And yet, he was an enigma. He was unlike any creature I had ever met before. It felt as though I had encountered the great mythical dragon when I had first met him. He commanded my attention, standing out in a crowd through merely being. I had no experience in which to draw on, nothing I read could help me, nothing prepared me for this.

“Mein süßer kleiner Bissen.” I had never thought of German as a particularly romantic language, but when he spoke it, it sounded like poetry and chocolate. Sinful satisfaction and otherworldly delights. The way he held me from behind was innocently scandalous, the exposed way it made me feel, stretched out with my back pressing to his hard muscles, the vivid night sky and the silvery sheen on the plants I had been observing from my chosen vantage point. The concrete terrace was discreet, secluded, particularly chosen for such things, not for the view by any rate. In a word. I had chosen it because it was dangerous. “Wie oft vergisst du, dass ich gefährlich für dich bin.”

I had seen him almost six months ago, it had been at the fourth of July festival that I had gone to with school colleagues, I had designated myself as the Designated Driver, since all they could talk about was the free alcohol and spectacular firework display. But as we arrived on what had to be at least seven thousand square feet of Edwardian architecture, I found so much more that I could get drunk off of then the free cocktail lounge. I got drunk off the experience. I felt what Beauty must have felt like, wandering the castle of the Beast, a whimsical delight as I went from place to place. Engrossed in the palace that seemed to be directly out of Edwardian England, right here on the outside of New Orleans. It seemed out of place, and yet in the grand city that was New Orleans, it was right at home among all the other oddities of old money and abstract tastes. I was entranced by this piece of history, painstakingly kept as fresh and vibrant as though it were not over a hundred years out of date by now. I smoothed fingertips over polished wood and breathed in the musky seasoned smell of pipe smoke and many opened bottles of wine, scotch, and other earthy liquors that over time left a comfortable scent to the entire home. It was formal, classy, but without the overbearing regal tones of Victorian homes.

It was brighter, for one, the wallpapers depicting floral patterns with highly polished wood floors. And the fireplace that I had found in the study was to die for. It had a stained glass shield to protect the wood against sparks in a wonderful display of a fairy lounging back upon a rose. The smaller size of its Victorian counterpart was obvious though it felt as though the details became sharper because of it. Where one simply glosses over the Victorian because it is too busy and complex I had been drawn to it because of the fey motifs that lay nestled, hidden gems amongst a beautifully carved floral arrangement that spread from the mantle to pillars on either side. The mahogany accented the pale blue room beautifully. I had long lost myself to whimsy, a rare thing, and I was lost in my thoughts. I may have chosen the veterinary practice as my career as the pragmatic choice but I never lost my interest in history, in design and color.

And it was there, in that study, where I had first met Markus Klossner. I had been so taken aback by turning and seeing him standing there in the doorway that I had nearly fallen over. And as the proper gentleman he was, he had sat me down and poured me a glass of cognac to sip at to try and help get me to calm down. It was Hennessy X.O, I looked it up later because I had found it interesting that there was a redcoat on the packaging. It had tasted good, but not nearly so pleasant as his voice had been. He had told me he had been there a while, watching my fascination with his home and that he hadn’t meant to startle me. We stayed there for nearly an hour before someone had come to get him to attend the festivities and it was only then, as we walked back towards the general ruckus that was described as a party that I realized who he was.

It took me a while of grappling with myself to try and rationalize my experiences that night, why had I been so entranced in my conversation with him? Why had I searched him out when we had been separated? Why was I so hot and bothered over a man I had just met? Even my interaction with those I knew didn’t help, only showed me how different he had been. Granted, they had been drinking, but one can easily tell the merit of an individual easily and he, he had been a step above. But I convinced myself it was nothing, a brush with stardom, a taste of something that I had never tried before. Like the Hennessy, he was good for a taste, but I would not allow myself to grow drunk off him.

I put him out of my mind. Chalking it up to one of those experiences that people spend their entire lives wondering, what if. I refused to be one of those. I couldn’t. I was practical. That, at least, was fact. That I could take solace in. And since he didn’t bother to contact me I put it out of my mind, that I had been an amusing fancy that he had spent an hour with before continuing on with his life.

I had arrived at Rainbow Bridge with Dr. Phillips on August sixth, nearly a month after the ordeal and aside from the occasional dream, which I really couldn’t control, I hadn’t once thought of Mr. Klossner during my waking hours. Though I could thank him for a new appreciation for cognac. Not as fancy as his, but still, it was nice to sip at after a long night. Rainbow Bridge had always been one of my favorite shelters, it was privately funded but was an open ranch complex, Hessy the cow came up to the fence to snoop at what we were doing. She had been about to be put down because as a breeder she was no longer useful but she had been saved and was now living happily here. Archimedes, the cranky donkey came over and let us know he didn’t like us there. Which was fine with me today, we weren’t here to see him. There had been a new goat that had been brought in and it seemed to be wobbling pretty badly. Jim had suspected it was nothing uncommon but had brought me along just in case, it was good experience and it helped me stay in touch with the animals, they tended to react better that way, when they knew you. So I came once a week to just spend time here, at the part-time shelter part time petting zoo. Occasionally mending something here and there or helping Jasmine with riding lessons for the disabled on Harley or Fiona, they weren’t rescues exactly but they lived with the three others. Four. Actually. Barney had just come in last week, I made a mental note to check to see how his leg was healing. He had caught himself in a barbed wire fence which had promptly ended his racing career.

“Ah,” I heard Jim speak as he opened up the large barn door, “I thought you might be here, you take an interest in the new arrivals.” I frowned thinking. Jasmine was off, she only came on Wednesdays and Fridays, I had already seen Carl, June, and Cass. I didn’t think there was anyone else that came here regularly. I had heard the owner was a reclusive guy that seemed to be content letting Carl and June run the organization when he just provided funding and support. Maybe this was Mr Shady? I came in, a professional smile on my face that slipped, just slightly, when I got used to the much darker interior of the structure.

He was turned, a large hand stroking over the back of the goat that was resting on a comfortable blanket and a mound of hay, it’s companion was hand feeding the shaking creature oats. I knew him. I had forced myself to not think about him, but there was no way to mistake the power there, even turned and crouched over a helpless animal. His broad shoulders pulled taught a button down shirt that I was sure would cover a payment on my car or two. Squatted down like that I took the moment to take him in and check to see if I was drooling over a perfectly round ass that was cupped possessively by a pair of slacks. A blazer was hanging nearby, incongruous in a landscape dominated by denim and flannel and yet, he seemed comfortable here, as though he owned the place. Which he, in fact, did.

He stood, patent leather shoes glistening from the overhead light and turned, shaking hands with Jim. “I’m so glad you came so quickly when I saw her come in I was concerned. She doesn’t seem frightened, she just can’t stand up on her own.”

Jim nodded, the smile that formed there was genuine and kindly, his old faded green eyes warm with affection. “We’ll look into the little dear, I promise.” He turned to include me and I saw those brilliant grey eyes flash in the light and I felt, hunted. “Markus, my assistance that I have told you a great deal about, Ally. Ally, this is Markus Klossner he owns Rainbow Bridge.”

I wanted to say I knew him, I wanted to say anything really but I stood there like a dolt and didn’t say anything, just a smile and a handshake that sent electricity jolting up my arm. What was it about this man? I couldn’t place it. But he looked exquisitely out of place here, and I was practically eye fucking him and I couldn’t seem to stop myself from doing it. Holy gods was he attractive. He filled out the fitted suit beautifully, masculine and stunning and yet the scruff at the jaw brought a dangerous element, the hair just a touch too long to be considered refined. He watched me, closely, every detail picked up on, from the way that his eyes fell down my chest to where I had opened a few buttons to cool off in the last of the summer heat to my stethoscope around my neck. Every minute detail of me seemed analyzed and processed. But it passed in moments.

“Please,” his voice was as smooth and poetic as ever as he stepped aside opening his hand with a flourish towards our patient. “Don’t let me get in your way, I know very little compared to those of your skill.” He rolled his R’s just slightly, enough to sound subtly like a growl when he spoke. I stepped forward with Dr Phillips and hoped that Markus would leave, apparently that was asking too much of the universe at large. He stayed there, leaning against the stall door, Jim moved easily, as though this were a regular occurrence. Easy for him, he didn’t feel stripped beneath quicksilver eyes. I felt every glance as a physical touch under that intensity, the way his gaze slid over me. I felt, frightened, was the only real way that I could explain it later. I felt as though he would devour me, consume me whole; if only I had listened to that warning then.

It didn’t take much to discern what was wrong with the little darling, she seemed animated and even squawked back at us whenever we talked to each other, though it was Jim talking mostly, I was too busy focusing on Markus. Tinkerbell, as the helpful nametag around her neck provided us with, suffered from CSF, or rather cerebral spinal fluid. Meaning that there was a buildup of fluid in her brain hampering her ability to do most things, thankfully, there were modern days medicines that could help with such a problem. It didn’t cure it, but it was treatable. I stood with Jim during the initial diagnosis, to at least show that I was a valuable asset. I then politely, and discreetly, excused myself to see to the other farm animals. I was grateful for the out. I slid by the two men, feeling Markus’ eyes on me as I left; I walked a little faster.

I worked through the barn first, since I was here. I encountered Freddy the pig, someone had thought that there was such a thing as a teacup pig, half dozen goats and sheep, I knew Tinkerbell would have a lot of company and friends, a few of the cats were lazily lounging and poor Bartholomew was looking as tired as ever, the bloodhound that did little more than raise his head and look at me as I scratched behind the ears. It had a calming effect, as I worked through the animals, one by one, it was like meditation. It allowed me to focus. To get back to reality, my reality. A world of information and understanding, of rational thought and things that I could understand.

I stepped out into the sunshine, shielding my eyes from its brilliance as I blinked a dozen times to try and get the spots to stop dancing. As the world came into watery focus I noticed something rather horrifying. There was a bull, twenty feet away, that was eyeing me like I had personally insulted his mother and he had heard me call her a cow. There was a vicious glint in those deep brown eyes, well shit. I knew the temper of one Felix the Bullheaded and here I had stepped right into his domain. I stood there stupidly, watching him. Most bulls didn’t attack on sight, they were territorial yes but most of the time if you left one well enough alone it would do likewise. Unfortunately, Felix wasn’t like most bulls. He pawed at the ground with his hood, ripping up clods of sod and grass, horns lowered I knew all the signs and still, nothing registered up inside my head even though I was screaming at myself to move. I knew all the information, I knew all the fail-safes, I knew all the steps to the procedure, my brain just wasn’t following it, and at this point I was going to end up trampled, or spitted. Neither of which sounded like a particularly pleasant way to go. A streak of black moved passed me and stepped between me and the bull, I blinked stupidly and watched Felix groan and thrash, fury and anger making him near rabid. Part of me felt sorry that Markus was trying so hard to be the hero and we would both end up dead.

“Go Felix,” he pointed away from both of us, “go!” The massive creature bayed and snorted, thrashing his giant head around in a fury and in frustration, the steel shoe slid on a rock with a horrific grinding noise, as though the beast were made of steel and clockwork rather than flesh and bone. He snorted loudly a protest but Markus held his ground, a rather courageous, or stupid, move. “Go!” The voice was sharp, a command. He expected to be obeyed, listened to, as though there wasn’t a reality possible in which this creature did not listen to him and do exactly as he said. It was impressive, awe-inspiring really. And what was shocking, was that Felix actually listened! The great creature turned with one final disdainful snort that could have said something like. ‘You’re not worth my time.’ And lumbered off down his small fenced in kingdom in which he ruled with authority if not grace.

Markus turned towards me, his eyes flashing liquid in their sockets, he seemed even more overwhelming at that moment. As though he could ask me to do something, anything, and I would listen, and I would do it, simply because he had asked it. “Are you alright?” The words were tight, sounding almost forced out passed his lips, though they were spoken casually enough. He stepped towards me, my brain still trying to catch up from everything and coming to terms with the fact I wasn’t dead or wouldn’t be dying. “Ally,” his voice was a soothing balm over the shattered splinters, “are you alright?”

And for once in my life, I didn’t think, I didn’t consider every consequence, I didn’t think of every wise word my mother had told me. I didn’t consider anything but the need to feel alive.

I kissed him, his lips were soft beneath my demanding need; and it was here, that I was his, even though I didn’t know it yet. I pressed into him, my whole body shaking, my fingers pulling at the tie and the collar, desperate, hungry, driven by adrenalin and the honest knowledge that I wanted this man before I died. And only now, only after such a close brush with that unfortunate occurrence did I realize my own stubborn behavior was stopping me from seeing that. I had always thought of myself as a sapiosexual woman, I just hadn’t wanted to admit that a simple conversation could drive me mad with lust. It didn’t help that he looked like sin, not to mention that part of him that touched me I didn’t understand. But here, in this moment, none of that even registered enough to matter. He tried pulling away, to be the gentleman but I stopped him with a hand around his neck. “Please.” It came out closer to begging than I would have liked but here, now, I was desperate.

“Are you sure?” His smooth voice slid over my senses and I shuddered beneath his gaze, feral and dangerous and I made up my mind.

“Yes.”

It was then that I learned he could speak German. “Dann wirst du mein sein.”

I left, an hour and a half later, with Dr. Phillips with the promise to return to Cass and doing my best to hide a limp. Little did I know the monster that I had unleashed upon the world at the moment.

Over the next months it was a constant war between I wanted him, and I fucked him in a savage intensity that left me bruised, aching, and limping. I would claw him to pieces in my fury and desperation and he would possess me and take over me in ways that I had never once experienced in my life. He would pin me down and take me despite my fury, despite my anger at him, at myself, at the world for bringing me down this path. So often I would try to not talk to him, though that would only last for a few days at most. And finally, he invited me to the Yule Ball, where it all started. I hadn’t ever formally accepted, but I knew he knew I would be there, even though I hadn’t been sure I was going to come. And now, I had found my terrace, and I had waited for my dragon. And now, he had come to me, ready to raze and pillage once more and take the princess off to the castle, even if she kicked and screamed the whole way.

“Wie oft möchte ich dich sehen, verwüsten, zum Weinen bringen und nach mir fragen.” He brushed his fingers over my throat, the fingers twitching slightly over the pulse of my throat as I moved back into him, his throaty snarl its own special kind of aphrodisiac. I felt the bulge at my hip. My dragon was ready. And honestly, so was I. “Es fällt mir so schwer, an jedes Wimmern zu denken, das du machen würdest, wenn du mir endlich nachgibst. Wenn ich dich endlich zerbreche und dich zwinge, darum zu betteln.” His words were accentuated by a jerk of his cock, I had no idea what he was saying, but it felt right. It felt so good to be here with him, pressed between the concrete railing and his hard muscular body. I was already soaking through my panties, desperate for him to fuck me already, to ease this burning sensation that rippled through me. I could stand it. I needed it. I was desperate for it, for him. “Das würde dir gefallen, oder?”

“Ja,” I had no idea what he was saying, but I tried, I had learned basic words, I rolled my hips against him, feeling his hand again tighten on my throat. “Bitte.”

“Schrei zur Welt und zeige ihnen, dass ich dich habe, dass jeder Teil von dir mir gehört, dass du, kleine Blume, mir gehörst.” He slapped my ass and I cried out, my body wound so tightly in my coiled desire. “Gutes Mädchen.” He breathed in my ear, my whole body shuddered beneath him. “I need you.” He switched to English, “Now.”

He bunched my dress about my hips, the flimsy silk easily doing his bidding and my garters and stockings doing little to stop him and my thong was doing even less. He shoved it aside and I barely heard the zipper of his own slacks before he slid into me. “Götter.” He breathed, his breath coming out hard and fast as he connected, as he pierced me open and my whole body spread around him. My breasts lurched with the jarring slap of skin on skin contact, I hoped they stayed in the corset, I almost regretted not wearing a bra. He pushed me forward and I braced my hands on the cool concrete and he slammed into me, hard, bruising strokes that left me gasping for breath. I could feel his hands on my hips as he took me, one removing itself occasionally to come down hard on my ass, the stinging slap shot through me and made everything more vivid, more intense.

“Yes,” I moaned out, watching the world shift at a crazy rate of speed as I thrust back into him, feeling him impaling me, feeling my whole body come alive under his touch. This was full of risks, consequences and Markus was damned dangerous because he made me forget all of those, all the things that could go wrong, and instead I focused on him, instead, I was here, fucking a man that for all intensive purposes I barely knew, on a terrace where someone could walk out and see me being fucked like some wanton slut. And worst. I enjoyed every moment of it.

“Du gehörst für immer mir.” He growled in my ear, every thrust slamming into me, his fingers sliding into my hair, the growl curling his voice into a sensual smoke that engulfed me as he took me, ravaged me, made every part of me crazy for him. My pearled nipples were rubbing themselves raw in my corset, my hips ached, my legs were burning, my lips were going to be ruined from the screams I was biting back. I was begging for him internally, I was screaming for more, needing more, desperate for more! And all I could do was whimper for him, moan, in case we got caught. “Sag es kleine blume.” He growled, pulling my hair and I moaned for him, feeling his teeth grazing my neck, his desperation was apparent in the vicious thrusting into me, erratic and sensual it was like he was letting go of being a human. “Sag es!” He snarled, louder, angry almost in his desperation as he pulled my hair up and I cried out for him, desperate, needy. I knew, that after tonight, I wouldn’t fight him anymore, well, not with venom, just enough to keep on his toes. That when the ball was done, I would likely stay here for the night, the week, I’m not sure if I even wanted to go home. He slammed into me, harder, coming closer and closer to climax. I felt my own building, an intensity that always crashed through me, he took me, there was no other way to say it but my dragon took me back to his lair. “Sag es!”

“Ja!”

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