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mckennamayfairgoode · 4 years ago

Text

The Songbirds Keep Singing Like They Know the Score

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: Wilhemina vs. the voices that haunt her.

Warnings: Angsty angst as requested and fluffy fluff because I am a marshmallow.

A/N: @lucyintheskywithxanax Hi, this is for you x.

Song: Songbird by Fleetwood Mac

When Wilhemina was a child, when she was small and broken and scared, when she could no longer see the world in front of her past the tears in her eyes, when the voices would overwhelm her and threaten to swallow her whole, she’d picture a place in her mind: a field of wildflowers, of daffodils and daisies and sunflowers, and a large weeping willow tree. She’d sit against the trunk, feel the bark against her back and the wind brushing her face, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the smell of sunshine and just be. In her mind, she was safe. In a place of beauty and freedom that was hers and hers alone, no one could touch her.

She thinks about that place now - or tries to - as she watches you smile at someone that isn’t her. You laugh at something the other woman says, real, sincere, the way you laugh with Wilhemina in the evenings when you trade anecdotes in bed and she draws that beautiful sound out of you like coaxing butterflies from your belly.

You giggle and squirm, brushing her teasing fingers away from your bare stomach. “Mina,” you admonish playfully, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her expression is amused, dark eyes transfixed on her own fingertip as it traces the curve of your lips. “Yes, my darling?”

You melt under her ministrations, pressing another kiss to the tip of her finger. “Nothing, baby,” you murmur, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of her thumb brushes your cheekbone. She loves it when you're like this: soft and sleepy and so full of love that it shines from your eyes. You reach around her waist and pull her flush against you, bare skin and flesh melding until it feels like you are one person and have never been anything else.

She knew they were coming before she could feel them, your fingertips on her shoulder. They always start there, a warning, a sign, a whispered hello in the moonlight. Don’t be frightened, it’s just me, you seem to say. Can you feel my love? your heart will whisper. You’ll trace patterns on her skin, follow the curve until you reach the back of her neck. You’ll play with the strands of red hair you find there before slowly brushing your fingers down her spine. You’ll be slow and gentle - like you are enchanting a lioness who has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness.

She doesn’t want to be scared of you. She wants to crawl into your heart and whisper poetry so that you might feel her love for you. She closes her eyes, imagines she can hear songbirds outside your window and melts against you, nuzzling the crook of your neck with her nose. She breathes you in just as your fingertips tease the back of her neck. You smell of sunshine.

Her body aches.

She watches, transfixed, as the woman reaches out and brushes your shoulder with the tips of her fingers. She can feel the cold creeping over her, passing over her skin and down her spine like morning dew clinging to blades of grass in the front lawn that you share.

She tries to conjure the wind, the flowers, the weeping willow tree but all she can see is you. She can’t look away - from you, from her, from the way you gaze almost adoringly at a woman that is beautiful and tall and normal. She does not have a crooked spine or a sharp tongue or hands that hurt more than they heal. She is not broken.

She raps her cane against the ground, one loud motion that claps around the room. It might as well be thunder. You and the woman both jump, heads swiveling in her direction. Wilhemina thinks she knows her but her mind lashes angrily, ocean waves slamming against the bow of a ship, and she can’t bother to remember her name. Her eyes brush past her - to you.

She wants to find the guilt in your eyes, to watch your pupils bloom wide like flower petals when you meet her gaze but all she can see is love and warmth. It sickens her, churns her gut, twists her insides until all she can feel is pain. She sneers. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

The woman offers a charming smile like she doesn’t know Venable at all. “Yes, of course, Ms. Venable. See you later, Y/N.” She winks at you and struts off down the hallway. Venable feels her blood boil but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of watching her leave. She is not worth her time, but you... you are worth all of it. But she is too angry to listen to the heart that loves you, too blinded by rage to realize that the look in your eyes is adoration and not contempt. The blood in her veins turns to ice. She looks at you and doesn’t recognize you at all.

Without a word, she turns and walks away.

The ride home is silent. She can feel you looking though, turning your head every so often to gaze at her when you think she’s not paying attention. She doesn’t know how to decipher your expression. She can’t tell the difference between the seasons, between the feelings pressed beneath her chest, between your heart and hers, much less the shadows painted on your beautiful face.

Your favorite song comes on the radio. You don’t even sing. You are probably thinking about her, she decides. That woman who must have snuck in when Wilhemina was happy and content and unaware, and stole you from her arms, from your bed, from the home that you built together brick by brick until it was a towering fortress in which she felt safe. She should have noticed, should have seen that the stars in your eyes were not for her at all. Not anymore. She should have realized that at some point, you had reached up and plucked them from the sky and replaced them with something entirely new.

Maybe you had finally seen them, all the things she had warned you about. Maybe one day you had woken up and seen the Wilhemina peeking out from within and been disgusted by her weakness, her vulnerability. Any moment now, you will turn to her with that pitying look in your eyes and explain, gently and with that tone of voice you reserve for those with less patience than you, that you are in love with someone else. You must be and that’s what the shadows must mean. They are your guilt put on display, an exhibit of black curtains and a moonless night sky and she is waiting for the day she arrives at your museum only to find it gone like you had never been there at all.

The thought makes her heart drop into her stomach. It annoys her, taunts her, reminds her that the ache in her chest is something she could have prevented if she had not let you in, if she had not allowed you to crawl inside her and make a home in her heart. Her gloves creak when she tightens her grip on the steering wheel. It echoes in the car, in the silence that you have made.

You will not break her. She is already broken.

You try to speak to her when you get home. She hasn’t looked at you since that moment in the atrium and she thinks maybe you have finally caught on. Or maybe you finally know what to say. She wonders if you have rehearsed this moment in your head, if the tides have finally turned and they are just now rushing in her direction to smash against her shore.

She stands at the counter, takes her gloves off one by one, and watches from the corner of her eye as you look at her and struggle to speak. A part of her takes joy in watching you flounder. A part of her wants you to squirm, to feel, to hurt. Just like her. The other part of her, the Wilhemina inside that bangs at the door and screams to be let out, only wants you to hold her. She hates it. Seethingly. With a ferocity she didn’t know she was capable of anymore after falling in love with you. She is broken, but she is not weak. She tells it to shut up and slams the door in its face.

“Mina?” Your voice comes from behind her. Not hesitant, but cautious. So at least you are aware of her ire. Good. You should be cautious. The Wilhemina inside reminds her that she could never hurt you, that it is useless to pretend otherwise. She locks the door and puts her hands over her ears so that the voice is muffled.

She raises an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “Is there something you need? Or have you finally worked up the courage to say what you so desperately need to say?”

You frown, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

She tilts her head, annoyance clear in the downturned pull of her lips. “You’ve been sitting there like a daft moron for an hour. I was wondering if you’d finally grasped enough vocabulary in order to get on with it.” The Wilhemina inside flinches. You’re going to regret this, it says. She doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t want to.

“Get on with what?” You take a step closer, looking up into her face and studying her expression like you can figure out what's going on in her mind if she will only meet your eyes. She hates it. She hates that you can make her feel seen. She hates that she used to love it. That it used to make her feel safe. That once upon a time, she thought she could be someone. That she could be yours.

Her nostrils flare in annoyance. You are playing with her. She is just a pawn in your chess game, one you mean for her to lose. You want to make her say the words so you don’t have to. Coward, she thinks.

No, she’s not, the Wilhemina inside her says. The only coward here is you.

The thought chills her to the bone. The ice intensifies, freezing her heart solid like a stone in her chest. She can’t breathe, she can’t think. All she can feel is the weight of it sinking like an anchor. She turns her head to face you and looks into your eyes. God, how she loves you. A part of her melts. The tips of her fingers drip on the floor at your feet.

She can see it all now up close: the confusion, the despair, the worry gathering like storm clouds in your gaze. They can’t be real. You must have created them to fool her, to pull the wool over her eyes and lead her to believe that you are innocent. You have called upon the storm to wash away your sins, but Venable can see them still, washed up on the shore like seashells. The Wilhemina inside her can’t see them; she only sees your footprints in the sand as you walk away and she wants to chase after you, to melt in your arms and beg for forgiveness, but Venable rises up like the dragon buried underneath the mountain rubble, looks down her nose at you, and snarls. “I saw you today,” she says. She will not be fooled by the lie in your eyes.

You blink. “Saw me when?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she snaps. The Wilhemina inside her shrinks back. Don’t, please, it pleads. Venable turns her back on herself, on the weakness inside her. She pretends not to see when it cries.

You take a step towards her, hand reaching out like it alone can bridge the gap between you. She ignores how her stone cold heart clenches at the sight of it, at the memories those hands have created for her, the comfort that they have brought. She turns her nose up at it and moves away. “I hope she had something important to say. It looked like her head was full of hot air, but clearly looks can be deceiving.”

“What? Who are you talking about?” You stop trying to reach her finally and stand still and small in the middle of the room. You look so sad. Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and turns away.

“That woman you were speaking with,” she hisses, venom and poison laced within the words. “You two are certainly very familiar with each other.” Her mind conjures images in her head, things she would rather not see but that play on repeat until there is nothing else but them, them, them. Fingertips brushing your shoulder, a wink directed your way, a hand on the small of your back, your thigh, fingers sweeping hair away from your neck, lips against your skin, down, down-

“Valarie?”

She jerks like she’s been hit by a bolt of lightning. It is your storm. It has to be. “Is that her name?” she asks, her voice deathly quiet in the frozen tundra of your house. When did the cold spread so far? Was it touching you? Could you feel it?

“Baby-”

“Don’t,” she snaps.

You ignore her and look at her from beneath your eyelashes. “We’re just friends, Mina.”

She sniffs disdainfully. “I’m sure.” Her lips purse. A picture hangs on the wall she stands in front of. She looks at it and remembers the overcast Sunday morning she told you about the place she felt safest. You had pulled the comforter over your heads and she had whispered the details in your ear - the meadow, the flowers, the weeping willow tree - and you had listened and stroked your fingers down her bare back and it felt like she was telling you a secret and trusted you to keep it. One day not long after, you had given her the painting and she had looked at it and seen her happiness and sunshine depicted in brush strokes and splashes of color. You told her that she’d never have to go inside her mind to feel safe ever again, that she was never going to be safer than she was right here, in the home that you built together, with you. She had cried.

Tears well in her eyes, and she curses under her breath, wrangles the Wilhemina inside her back under control and turns her head to face you. She tries to conjure up the weeping willow tree, to picture it in her mind instead of the gentle way you had kissed her goodbye that morning, but the image only comes to her for a second before fizzling into dust and in its place is you.

That sweet smile you greet her with each day, sleepy and soft and just for her. How you rest your hands on her hips when you pass behind her to reach for your toothbrush, your gazes locking in the mirror and your eyes twinkling with mischief. Fingers brushing when you exchange cups of tea, fingers brushing when you reach out to turn the page of a book, fingers brushing as you walk down the driveway to your car, brushing, brushing, brushing.

She blinks, finds the love still staring back at her, patient and calm and she does not know anything anymore. She saw you with that woman. She heard your laugh, recognized the adoration on your face. She can’t be wrong. The ice builds and builds until it is a wall surrounding her heart. “Did you fuck her?”

You reel back as if she had slapped you, pain flashing across your face and Wilhemina trembles at the realization that she put it there. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She draws up to her full height and curls her lip and she pretends that you are just an employee at Kineros and that you are not the woman she loves and she does not hurt at all. “I saw you throwing yourself at her today - like a whore.” You’re wrong, the Wilhemina in her heart whispers, shrinking back, shaking and curled up in the dark corner of her mind she hasn’t seen since she was a child. You’re wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You can’t be serious,” you say, blinking up at her in disbelief. She ignores the tears welling in your eyes, the crack that shatters the ice around her heart at the sight of them, and arches an eyebrow, giving you the look she reserves for lowly employees too stupid to recognize her ire. You recognize it. Realization flashes across your face. You shake your head. “I’m not doing this, Mina,” you finally say. You blink and look away from her, trying to prevent the pain from showing on your face, but she can see it. She put it there.

“I can see that you’re hurting and that you’re in your head, but whatever you think I did, I didn’t. And you know that.” Your beautiful face pleads with her, your eyes large and wet and loving, but she refuses to give in, knowing that if she does, the ice around her heart will melt and she’ll feel everything all at once. She does not want to ache. Not like she did before you, not like she will after.

“You are a fool,” she hisses. You are the fool, it says.

You shake your head, wipe tears from your eyelids. You look like you might walk away, body turned toward the stairs, but you step towards her instead, so close that she can feel your warmth. It makes her body shudder. You search her gaze, looking so deep into her eyes that she thinks you are looking directly into the Wilhemina she tries to keep buried inside. “I love you,” you tell her. She hates that she believes you. “You own my heart and my soul and I know you know that I would never do that to you. Whatever’s going on up here -” you touch your fingers to her temple, warm and cold all at once, a direct link to the voices freezing her soul, “- whatever that voice is saying, it’s wrong,” you whisper. You reach down to place your hand over her chest. “Your heart knows me,” you pause, desperation in your eyes as they flicker back and forth between hers. “Don’t you?” Yes, the Whilemina inside whispers. I know you.

The warmth that had threaded through her being disappears the moment you drop your hands. She watches you walk away, wants to call out for you, to beg for mercy, to tell you that she is the fool and that she is sorry and that she loves you, loves you, loves you, but she doesn’t.

She tears her gaze away and looks down at her hands. They’re shaking.

That night, she climbs the stairs to your shared room and finds you already in bed, your back to the door. You don’t say a word and neither does she. She moves around the room with purpose, changing her clothes and brushing her hair free from its ponytail. She can’t help but watch you out of the corner of her eye. You are motionless, a still life in her bed. Your bed. Yours, together.

She crawls under the sheets next to you, turns off the bedroom light, rolls on her side and looks at you facing away from her. The distance between you is miniscule; she could reach out and touch you if she wanted, bridge the gap and pull your back against her chest. She raises her hand, reaches for you but does not touch. It lingers in the air between you, shaking and desperate. After a moment, it drops to the mattress. She closes her eyes and feels herself weep. She doesn't know how to fix herself.

When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself standing alone on a beach. The sky is overcast and grey, angry clouds forming on the horizon and wind coursing through her hair. Where are you? Her heart thunders in her chest. She tries to quell the panic but it rises and rises until it becomes a chokehold around her neck. It threatens to consume her.

“Y/N?” She looks down and notices a trail of footprints in the sand. They dance away from her, following the shoreline and circling back and around again. She knows they are yours, that they could belong to no one else. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she loves you.

She puts her foot in a rivet in the sand, stands where you stood and imagines that you are with her, that you are laughing and your pinkies are interlocked in that way she knows makes you smile. And then she remembers that expression on your face when she asked about that woman, the tears in your eyes when she hurled a slur at you to make up for the pain that she alone inflicted on herself. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she’s sorry.

“Y/N?” She calls your name again and again, listens to it bounce off the water as the waves lap at her bare feet. The footprints end where the sand bleeds into grass. She looks down at her feet, studies the area like she knows it well even though she doesn’t know it at all. Her heart whispers, pings, right there, and she looks up like she had known where you would be all along to find your silhouette standing at the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean. She knows that it's you, that it could be no one else.

You stand at the edge, looking out over the jagged rocks and thrashing waves below. “Y/N!” Your head swivels in her direction and you wave cheerfully down at her, shuffling too close to the brink for her liking. Her heart jumps into her throat. “You stay right there! Don’t you move, I mean it!” She doesn’t think you can hear her. She wonders if the words are leaving her mouth or if it’s just her soul sighing your name. She has to get to you.

She has to, she has to, she has to.

The trail up to the cliff looks different when she gets closer. Darker, full of tall, imposing trees and a treacherous climb she knows will hurt her back. She doesn’t care, doesn’t hesitate, just pushes past the first branch and marches on. Nothing will keep her from you. She thinks she can feel eyes watching her from the darkness between the trees, black beady eyes that disappear when she turns to look. They make her skin crawl, but she silences the warnings in her head and ignores them. They don’t matter. She clutches her cane and moves forward and prays that you are staying put.

Then the whispers start.

“You’re no good for her,” a voice murmurs into her ear and she startles and jerks back, glancing behind her to see a shadowy figure that closely resembles your father.

Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and looks away. “I know,” she says and continues on.

“We’ve talked about this, darling, stand up straight,” a familiar voice purrs from over her shoulder. She doesn’t look, doesn’t need to see to know who will be waiting there. “No one will love an invalid.”

“She loves me,” Wilhemina snaps, head straight forward, dark eyes fixed on the patch of light she can see up ahead. The sky. Safety. You.

A figure steps out of the tree line into Wilhemina’s path causing her to jerk to a halt. “Look what you did, twisting your fears and projecting them onto the one who loves you most,” the woman sing-songs, her tone playful and barbed like a rosebush. Valarie. Tall and beautiful Valarie. “She’d be happier with me, you know.”

Wilhemina looks into Valarie’s soulless black eyes and glares defiantly. “She is happy with me.”

Valarie chuckles, dancing and spinning around Wilhemina’s form as the other figures get closer. Surrounding her, crowding her, boxing her in like predators to weak prey. “She didn’t look happy last night, did she?” Valarie leans her chin on Wilhemina’s shoulder and whispers in her ear. “You made her cry.”

“You called her a whore,” your father says from behind her.

Her mother clicks her tongue disapprovingly, appearing in front of her and adjusting the collar of her shirt. “You accused her of infidelity, my dear.”

“I made a mistake,” she snaps.

“You seem to be making a lot of mistakes, Mina,” Valarie taunts.

Wilhemina’s blood runs cold. No one calls her that. No one but you. She shoves her mother out of the way and darts up the trail, her back screaming in protest. She can feel them following her, the wolves nipping at her heels, but she doesn’t stop.

“-could do better-”

“If only you were normal-”

“Maybe she’ll finally leave you and come to m-”

Their voices sound like they’re coming from the very trees themselves, winding through the branches and leaves and floating down like lightning bugs to settle in her ears.

“- a failure -”

“- never should have let you lea-”

“-fall in love with a cripple.”

“When you wake in the morning, she’ll be gone.”

“SHUT UP!” Her voice echoes into the forest and birds burst from the tree line in a cacophony of sound. When she opens her eyes, the figures are gone and the voices are silent.

She finds herself standing at the edge of the forest and feels her eyes well with tears as she looks upon her meadow. Sunlit and beautiful, full of flowers in bloom and honeybees and songbirds. The wind nuzzles her cheek as if greeting an old friend. The horrors of the forest melt from her weary bones and she feels at peace. A part of her wants to stay here where it is safe, where she is safe, but her heart urges her onwards. What is a life of safety if you aren’t in it?

Her willow tree stands tall and proud in the center of the clearing and behind it, overlooking the ocean, is you.

“Y/N!” She breathes a sigh of relief to see you standing where she left you.

You turn to face her and smile, soft and sweet and just for her. “Hi, baby,” you say. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, sweetheart,” she murmurs, looking imploringly into your eyes.

You frown. “I don’t have a home, Mina. You don’t want me anymore, remember?” You take a step back from her, toward the cliff’s edge and she follows you, hands reaching out as if she could grab you from where she stands.

“Wait,” she pleads. “You do have a home. It’s with me.”

You cock your head. “It used to be,” you state. Like it is a fact. Like you have always known it to be so. Her heart aches.

“Please, Y/N. Step away from the edge.” Her voice is hard, lined with barbs but not directed at you. Only to herself. She wants them to hurt, to sting, to make her hiss in pain. She wants to feel anything other than this ache.

You giggle softly, familiar and lovely, the sound that never fails to make her head spin, but she doesn’t hear the joy in it now. It sounds haunted. "I know your heart,” you say, taking another step back as she steps forward. You meet her eyes. “Do you know mine?”

She can only watch in horror as your foot lands on empty air. You tip backwards - and then you fall.

Wilhemina screams.

She gasps and shoots up in bed causing her back to protest but she can barely feel it over the throbbing in her chest. She moans like a wounded animal, leaning over and curling into herself like it will muffle the pain, like she can smother it so she won’t have to feel anything. She clutches her hair and pulls at the strands as if physically capable of plucking the image of you falling out of her head.

My fault, my fault, I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry, I know your heart, I promise, I know it.

She doesn’t realize she’s murmuring out loud until she hears your voice in her ear, breaking through the mantra like a siren song. “Shh, baby. I’m right here, Mina. It’s okay.”

Her eyes snap open and she turns to seek out your eyes. She finds them instantly, warm and loving and tender. They’re shining, real and alive, and her own flood with fresh tears at the sight of them. Her voice comes out in a broken whisper that scratches her throat, “Y/N?”

“I’m right here, baby. Everything’s okay.” You reach out a hand as if to touch her but hover right before it makes contact with her skin. “Can I touch you?”

Wilhemina manages to nod, her eyes not leaving you for a second as you reach forward and brush her tears away with your thumb. They fall faster than you can wipe them away, but you try. You always try for her. She feels your other hand cup the back of her head before you lean forward and press your foreheads together in the way you always do when you comfort her. Your noses brush. “It was just a nightmare, baby,” you murmur, gazing into her eyes, deep pools with shadows that reflect the terrors she had seen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She can only stare at you in disbelief, tear tracks trailing paths down her cheeks. Once she had felt nothing at all, now she feels too much. The ice around her heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces and the only evidence that it still lies within is the persistent ache beneath her ribcage. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know where to start. She called you names. She doubted your love for her. She hurt you. A tinge runs down her spine. A muffled sob presses against her closed mouth and she nudges into you, brushing her trembling tear-stained lips against your own.

She feels your hand on her spine, the warmth of it soothing the trembling ache of her body. Your lips press against her forehead, long and hard like you want to seep all of your love into her skin. “I know, baby. Whatever you can’t say, I already know.” Your hand brushes a strand of hair back from her eyes. You cup her cheek in your palm, press a kiss to it followed by the other. Then one to each of her eyelids. You peck the tip of her nose before capturing her lips with your own. She gasps into your mouth, passes her tongue between your lips and tastes the saltiness of her own tears. When you pull away, your eyes are shining. You are brighter than the sun. “I love you and I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” you say and she believes you. God, she believes you.

You settle back into the pillows and gently pull her with you, tucking her into your arms where she is safe, safe, safe. The shadows in her mind disappear. She doesn’t even remember what they said. Only that they were wrong.

She places her ear over your heart and listens to it beat. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. It soothes her own into submission and she melts into you, boneless and spent. Your fingers appear at her shoulder just as they always do and the familiarity of it coaxes a new wave of tears from her closed eyelids. Can you feel my love? your heart asks. “Yes, I can,” she whispers. Your fingertips trace the curve of her shoulder to the back of her neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she manages to say around the lump in her throat.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” you soothe, brushing your fingers into her hair, down her neck and back again. “I know you love me.”

Wilhemina bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t want to cry anymore, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn’t deserve your love, your patience, your kindness, your beautiful heart. She is broken and you deserve better than her. You deserve more from life than just picking up her shattered pieces.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say, interrupting her thoughts. She blinks. Had she been speaking out loud or did you just live inside her head? “Picking up your pieces is not a chore. It is a privilege.” Your finger traces a line from her neck to the top of her spine. She tilts her head to look up at you. She can barely see your face in the darkness of your bedroom, but your eyes are on fire. “You are not broken, baby. You are a songbird and I’m going to prove to you that you can fly.” She presses her face into the crook of your neck and cries.

As your hand trails down her back, gentle and revering like you are enchanting a lioness that has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness, you start to sing. Your voice soothes her soul, wraps around her like a comforting blanket, and warms her shivering body until it no longer feels like ice. She recognizes the song. It’s your favorite, the one she’s heard you sing a thousand times. The words piece together from her memories, from morning showers before work, from those nights you spend swaying to the sound of it in the kitchen, from bits of it sung under your breath as you walk side by side, your hands brushing, your pinkies intertwining. Wilhemina buries her face in your chest and realizes that you had been singing about her all along. God, how she loves you.

She does not conjure up her meadow or the wild flowers or the weeping willow tree. She does not think of the wind on her face or the bark against her back. She breathes in the smell of sunshine, feels your fingers stroke her spine, and does not think of anything at all. She is exactly where she wants to be.

“And the songbirds are singing,

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before.”

Tag List: @supremeinlilac @lovelypeasantjellyfish @angelxsarahp

#wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs fic #wilhemina venable imagine #sarah paulson imagine #ahs imagine #venable x reader #wilhemina x reader #angst fic #wlw imagine #wlw fic #romance fic

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Text

opening weekend

part 1 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 1.9k

warnings: none (yet)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! That no one but me and @beautyagegoodnesssize asked for but I’m telling you... just give it a try. Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the groundwork for the series is laid: Frankie is a catcher, and your grandpa is the biggest fan of his team.

It was a beautiful day for a baseball game.

The sun was warm on the back of you neck and it was the bottom of the fourth. It was loud with chatter and announcements, music and cheers, and there were flashing advertisements and seas of merchandise – a typical opening weekend. If you were being honest, it wasn’t really your thing. Or it was, but it shouldn’t have been.

The man beside you was beaming with absolute joy, barely sitting as he leaned forward eagerly as if hoping desperately that it would bring him onto the field with the players.

It was always like this, every few weeks, every summer for years. His name was James, and years and years ago you’d grown close and he’d shared the single constant in his life: the game, and his team. It became your way to stay close, throughout all the chaos of the world, you always made time to make it to as many home games as you could to sit by his side and hear his stories and soak up the wonder in his eyes as he watched the ball and the bats and the sun on the grass. Season passes were his gift to you every year, and today was more exciting than normal, because it was finally time to pay him back.

He loved this team. Of course, it was constantly changing, but for such an old man, he could remember all their names and numbers and statistics. He collected the cards and loved the boys so much it was almost like they were his grandkids.

“No autographs,” he would tell you. “They’re already giving us their best, who are we to ask for more?” and you would melt a little, inside. He was careful not to idolize them, clicking his tongue when bad headlines would come out, constantly reminding you they were just humans, “Just boys! Leave them alone! They’re figuring it out,” he’d say, angrily. It made you laugh, how much he cared about them, and it warmed you heart.

“You want some nachos, Jimbo?”you asked, standing as the ads played and the mascots ran out into the field for extra entertainment. “They’ve got some picked jalapeños with your name on ‘em.” He squinted up at you and you shifted, blocking the sun from his sweet, wrinkled face. A nod and a smile was all you needed before you caught his hand, reminding him to let you pay. You shuffled towards the steps, trying to avoid the drinks and snacks and knees of the people in your row, whispering excuse me’s and apologies. Once you made it to the outsides of the arena, you ducked behind one of the looking pillars, checking your phone before making your way to the quieter, less commercialized area. A security guard checked your phone and ID, and you were ushered into a large office, show awards and photos and expensive amenities filling it to the brim. A man was leaning against a impossibly giant desk, an air of hurry about him, and he shook your hand.

After hasty introductions, you jogged his memory, reminding him that you had submitted an application and been chosen by the board to have your grandfather honored by the team, and today was the day.

He nodded absentmindedly and began to wave you off, ears listening to other words, you were sure. They assured you a team of security would come and escort him to the meeting area when it was time and you said quick thank-you's before stopping.

“Sir, one last thing,” you stood your ground against the rush, determined to be heard. “He’s not just a crazy fan, he’s a sweet old man. I know this is routine for you guys but…” finally, the man in the suit met your eyes. “Please remember how special this is to him.” And he nodded, a swallow pushing down his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but this was important to you.

As you walked back, you got the biggest tray of nachos you could find, and tried not to trip over your own shoes.

It was a beautiful day.

Frankie was hot and sweaty and tired and having a great time. It was the first real game of the season and he hadn’t gotten sick of the noise… Just yet. People were cheering, spirits were high, and for now, Santi was pitching right into his glove.

Just outside the dugout, he and the others paused, hearing the announcer powering up for something unique. Normally, they tuned it all out, but for these, it was basically required that they pay attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today with us we have a very special ��” he blared, but it faded to the background. Francisco had been told, with everyone this morning, that the board had chosen a submission of a dedicated fan to honor, someone they’d all have to say hello to, but he hadn’t expected… this.

All over the screens around him and front and center of the megatron was a shocked but beaming elderly man. He wasn’t screaming, or decked head to toe in merch, just smiling, with a tshirt design Frankie barely recognized from years and years ago. It had been washed enough times the team’s logo was barely visible, and that alone was awesome. More importantly, he was tugging at the hand of the most beautiful woman Frankie had maybe ever seen.

Of course, he’d seen lots of beautiful people, it was one of the stranger side effects of his job, but you… were something else. Maybe it was the joy on your face as you nodded, eyes fixed on your grandfather, maybe it was the way the sunlight was hitting your hair just right either way, his heart did a little flip in his chest, and on his shoulders the padding felt suddenly light. He was at loathe to put on his helmet, knowing the face cage would obstruct his view of you, but then you were gone, the ads replacing your face, and one of his friends was giving him a shove towards his corner.

It wasn’t until a ball was mere feet from his face that he remembered he was supposed to be catching it.

Catch, catch, walk, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

And then in a daze, he was making his way to the locker room, with a crowd of trudging cleats and sweaty scents, the roar of the crowds behind him.

Claps on shoulders, showers, and banter passed, and they all filed like sheep into a big, open room. The energy was different, though, less strained than it might have been, if it were an obsessive teenager, or an arrogant know it all.

Frankie’s ear pricked when he heard one of his teammates say, “Hope that girl comes along, she was hot,” all jokes and winks and maybe a crude hand motion or two. There was a twist in his gut, which was absolutely ridiculous, but he didn’t have time to ponder it, because suddenly the door was opening again and there you were.

The main event, of course, was the kindly man at your side, and Frankie tried to seem natural and he strained to see around his friends.

The news reporter was chattering, and he was vaguely aware that everyone was watching the manager give his speech – everyone but him and you. He watched, transfixed, as you tenderly tucked your abuelo's hand into your elbow.

Frankie was busy thinking he’d never quite felt so comfortable in this room before, never seen someone who made him wish he was at the front of the crowd, when your eyes were suddenly in his.

You gave him a half-smile and your fingers wiggled in the tiniest of waves.

It was just for him, not everyone else, and Frankie gulped, too pleased and too shocked to react properly.

When it was his turn to talk to the pair of you, Frankie felt more nervous than he had this morning, walking onto the field. He didn’t even know your name – something he begrudged the staff – and yet he was somehow aching to make a good impression, on you both. But then your abuelito stole his hat and ruffled his hair and he was grinning, and it was a beautiful day.

When he walked back to the lockers, he was pretty sure his heart stayed right in that room, somewhere next to a beaming little old man.

The two of you went separate ways but not at all the same as you’d been that morning.

Frankie ducked out of the after party at Tom's bnb. The boys were rambunctious and loud and more importantly they kept talking about you and he just didn’t want to hear any of it.

The memory of the little wave of your hand was burrowing into his chest, into his stomach, feeding him like food after a long, hot summer day.

Santiago’s footsteps were familiar, even off the sand and the grass of the field. His hand was warm on Frankie’s shoulder, pulling him slowly back to reality.

“Everything okay, hermano?” His voice was equal parts genuine and teasing.

Frankie shrugged. What could he say? He didn’t even know your name, and even if he did, so what? It's not like his mind had already created a scenario in which he'd chased after you in the long, curved corridors and you had beamed, happy to see him, and touched his hand with yours.

It’s not like he was kicking himself for letting you walk out the door without trying, anything. Not like he hated hearing the other guys joke about how innocent and sweet you looked. He certainly couldn’t explain how possessive he felt over a girl he’d only sort of met.

So he ignored the thump in his chest and just looked a the stars and shrugged.

As for you, James was seated next to you, trying to start sentences and getting overwhelmed with joy. Your hands slid over the steering wheel, listening to him as much as you could, filling in the ends, mind still on the handsome player who’s eyes had followed you through from over the sea shoulders and hats.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” he asked, pulling you back to reality.

You hummed noncommittally in response. Lying to him was absolutely out of the question so you pondered your options, while he watched you, amused.

“What’s the name of the catcher?” you asked, finally, feeling heat in your face as you remembers his broad shoulders and the twitch in his hands.

His laugh was adorable and mischievous and you felt almost silly. You weren’t a little girl watching t-ball, after all, that was a real, actual man.

A real man with dark, deep eyes, and tan skin and fluffy curls.

You shook your head.

“Never… mind.” He was also undoubtedly also a man with a life and a girlfriend or wife, and no lingering thoughts of you.

James laughed again and dropped the subject.

But you walked him into his home and he grasped your hand with newfound determination. He winked and whispered and you felt a thump in your chest.

“Francisco Morales.”

translations:

abluelo: grandfather

abuelito: literally, little grandfather, it’s affectionate

hermano: brother

taglist: @fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier #baseball au #triple frontier baseball au #maybe i don't know people

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bananasfosterparent · 1 year ago

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Some of us like losers! 😤

If I may present, here is my reasoning lol I can't reply to this without just talking about my Tav... so that's what I'll do.

But I'll just say, there's a reason this song is in their playlist.

I chose Astarion based on the type of story I wanted to tell and I felt like I could get a good angsty but fun and dark romantic narrative this way. I did not know what would happen after I ascended him nor how the relationship would go or what the story would be like, but I had a general idea in mind. I went into this romance completely blind.

I wanted to tell the story of a woman who is just as bad (and in some ways worse off) than Astarion, finding that she isn't the one and only ✨special sufferer✨ of this sort of plight and learning to not be so focused on herself. And she is not a kind or nice person, she's cruel and she's quite selfish in general. But she could find her own twisted way to sympathize with someone else. I wanted to try to make a story about someone who DOES become a "better person" but only through their own narrow, tunnel vision lens.

Prior to the events of the game, my Tav (Efenity) was living on the streets, sleeping in an abandoned house, and living off of alcohol and the coin she looted and stole. She's been a criminal her whole life, it's what she knows best.

As a large and muscular woman, she is sought out by men that want to be controlled or dominated by her. She goes along with it to get some, but truthfully she's never had a real relationship or a chance to discover what she really likes in the first place.

At first, when she meets Astarion, she is under the impression he has everything under control. That he's smooth and practiced and crafty and clever. Well, he can be those things, but as she gets to know him, she realizes... he's kind of just a regular guy. He has his w moments, but truthfully, he's just as bad off as she is. He's just as lost as she is. He's just as penniless as she is.

Because of her struggles with losing her loved ones in her early life, Efenity pushed others away and refused to let people in. She had no family, no friends, no prospects, no property, nothing to her name but her skills as a thief/heist person and smuggler and her magic.

For her, meeting Astarion helped her realize that even people who seem like they have it all together... probably don't, and are probably worse off in some ways. He also is a different type of man than she usually mingles with, romantically and that felt like relief to her. In his desire to be dominant and in charge, she found a space to rest and destress. She's always foraging ahead, leading and trailblazing. Having someone else step into that role for a while felt incredible.

After falling in love with him, she helped him ascend. While this wasn't her first truly selfless act, this was the first selfless act she did out of love and without regret. And for her, that felt like growth.

The most important reason for ascending him to her, was that this was the best way for both of them to be strong, achieve their dreams, have a leg up, AND most notably, they would be able to have security in forever. They wouldn't have to worry about him outliving her, or either of them feeling grief for the other. The threat of loss can be darn near eliminated for both of them. Her greatest fear was no longer a threat. And his greatest threat (fear) was no longer haunting him.

The best thing about Astarion in any and all forms, is his optimism. He doesn't know how things will work out, but he's always sure it will. But he is also powerful, he is clever and resourceful. Especially with his newfound power. He's also silly and ridiculous, and a horrible planner. So I wanted to create a Tav that would step up where he falls short too. And vice versa. And that's where their imbalance finds level ground. Together, with his ideas and her planning abilities and underground criminal ring (which was her original goal and dream for herself to have), Efenity will help him build up their empire. Together, they slowly become not losers.

All of the sexy stuff, the relationship dynamic stuff IS hot and DOES speak to kink. But, at least for me personally, it was about my character and her personal storyline and narrative. The sexy stuff is all secondary.

Shawty this no diss but I feel like the appeal of Ascended!Astarion to his stans is 100% kink related. I say this as mf who thinks two of the evilest men in the game is fine (Gortash and Raphael). But like outside of me thinking they’re handsome, in the context of the game, they both got shit going for them.

Gortash? Charismatic, goes to the gym, intelligent to the point where he builds magic robots, rich, politically successful.

Raphael? Charismatic, has a floating mansion in Avernus, very well cultured, artistic, knows how to make good deals for himself and how to spin them, a lot of expensive assets, Italian-coded, rich rich, intelligent.

Ascended!Astarion is canonically broke, only has a mansion that he probably will get taken from him by the other Szarrs (or will be evicted by the Flaming Fist when he ends up not paying the right magistrate off), has zero political connections with the other vampires in Baldur’s Gate, so even though he’s more powerful they won’t fuck with him like that. His 10 charisma having ass ain’t gon keke it up with vampires from other cities. You think Strahd is going to respect this irritating twink with raw power but zero clout? Nah

Bro can turn into a cute bat and that’s about it. Everything he does end up getting is because of Tav/Durge. He’s like the down on his luck boyfriend that asks his partner for 10 dollars, buys a lottery ticket, gets 600 million and starts acting like he did something. No offense to Ascended!Astarion fan girls, but a mf like me only fuck with ballers

#efenity #bg3 tav #ascended astarion #astar #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion

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mochegato · 4 years ago

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 2 – It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Ends Up Pregnant

Note: PG version of smut basically this entire chapter, pretty much just kissing. If you don’t like smut you can skip this chapter.

Chapter 1

“You’re falling behind,” she smirked at him, twisting again to finish an elaborate move. She could feel the alcohol surge through her hazing her mind and dulling her inhibitions, in particular the one dictating she remember how uncoordinated she is so she doesn’t try any daring moves outside of her suit and the one that dictates she not attract any attention to herself by showing off her questionably obtained moves. Moves like the ones she was currently putting on full display.

But it wasn’t her fault really. Dick had challenged her to a dance off. He challenged her. Then he turned out to be stupidly skilled. She had to pull out the big guns. She wasn’t about to lose to some stupidly handsome, stupidly sweet, stupidly talented… what was she saying? “I think you must’ve missed my last few moves. At best for you, we’re tied,” Dick called to her with his own smirk, grazing his fingers across the small of her back. Oh yeah, that’s right. She wasn’t going to lose.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully before bursting into full belly laughs. He picked her up and spun her around, matching her laughter. This felt good. This felt right. This was a cosmic reward for everything it had thrust on her since she was fourteen and she never wanted it to stop. She could feel a blissful sensation radiating out from where Dick’s strong hands were gripping her hips, pulling her closer to him.

She raised her arms crossing them behind her head as she moved to the beat and turned to shoot Dick a teasing look. The bright blue of her shirt brought out her eyes and made them shine even brighter. She looked up at him with a brilliant smile and eyes shining bright. Dick froze to take in the sight, unable in his liquor induced haze to really process how he was feeling.

It made Dick feel like electricity was surging through him. Those eyes seemed to have to power to heal wounds he didn’t even know he had. He wanted to see that look every day. He wanted to be the reason for that look. He suddenly stopped dancing and cupped her face, an intense look in his eyes. He leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate, hungry kiss. Marinette froze for a moment in shock from his sudden seriousness before pulling him closer by his shirt and returning the kiss with every bit the same amount of passion.

He pulled away still looking in her eyes and holding her close. They swayed together in the middle of the crowd, bodies glued together. Clear, bright blue meeting intense, adoring blue. Lost in their own world just for them. They were knocked out of their stupor, quite literally, by the dancers around them bumping into them. They broke eye contact and looked around sheepishly just now remembering the crowd around them. She looked back at him with a wide smile and started dancing to the music again, keeping him close, trying to keep physical contact with him in some way the entire time, which he reciprocated, refusing not to have his hands touching her body somewhere.

She gave him a coquettish smirk and spun away from him, still holding his hand as she spun. Unfortunately, at the same time a dancer next to her stepped back for a dance move of their own. Her foot tangled with his and they both fell. Dick caught her easily, his previously flirty eyes now filled with concern. He pulled her close to him, cradling her to his body. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, an embarrassed flush appearing on her cheeks. She looked over to the other dancer. “Hey, you okay?”

“Eh. It happens,” he smiled and went right back to dancing.

She giggled and turned to Dick with a shrug. Dick looked unconvinced. “Maybe we can sit for a minute. Get you some water and talk?” he offered instead, his eyes conveying the worry he felt. He carried her to a table along the dancefloor to make sure she was okay.

His concern filled Marinette with an overwhelming feeling of warmth. He wasn’t just chasing a physical high, he was worried about her. She looked in his eyes and gave him an adoring smile. She cupped his face and pulled him closer to place a slow, sweet kiss on his lips. He watched her with a dazed look as she pulled away. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Honestly, I’m a bit of a klutz to begin with and I’m drunk. I’m surprised worse hasn’t happened. This was barely anything. Accidents happen. I’m okay.” She gave him a smirk. “Come on, I want to get back to winning.”

He watched her for a few extra seconds to make sure she meant it then nodded with a smirk. “I don’t think I lose either way.”

She stood up, her chest brushing against his as she stood. “Me either,” she whispered in his ear before leading him out to the dancefloor.

He spun her around and wrapped his arms around her as they swayed to the music, pulling her tight against his body; her back pushing against his chest, her hips rubbing against his hips as they swayed to the beat. He groaned involuntarily at the sensation. She felt so right in his arms. She made his whole body vibrate in anticipation. She reached up behind her to run her hands up his neck and into his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp and pulling slightly on his hair.

He groaned and clenched his hands around her hips. She bit her lower lip and turned her head to watch him through her lashes. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her mind was racing, but no matter how much it raced, it always returned to the exhilaration she felt when his hands or his arms or his mouth touched her. She wanted to get lost in the sensation, the pleasant, soothing, tantalizing sensation that washed over her body emanating from wherever any part of Dick’s body was touching her.

The way she was looking at him stole his breath and his mind empty. He needed to be closer. He needed her against him. He needed to keep her looking at him like that. He ran his fingers along her jaw and down her neck. He buried his head in her neck, placing hot, wet kisses up her neck until his lips were brushing the shell of her ear. “Want to get out of here? Somewhere we can actually… talk?”

He felt her shudder at the sensation of his breath against her ear. She turned around to wind her arms around his neck again. She pulled him down, pressing a heated, hungry kiss to his lips. He pressed his lips harder against hers, pressing out any air between their bodies. She pulled away after a few minutes and pressed her forehead to his chest as she gasped for breath. Dick ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling every curve and plane and firm muscle. “Is that a yes?” he whispered into her hair.

She nodded into his chest and looked back up at him with sultry eyes. “I have to tell my friend where I’m going and make sure he has a plan to get home.”

He grinned, running his fingers across the small of her back. “I’ll meet you at the front door?” She nodded, not trusting her voice, and pulled him down for another searing kiss. She walked away with an tantalizing smile over her shoulder. He watched her until he couldn’t make her out in the crowd anymore and went to wait for her at the front door.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for her to meet him. She worked her way to him, the same alluring smile still on her lips, after only a few minutes. He returned her smile with an inviting one of his own. When she reached him, he brushed her hair out of her face and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze before resting his hand on her hip and making their way out of the club.

Jason stared incredulously as Dick walked out of the club trailing close behind a beautiful woman. He snorted and turned to Roy, raising his voice to imitate Dick’s, “This isn’t about getting laid. It’s about hanging out together and having fun. Boy’s night.”

Roy rested his elbow on Jason’s shoulder and shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe he’s going to get laid… and in that shirt.”

Tim came up between them, knocking Roy’s elbow down and patting both of them on the shoulder. “And before either of you.” Roy’s face went slack with realization and Jason cursed.

A cab ride later during which time they were mostly well behaved with only a modicum of wandering hands, Marinette and Dick were cuddled up on Dick’s couch popping M&M’s into their mouths, the only food he had in his apartment, between sips of their drinks. Marinette giggled and focused her attention on tossing an M&M up in the air in Dick’s direction. She cheered loudly as he caught it in his mouth with a grin. “Good toss,” he commended her, squeezing her closer and pressing his nose against the side of her face.

“Thanks.” She cuddled closer with a proud smile. “I have really good hand coordination… no wait… hand eye coordination! Clearly not that drunk despite how I sound. I’m blaming that on English. I’d be fine in English… French!” She pulled away slightly to give him an adoring look, running her hands back and forth over his stomach. “Good catching.”

He chuckled and took another drink. “Thank you.”

She sighed and leaned her head against the back of the couch as he ran his fingers over her hip. She looked around the apartment, hazy eyes flitting from thing to thing without really registering any of them. Her eyes finally settled on a shirt that was thrown on the couch right behind Dick. She reached awkwardly over him, falling into him accidentally as she grabbed the shirt. She giggled when he pulled her onto his lap with a laugh. She held out the shirt to see what it was. She gave the shirt a double take. She recognized the design. She had created the design. He owned a shirt with her design on it. She started giggling uncontrollably.

He gave her a confused look. “What?”

She held it up for him to see. “Yours?”

“Yeah, I was wearing that before we left. What? Not a fan?” he asked with a pout, uncertainty in his voice.

“No, no. I love his music,” she assured him with that same secretive smile and booping him on the nose. “I take it you’re a fan of Jagged as well?”

“I am, in fact.” He gave an exaggerated nod. “I have all his albums. Every one.” He made an exaggerated sweeping motion toward his CD’s. “I love him and the artwork, especially this one.” He held the shirt up and shook it as though she might be uncertain of which design he was talking about. “It’s so creative and cool looking. You don’t even have to be a fan of Jagged to like it. I don’t know. I just really like his artist,” he rambled not noticing a dark blush settling on her cheeks.

She surged up and captured his lips in a fervent kiss. He let out a surprised huff, but quickly melted into her lips, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her closer. After a few minutes he pulled away reluctantly, panting for breath. “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly. He cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Nothing.” She gave him an effervescent smile and pulled away slightly to wave her hands in an uncoordinated motion trying to dismiss his interest. She held up the shirt again with a nostalgic smile. “This is one of my favorite designs too. And, I’ve been a huge fan of his since I was a kid.”

“Right, he started in France didn’t he?” His voice was excited again. She nodded. He grinned at her and settled further into the couch, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a squeeze. “I like this. Tell me more about yourself. I want to know more.”

She smiled broadly at how excited he sounded. “I like this too. We’ll take turns. I want to hear more about you. Not just me. Don’t be selfish.” She gave him a mock stern look, pointing a finger in his face.

His smile beamed at her comment and gave her a curt, serious nod. “I would never. Okay. You first.” He took the shirt out of her hands and threw it over his shoulder.

She giggled at him, her eyes following the arc of the shirt as she thought about what she wanted to say. She took another gulp of her drink. “Let’s see. From France.” He nodded in confirmation and encouraged her to continue. “Paris, that’s in France. Went to university in New York, that’s in America. Really like whatever this is.” She held up her glass before finishing the rest of it. “Signed a deal with a company in Gotham and decided to move here and open a store. I’m a clothing designer.”

He nodded along as she talked, attempting to catalog each piece of information for later despite the information already melding together into nonsensical data points in his head. He looked down at her clothes. “You look amazing. Did you do it yourself?”

She gave him a radiant smile and wiggled in his lap in excitement at the compliment. “Thank you. I did. It's Nightwing themed.”

Dick choked on the drink he had just taken. He gave her a faux innocent smile. “Fan of his?”

Marinette watched him with concerned eyes for a few seconds to make sure he was okay before she answered. “Yeah. I think he’s a good… I mean…” she took a second to collect herself and look serious as she spoke as though this were an important conversation. “He has a really imprint… a really impressive leadership style. Strong… and dynamic… and compassionate.” She counted off the attributes on her fingers to accentuate her point. “The way he connects with victims… I mean they all have their own way of connecting with people,” she quickly added not wanting to insult them as though they could just know she was talking about them, like their bat senses might be tingling. She looked down and furrowed her brow. “I guess his way just resonates with me more?” She looked up at Dick to see if he was following. He was watching her with something close to awe so she took that as a sign to continue.

“And his fighting technique! The things he can do? I’ve only ever seen one other person able to move like that and she had magic to help.” She made some wild, vague motions in the air to indicate flips. “But he’s just… like that. Completely human… at least so they say… I don’t know. Do you?” She looked to him with an inquisitive stare. She continued on without letting him answer, “and can do that. I mean… wow.” She continued talking completely oblivious to the way Dick’s cheeks were flushing and his eyes darkening. “Not to mention sexy. I mean damn…” she suddenly realized she was gushing about someone else while cuddled up in Dick’s lap. She looked at the now empty glass accusatorily. “Maybe I am that drunk. I really should stop talk…”

Dick obliged her wish, stopping her with a kiss before she could finish her sentence. He cupped her face and pulled her closer, pressing into her with a bruising volley of kisses. Her kisses tasted like the liquor and chocolate they had been consuming in an enticing combination of flavor that was just her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her, hungrily returning his kisses. He reached up into her hair and pulled out the band holding it up, releasing her hair and allowing his hands to wind into her hair. He gently pulled, prompting her to lean her head back giving him better access to her neck. He trailed wet kisses down her neck.

The moan she let out sent shivers down his spine. He had caused her to make that noise. The sound was like a spell forcing his full attention on her. His mind became consumed with trying to figure out how to get her to make it again and what other sounds she could make. She shifted so she was straddling his hips and rolled her hips slightly. He groaned in response and playfully nipped at her collar bone before ghosting his nose back up her neck as he trailed his nails up and down her back and along her hips. The feeling of his rough, calloused fingers against her skin caused goosebumps to rise across her skin wherever he had touched her showing a history of his contact.

She whimpered into his hair and worked her hands down his chest splaying out her fingers as she moved them against his body. She found his shirt’s hem and reached under it to feel his skin against hers. He gasped at the sensation and reached to pull his shirt off to grant her more access. She hummed in appreciation and ran her fingers along his muscles in his chest before pressing into him to deepen the kiss.

He reached under her shirt running his finger under the band on her bra, causing her to whimper into his mouth. He started pulling off her shirt but paused, pulling away from her just enough to whisper against her lips. “Wait. Do you want to do this?”

Marinette nodded, still staring at his lips before diving in to feel his lips on hers again.

He moaned into the kiss, getting lost in the sensation of her, her lips, her tongue, her taste, her skin, the weight on his hips and chest. He fought to pull himself out of his haze, but distancing away from her slightly. “Marinette.” He hooked his finger under her chin to get her to look at him. Once she had focused on his eyes he asked again. “I want to make sure. Do you want to keep going? If you don’t we can just keep doing this or we can stop.”

Marinette’s eyes turned soft. She traced his jaw slowly and bit her lower lip. “Do you have protection?”

He nodded, “I do,” he assured her.

She smiled and pressed closer to him. “Then yes. I want to keep going. Do you?”

“Definitely, yes,” he whispered huskily, pulling her shirt off and tossing it across the room.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@dickinette-february

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #Hope on Board #platonic adrienette #Knocked Up AU #prompt - chocolate

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etheraella · 4 years ago

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𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴, 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕖𝕣𝕒

(James Potter x Reader x Remus Lupin)

Summary: Midnight tours, sitting on rooftops, blithe relationships and smiles full of ecstasy, (everything was perfect). Sleepless nights, pitiful eyes, bitter lies and forced promises, (until it all changed). Nothing hurts more than picking a side, especially if it’s between two people you cherish the most. So tell me, is it James or Remus?

Warnings: mentions of forced marriage, sorrow

P.S: We came across a song that describes this story perfectly right as we were about to post, and we thought it would give that final touch to the story. The lyrics will only make it’s entrance after a while. here it is

* - used for flashbacks

!! bold italics - used for lyrics !!

Made up twists:

- The public knows about the marauders being animagus’s

- The crystal ball used for Divination was found early and only the higher ups, like Dumbledore, had access to it.

- Wizards actually relied on the crystal ball considering how accurate it was

You slammed the fork on the table, annoyed as what you hoped would be a quiet meal got interrupted, causing everyone to freeze still at the abrupt noise.

“Is it really that hard for me to enjoy a meal? One meal. That’s all I’m asking for.” You eyed every single presence on the table, keeping your gaze as intimidating as possible, yet some still mumbled under their breaths and puckered their lips so their smiles would look less obvious.

“Why? Getting shy? Oh, c’mon Y/N, you and James make quite the couple and you know that. Quite probably, the whole school does.” Your eyes shifted towards Sirius, who looked at you from the side of his eye, smugly smiling with a bit of his teeth exposed.

“Open your mouth again, Padfoot, and I’ll shove my fork down your throat.” You threatened, grabbing the fork you previously slammed on the table and pointing it at him. You glared at James, who had never once done anything about the teasing from the entire school. In fact, he just feeds the people with what they want.

While your meal was disturbed, he seemed to be enjoying his. He sat slouched on his chair, with an arm resting on the one beside him, the corner of his lip was perked up as he looked at you. “Don’t look at me, it’s not my fault we got exposed.” He raised his eyebrows, assuming to be portraying the innocent one, with his hands raised up lazily while his arm was still glued onto the chair beside him.

Frustrated, you combed your hair back with your left hand, looking to your right, where Remus happened to be sitting. He gave you a small smile. You returned it.

You and James were the impeccable duo, or at least as Hogwarts thought. Well, it is quite out of the ordinary for a woman to have a male animal as an animagus, specifically, a stag; which was James’s animagus too. It was funny how James, a coarse, vile-tempered boy had a stag, an animal that indicates looking out for others and leadership roles as an animagus. It was all so strange, almost as if you were meant to be… was what they convinced themselves with. Either that, or one of you loved the other so dearly, not only their patronus followed the other person’s, but their animaguses too. However, you didn’t take any of it into account. You thought it was all inconsequential.

Besides, it wasn’t James that had caught your eye, it was Remus. Not that James was irrelevant or anything, you still loved him, but not in that way. And you didn’t want your friendship to rupture. You had more of a connection with Remus though, and you felt as if he did too. But neither of you had the courage to tell each other. Although, there were times when “friendly” wasn’t the word to describe your relationship.

“Move!”

You dreaded these kinds of days; the days Hogwarts made their Steak and Kidney Pie. Not because they didn’t taste good, but because you’ve never reached the dining hall fast enough to pick a table where they actually served it. It was just ridiculous to you how they only serve the pies at certain tables. It almost felt as if the staff wanted to watch the students hurdle up like sheep getting chased by a sheepdog and the dining hall playing as their sheep pen.

You stretched your arms out in between the two people in front of you, making a big enough hole for you to push through.

“I’ll even swim if I have to.” You thought to yourself. It was no use, even as you went further forward through the line, the people beside you would push you more towards the wall. And once you reach the wall, it’s game over.

“Budge it.” Losing your balance as you felt a sudden push from one of the ‘sheep’, you got smacked against the wall, or so you thought was a wall.

“Well, good morning to you too.” Looking up at the low-pitched voice, you realised what you were previously slammed against wasn’t a wall, but rather someone’s rock hard torso, or more precisely, Remus’s rock hard torso. Rattled, you try backing away, trying to create space between the two of you, however the hallway was too cramped for that.

Remus slightly tilted his head to one side, making his double chin visible as he looked down at you, grinning. “Cramped places could be useful at times, don’t you think?”

“Don’t try it, Remus.” You said as you buried your face deeper into his shirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice how red you had become. But what you didn’t know was that he could feel your heartbeat fastening, being the reason for his chuckle.

“She sure is having quite the dream, isn’t she?” The sound of a pair of hands clapped together was enough to make you snap out of it. In a swift move, you sat straight on your chair. James, who was sitting in front of you was laughing hysterically.

“You could have picked a different time to daydream about the future you and James hold, you know.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Later that night, you stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You were always the last to fall asleep out of your dormmates, probably due to the continuous night tours around Hogwarts with the rest of the marauders. There was no way you would have a normal sleep schedule now.

Suddenly, you heard what seemed to be a knocking coming from the window. Looking towards the sound, you spotted a familiar owl pecking the moonlit glass window. You smiled to yourself, fully aware of what was happening. Hopping off the bed, flinching once your feet came in contact with the cold floor, you slowly opened the door, hoping not to wake your dormmates up. There stood James, a grin plastered across his face. “Hogsmeade tour?”

You smiled from ear to ear, all too familiarly.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You and James found yourselves sitting on the roof of a random shop located somewhere in the middle of Hogsmeade after a walk around what felt like the whole of the village, until you started to feel pain in your legs. You yawned, finally feeling a hint of tiredness in your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Tired already?” Unable to open your mouth, you just hum in response. “Another round, perhaps?” Lifting your right hand up, you slightly nudged his head to the opposing side with your index and middle finger, causing him to let out a short giggle followed by a kiss on your forehead.

“G’night, Y/N.” He rested his head on yours as he drifted to sleep along with you.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You woke up to James screaming. “Get up! We’re late!” Still half-asleep, you let out a lazy groan as he continued screaming in your ear. “If you don’t get up now, I’m pushing you off this roof.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled a quick response in hope of James to stop talking.

“Get. Up.” Letting out a loud sigh, you lazily shook the sleep off your body and stood up. “How late are we, exactly?” You asked, your voice still a little croaky.

“They’re probably having lunch by this time.” Your eyes widen, almost as if they were about to pop out. “Damnit, James! You couldn’t have woken up a little earlier?” Cussing under your breath, you jumped off the roof and started running towards the school, James laughing to himself, following behind you after grabbing his jacket.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You two just stood there, your hands behind your backs.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.” Looking at the two of you, anyone would have easily misunderstood. How your hair was all messed up, along with James’s, your clothes wrinkled and only returning to the school the next morning. As the students walked by, they stole glances and exchanged giggles. Even at a time like this, where you and James were accused of scandalous behavior, James seemed to be doing nothing about it. It has always been you who had to solve misunderstandings.

You nudged James with your elbow, signaling for him to do something with your eyes. To no surprise, he just frowned and shrugged. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand seemed unamused, with her arms crossed.

Clearing her throat, she finally spoke. “Be that as it may, professor Dumbledore is expecting you. Both, Of you.” And with that, she walked away, leaving you and James exchanging looks with each other.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Ah, yes. Please, sit.” Dumbledore was standing behind his desk, admiring a crystal ball which was placed neatly on it. While on your way to Dumbledore to take a seat, he unanticipatedly posed a question.

“So, what are your thoughts on marriage?” Finally looking up from the crystal ball, he looked up at the two of you, with a small smile.

“Pardon?”

“You two are romantically involved, are you not?” You were taken aback by the professor’s sudden straightforwardness.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You shot your head at James, who did the same. Whilst you and James were busy arguing under your breaths, Dumbledore approached the two of you. “Well, it would be nice if that was the case, seeing that you two have a probability of ending the war.”

You shifted your attention to Dumbledore, curiosity filling your head as you wondered what he meant by ‘ending the war’. “End the war?”

“Precisely,” While Dumbledore was walking back to his desk, you and James followed behind him. “You see, being an old man has its own perks as well. Whilst being locked inside this room with nowhere to go, my mind has been pondering.”

Fascinated by the topic Dumbledore had bestowed upon you, you sat down, your gaze still fixed on the headmaster. “It is unquestionably impossible for a female to possess a male animagus, yet somehow you accomplished it.” He turned his back around to look at you. “If it’s not a deep connection that mirrored each of your animagus’s, which surely it must not be, it must be the power you hold. With the both of you combined, surely Voldemort won’t have a chance against you, or your children.”

“Children?!” You almost screamed. Once realising how loud you had been, you sniffed and fixed your position back on your chair.

“I am aware of how sudden this all seems, however at times like this, I’m afraid not everyone has a choice. But of course, we will not take any risks. Therefore, to determine the success percentage of my proposal, we will be using, this.” He held the crystal ball he was previously admiring in his hands, as delicately as possible. “Divination?” James interfered, his tone smooth.

“Correct, James. We will be announcing the marriage publicly with the purpose of having everyone believe it being true. At which point, this crystal ball will analyse and interpret a wizard’s surroundings by logical thinking and sensibility of mind and body in comparison to Arithmancy, which focuses on calculating probabilities, magnitude, strength and effectiveness of magical forces in general, including properties of numbers and their application, which will be used to foresee a glimpse of the future. If perhaps, there is no sight of the victory of Voldemort, be it in love or not, this marriage is compulsory for the safety of the wizarding world.”

With no words to say, you were forced to carry all the pressure that was caused by what you thought was a miracle; having a powerful animagus. You were forced to pick a side.

“What if it still shows Voldermort’s victory?”

Dumbledore sighed before slumping down on his chair. “Then, I’m afraid my proposal was hopeless. And the marriage would be called off, publicly. I would have to yet again, sit here and… ponder.”

You sat there, thinking about both the possibilities. Although there were positive sides to both situations, the only thing that circled your head was the negative effects; what would happen to you and Remus?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Your mind was still lingering in the headmasters office that you almost bumped into a wall. Fortunately, James was there to stop you.

“Does it really bother you that much?” He looked at you, his hand grasped onto your arm from when he stopped you from hitting your head onto the wall.

“This is about marriage, James! No, it’s about reproducing!” You looked at him, wide-eyed, seeing as he seemed all too unfazed by all this.

“Well, it’s not as bad when you really think about it. You could be ending up with Snape for all you know!” He laughed hysterically at his own line, whilst you blankly stared at him, unbelievably. “How could he be joking around at a time like this?” You thought.

You’ve been avoiding Remus since yesterday; when the news was announced. You were too afraid he would be disappointed in you; that you didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. You didn’t want to hurt Remus, but neither did you want to hurt the rest of the wizarding community. You decided that your decision would be made once you see what the crystal ball portrays.

“Run along, you too! We don’t have all day!” Your thoughts were interrupted by professor McGonagall who pushed you and James into the headmasters office. She didn’t know that your marriage was a part of a strategy. Dumbledore suggested she shouldn’t know so that she could be the one controlling the crystal ball, in order for the crystal ball to be analysing the professors surroundings; someone who wasn’t aware that it was all a part of a scheme.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Well? What do you see?” James pushed, forcing a quick answer.

“If you want to know so bad, why don’t you just look?” You glared at James from the small hole you made in between your fingers which were covering your face. You were too anxious of looking into the ball; you were scared of the outcome. James must’ve felt the same way, since he was also covering his eyes.

There was silence for a while. Nobody said a word. Dumbledore and professor McGonagall exchanged looks before putting the crystal ball away and facing the two of you. Before speaking, Dumbledore cleared his throat, which caused the two of you to turn your backs and face him.

“It seems as though the marriage will come to a great outcome. My proposition was well-built indeed.” He smiled, seemingly pleased with his way of thinking. Meanwhile you, on the other hand, were thinking about how on earth you were supposed to face Remus now.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The moon had already made it’s entrance as you were still seated on some rocks near the Whomping Willow, with the waning gibbus moon and the forbidden forest in your range of view. You had completely lost your sense of time due to the messy state your mind was in. It was so quiet, even the sound of your stomach rumbling caused you to jump.

“Hungry?” You looked to your right, Remus was looking back at you with a softened gaze. You forced a smile before switching your gaze back to the forest, Remus making his way to seat himself beside you.

“Have you ever imagined life on the other side, Remus? You know, behind the forest and it’s deadly creatures.” You pointed the word deadly out in a sarcastic manner as you thought life inside the forest wasn’t as dangerous as people thought it was.

“Sunshine and rainbows?” He smiled, only the higher points of his face visible as the moon shone on them. “I’m serious.” You frowned, his smile growing bigger.

“What do you say we find out?” he raised an eyebrow.

“What about the deadly creatures?”

“Hey, I’m here for you.” He nudged you back with his shoulder a little too aggressively, causing you to almost fall on your side if he didn’t catch you. “Steady on! The moon already acting up?” You teased, but he seemed to be offended.

“Y/N, my shift was yesterday.” The realisation hit you; you were too caught up with the whole scheme that you didn’t even make time to think about the one person you cherished most. “Oh, I’m sorry,”

“No, no. It’s okay. I mean, I don’t blame you. With your marriage and all.” He sighed. You closed your eyes as you realised what you had done, or more specifically, what you hadn’t done. You wanted to be the one to tell him, he deserved to hear it from your own voice. “Remus, I-“

He took a deep breath in as he stood up and straightened his uniform, giving you a small, reassuring smile.

“ Somewhere far behind The scenes Two thousand and seventeen The start of a story Rumors about you and me Talking 'bout our chemistry But no need to hurry ”

“Congrats, Y/N. I’m glad it’s with James and not someone else.” He tried letting out a laugh, which only came out as a small, forced huff. Hesitating, he walked away, as if he had more to say but he couldn’t bring himself to. You only watched as his silhouette faded. The fact that you weren’t able to stop him built the guilt inside you. It was either this or the lives of many wizards being thrown away.

It was at times like this that you wished you had gotten a different animal and not a stag as your animagus; even if it meant you had to be rotten inside.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You winced at the bright light that shone through the window. Not aware how you ended up in your dorm, you looked around you. No one was there. “Has class started already?” You thought.

You studied yourself in the mirror as you fixed your tie. You’ve always had dark circles, but this time it was the most noticeable. But things like this didn’t bother you; it couldn’t. Not with all the bigger burdens you had to carry. You shook your head, giving yourself the idea of the weight being brushed off your body.

As soon as you opened the door to leave, a conversation was already being held in front of you. “Yeah, he got caught shifting the night before the last. He’s been hiding in the Shrieking Shack this entire time! Can you believe it?”

“What?! I mean, I’ve always thought Remus was weird, but I really didn’t think that far! So what’s going to happen to him now? I don’t want to be in the same building with that freak!”

“Trust me, nobody does. They’re having a meeting with some of the student’s parents, regarding his stay at Hogwarts. I wish he gets—"

As much as you wanted to fight back to the two good-for-nothing gossipers, you couldn’t waste the very little amount of time you had left. You would have been an idiot if you didn’t try to speak for him now. After everything else you hurt him with, it was only right for you to take action as a loyal friend, no, as someone who loves him.

Your mind was too occupied with thinking about what would happen to Remus if he got kicked out that you didn’t feel the pain in your stomach and legs as you ran with all your might. The wind harshly hitting your face as you ran, and your tie loosening. You couldn’t let him get expelled; not for something he didn’t ask for, not for something he couldn’t control.

“ 'Cause I will light up Your heaven tonight Light up your whole world Just for you ”

Your running came into an abrupt halt when James reached out for your arm. Worry filling his expression. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You looked at him, breathing heavily as you snatched your arm away. “Remus needs me.” Seeing as you were about to rush away again, James placed his hand back on your arm, pulling you to face him.

“Tell me what’s happening. Why does Remus need you? What’s going on?” You studied him before combing your hair back with your left hand. “Someone caught him. Shifting. Yesterday. He’s going to get expelled if I don’t do something about it. He’s not a freak! He doesn’t hurt anyone!” Your shaky voice raising with every word you said, tears filling your eyes as you thought about what would happen if you don’t get there in time, huffing in between your sentences.

James stood there, examining your face, not able to find the right words to say. You sighed, “Let me go. I need to do something.” Trying to push his hand off your arm with your left hand, he only tightened his grip.

“Do you even know where he is? Do you even know where to go? Y/N, are you just gonna go running around the whole castle? With an empty stomach? Do you have any idea how you look right now?! You look like you just got up from your grave, Y/N! You would collapse before even seeing him!”

He paused, before taking a deep breath, followed by you. “Look, he’s going to be okay. Who do you think he is? A weak, fragile little boy? All we can do right now is be there for him when he gets out. Listen to me, It’s gonna be okay, alright?” His tone softening as he lifted your chin up with his folded index finger and looked into your eyes with raised eyebrows. You forced a tight smile and looked away.

“ Wherever you go I will follow Whenever you're low Just let me hold you Let me hold you Don't be afraid I will show you I'll make it okay Just let me hold you Let me hold you ”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It’s been almost a week since you last saw Remus, and your wedding was in a few hours. You never got to see him that morning. He left without even saying goodbye. Everything was happening too fast for you to take anything in. All you knew was that you were attending a wedding that was held in the entrance of Hogwarts as a bride, and James being the partner in-crime.

A quick knock from the other side of the door was enough for you to snap out of your thoughts. “Come in.” The door slid open, James leaning against the door frame in his suit, holding a bouquet of lily flowers in his hands. You gave him a small smile; you knew this was as hard for him to handle as it was for you. You shared the same burden, the only way for you to cope was through each other.

He walked towards you, his gaze fixed onto you the entire time. Finally reaching for the chair in front of you and seating himself down, he handed you the bouquet. “You’re gorgeous.” He commented, as he studied you in a white gown, your hair tied up in a bun and features enhanced with the way you looked at him.

“The same to you, I almost drooled.” You teased, followed by him cocking an eyebrow. But his eyes soon softened as he remembered the reason why he came to you in the first place. “Y/N, I have something to tell you,” You simply looked at him, listening attentively.

He dithered, still unsure whether he should tell you or keep it to himself like he did all this while. “We were never going to stop the war.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “What do you mean? I thought this marriage was supposed to—”

“I know, that’s what I wanted everyone to believe.” He paused, realising how much of a problem he was going to cause if he came clean, but he couldn’t keep it any longer; he had to tell someone. He took a deep breath and looked into your innocent eyes before speaking. His tone was filled with desperation.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I really am, but I lied to you. I lied to everyone. I messed with the crystal ball to make it look like we could end the war and I—”

“What? Hold on, James, what are you saying? Why would you mess with the crystal ball? What is wrong with you?!” The more you thought of it, the more it aggravated you; it didn’t make any sense, not even a single drop of anything he said made sense to you.

“Y/N, listen to me, I—”

“Were you in your right mind?! Do you have any idea what that silly prank of yours caused? Is that why you were so relaxed about all of this? Because it was one of your stupid jokes all along? And why on earth are you telling me this now?! James, what were you—”

“It wasn’t a prank!”

That was the first time you had ever seen him as exasperated as he was now. You’ve never seen this side of him. You only knew the bully, James, the prankster, James. The spoilt child, James. Seeing all this was new to you.

“It was never a joke. Do you really think I would be that narrow-minded? I wouldn’t go this far if I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have went this far, if I didn’t love you.” As he kept talking, his tone softened, as well as his expression.

Your face untensed as you looked at him. “I love you, Y/N. I always have and I still do. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I knew if I didn’t, you would’ve left. I see the way you look at Remus, I can’t do it anymore.” You avoided eye-contact as soon as he mentioned his name. He was the reason you couldn’t say goodbye.

“Look, I’m sorry. But please,” his breathing became uneasy as he mumbled the next words. “Please don’t leave.”

“ I'm not gonna leave I'm here to stay 'Cause I ain't nobody If I ain't got you ”

You couldn’t scream at him for what he did. You couldn’t tell him off, because you knew how it felt to have someone to cherish. You knew how it felt to love and lose someone. You felt for him, and you hated it. He caused the chaos you didn’t ask for, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to get mad at him.

“We should go.” Your tone softened as you stood up, the bouquet falling off your lap and onto the floor as you did.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls,"

This was meant to be a day filled with joy and happiness. Everyone else seemed to be having the time of their lives except you, and a concerned James, who was standing before you. You examined him, your eyes landing on your joined hands with a ring wrapped on each of our right ring fingers. Who would have thought the moment you’ve always imagined as a child would end up being something you were forced into doing?

“James Potter, do you t…..”

You weren’t paying attention. The rest of his words became blurry for you. It felt as if your ears automatically filtered out the noise and all you could hear was your own thoughts.

Your eyes wandered the venue. Although this wasn’t the memorable moment you’ve always dreamed of, you knew for sure this moment was ought to hold a place in your head.

“Y/N?”

“ Baby, don't let me down ”

You shot your eyes at James, who called your name, then at the crowd. They seemed to be waiting for an answer; it was your turn to make your promise. You paused, your eyes still searching the crowd, until it stopped. And your body froze. “Remus?” you mumbled under your breath. James, following your gaze as he halted to look at him too.

He was leaning against the far behind wall, his arms crossed as he smiled at you. You didn’t expect this would be the first time you would see him after he left; at your wedding, without him being the one who joined hands with you.

“Y/N,” James whispered, causing you to look at him, then back at Remus. Your gaze shifted back and forth between James and Remus as wild thoughts were running your head.

“ Don't let me down Without you, I'm frozen Without you, I'm frozen Baby don't let me down ”

Something was screaming inside your head, and the more you listened, the more you were intrigued to catch it. Your gaze deepened into James’s eyes as you finally gave in. “Just this once,” You thought to yourself. “let me do what I want.”

You held his head in your hands, delicately, caressing his cheeks as you felt sorry for him, then placed a gentle kiss on his forehead as a tear left your eye. Pulling away, you noticed his confused eyes looking back at you. “I’m sorry.” Pulling the ring off your finger and placing it in his right hand before closing it again, you spoke. “We’ll be waiting for you.” Giving him one last smile, you turned to see Remus, his smile faded as he looked at back at you.

“ Wherever you go I will follow “

Lifting your gown up, your feet took off, your gaze still fixed on Remus as a smile plastered itself across your face.

This was the freest you felt in a long time. You deserved this, you deserved a happy ending. It felt as if the weight flew off your shoulders with the wind the more the momentum picked up as you ran. You felt your bun come loose, but you couldn’t care less. You decided to look at what was in front of you, and in front of you only. And in front of you, stood Remus. Your contagious smile now grew on Remus’s face as you grabbed his arm and pulled him with you.

“ Even if time will Fly away We will be hotter Than a flame 'Cause I ain't nobody If I ain't got you No, if I ain't got you ”

“To the forest?” His voice grew bumpy with each step he took, his eyes were fixed on you the entire time. You briefly glanced behind at him as your smile grew wider. “To the forest.”

Without hesitating, he twisted his arm away from your grip and grasped a hold of your hand, slowly intertwining your fingers as he picked up his pace, now leading the both of you towards the forbidden forest.

He shortly looked back at you, his eyes filled with ecstasy as he did.

“ Just let me hold you Let me hold you Don't be afraid I will show you ”

“I’m free,”

“I’m finally free.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Author’s Note: We are very proud to finally be able to share this project that we have been working on. Celeste has been tirelessly working on the plot, studying more about the project and writing this story, which took her 5 working days to finally accomplish. Meanwhile Luna has put in much effort into editing and polishing everything. It would mean the absolute world to us if our hard work would get noticed. Sending love and happiness to every single individual who interacts with this ♡

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cto10121 · 3 years ago

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The bad Shakespeare takes keep coming, I see. This one had the cleverness to couch itself as a personal narrative (makes it much more interesting, tbh). But as bad Shakespeare takes are my bread and butter, my boon and bane, mamma mia here we go again, with Merchant of Venice.

“But those who thought the play was irredeemably antisemitic were, the consensus went, vulgar and whiny—and, completely coincidentally, they were also Jewish, which somehow magically invalidated their opinions on this subject.”

I’m glad (is that even the right word?) this author found scholars that don’t think this play is anti-Semitic, but my experience with scholarship has been way more mixed than that. Suffice to say, this is literally all the play is known for these days, and views of the play as anti-Semitic are everywhere (Rosenbaum even had a hot take that since the Nazis liked it, it must be anti-Semitic). Didn’t know Harold Bloom thinks this play is anti-Semitic, though. That in itself is a bit of a red flag, as Bloom is a notoriously poor reader of Shakespeare.

“[I]n Merchant, Portia unhappily fulfills her father’s requirements of her suitors, while in Il Pecorone, the lady enjoys drugging her suitors and robbing them blind. By removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the suggestion that malicious schemers come from all walks of life.”

Or, by removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the clear and abhorrent sexism of his original source that turned a woman robbed of her autonomy by her father’s will into a criminal. It’s almost as if you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Dr. Lopez, one of the most respected physicians of the 16th century, had indiscreetly revealed that he once treated the Earl of Essex for venereal disease. The earl took revenge by framing Dr. Lopez for treason and arranging for his torture; while on the rack, Dr. Lopez “confessed”—though “like a Jew,” as the court record states, he denied all charges at trial, while the attorney for the Crown referred to him matter-of-factly as “a perjuring murdering traitor and Jewish doctor.”

This is a very twisted account of the Lopez affair and Essex’s motives in going against him, at least to my understanding. For context, Lopez was accused of receiving loads of money from the King of Spain to poison Queen Elizabeth.

According to Stephen Greenblatt, in Will of the World: “Essex had tried some years before to recruit Lopez as a secret agent. Lopez’s refusal—he chose instead directly to inform the queen—may have been prudent, but it created in the powerful earl a very dangerous enemy. After his arrest, he was initially imprisoned at Essex House and interrogated by the earl himself. But Lopez had powerful allies in the rival faction of the queen’s senior adviser William Cecil, Lord Burghley, and his son, Robert Cecil, who also participated in the interrogation and reported to the queen that the charges against her physician were baseless.” Lopez apparently had been taken bribes from various sources, and confessed (freely? under torture?) “that he had indeed entered into a treasonous-sounding negotiation with the king of Spain, but he insisted that he had done so only in order to cozen the king out of his money.” Weird.

Greenblatt isn’t a historian, though, and Essex was indeed an asshole to Lopez, (and for what is worth, I feel Lopez was innocent; I just get those vibes) but so far I can find no other source that Essex actively framed Lopez. Most likely he did some sleuthing, dug up some questionable, compromising stuff, and tried to blow a hearth flame into a firestorm.

“After all, the historical record gives Queen Elizabeth a cookie for dawdling on signing Dr. Lopez’s death warrant; her doubts about his guilt even led her to mercifully allow his family to keep his property, not unlike the equally merciful Duke of Venice in Shakespeare’s play.”

Again, Lopez had powerful allies (doesn’t get much higher than Burghley), and again, re: Greenblatt: “According to court observers, Elizabeth gave Essex a tongue-lashing, ‘calling him rash and temerarious youth, to enter into a matter against the poor man, which he could not prove, and whose innocence she knew well enough.’” A cupcake, then?

“And it is of course entirely unclear whether this trial and public humiliation of an allegedly greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian, rapturously reported in the press with myriad antisemitic embellishments, had anything at all to do with Shakespeare’s play about the trial and public humiliation of a greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian—which Shakespeare composed shortly after Dr. Lopez decomposed. Most likely these things were completely unrelated.”

Nearly all the major Shakespeare biographies and articles I’ve read literally and explicitly talks about the possible influence of Lopez’s execution on Merchant of Venice and names it as an inspiration: Greenblatt, (he even headcanons that Shakespeare watched the execution!) Bate, Ackroyd. That’s how Horn managed to ping my BS radar something awful—because I had read about it, many times, even if it was mentioned in passing. It’s solid, legit Shakespearean academic fanon. The sarcasm is really unwarranted, and childish besides.

“It was damned hard to hear the nuance while parsing lines like “Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal,” or “My master’s a very Jew; give him a present, give him a halter,” or explaining what Shylock meant when he planned to “go in hate, to feed upon / The prodigal Christian.”

The first two are the fool’s, Lancelot’s, lines, I think. As for Shylock’s hatred toward Christians, while ugly, it’s entirely understandable given the Christian characters’ treatment of him pre-play and during it (Antonio spitting on Shylock’s gaberdine and then asking him to borrow money from him is called out by Shylock himself for its sheer hypocrisy). It also fits Shylock’s character as an unassimilated Jew, resenting Christian hypocrisy and racism.

“The actor began the brief soliloquy that every English-speaking Jew is apparently meant to take as a compliment: ‘I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? . . . If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

“Wait, that’s the part where he’s more human?”

[…]“Sure,” I told my son, game-facing him back in the rearview. “He’s reminding us how he’s like everyone else. He’s a normal person with normal feelings.”

My son laughed. “You seriously fell for that?”

[…] “What do you mean?”

“Shylock’s just saying he wants revenge! Like, ‘Oh, yeah? If I’m a regular human, then I get to be eee-vil like a regular human!’ This is the evil monologue thing that every supervillain does! ‘I’ve had a rough life, and if you were me you would do the same thing, so that’s why I’m going to KILL BATMAN, mu-hahaha!’ He’s just manipulating the other guy even more!”

And then the crowd applauded, Harold Bloom cried, and the mayor gave the author’s six-year-old son a gold medal for his Brave Hot Take. Honestly, this was the most unbelievable part of the essay I’ve read. Unless this kid has been reading academic essays on MoV that posit this exact same interpretation (“Shylock was just using humanistic rhetoric to justify his ~bloodthirsty revenge!”), this one’s for a fake Internet stories anthology. Shylock may be a dour, miserable pain in the ass, but he is no Barabas, an actual anti-Semitic caricature—he has a character, and a recognizably human one, and the play bears it out that he is right in his anger.

“I reviewed the other moments scholars cite to prove Shylock’s “humanity.” There were two lines of Shylock treasuring his dead wife’s ring, unlike the play’s Christian men who give their wives’ rings away. But unlike the other men, Shylock never gets his ring back—because his daughter steals it, and becomes a Christian, and inherits what remains of his estate at the play’s triumphant end.”

Er, this is a non sequitur—that last has nothing to do with the first. The point is, Shylock doesn’t give away his ring; the fact that his daughter stole it means nothing to his treasuring it. It may be proof of the play’s marginalization of Shylock (which accurately if sadly reflects real-life systematic marginalization), but not his humanity. Shakespeare just doesn’t do backstories, even for major characters, so it is significant that he gave Shylock a wife/beloved in the first place.

“Finally, scholars point to the many times Shylock explains why he is so revolting: Christians treat him poorly, so he returns the favor. But for this to satisfy, one must accept that Jews are revolting to begin with, and that their repulsiveness simply needs to be explained.”

This makes absolutely no sense at all. If one accepts Jews are inherently revolting, then no explanation need be given for when a Jewish character acts revolting! The racist accepts the revolting Jewish characterization without qualm. The fact that the play insists on his grievance is significant.

“We listened together as Shylock went to court to extract his pound of flesh; as the heroine, chirping about the quality of mercy, forbade him to spill the Christian’s blood as he so desperately desired; as the court confiscated his property, along with his soul through forced conversion; as the play’s most cherished characters used his own words to taunt and demean him, relishing their vanquishing of the bloodthirsty Jew.”

YMMV, but to me there are no cherished characters in this play. That’s the whole point! Everyone is so mired in this dreary capitalist materialism that denigrates genuine human connection into mere transaction. Everything to these characters is money, money, money (and class), or at least tainted by it. Shylock is simply the most overt (and honest) of the lot. Love relationships, religion are impoverished; Portia and Bassanio are scarcely more suited than Portia and her other suitors. Shylock and Antonio are Jews and Christians in-name-only: They are capitalists first and foremost. Portia is a smarter, more likable Karen. Lancelot isn’t funny. Jessica is okay, but her leaving her father is framed as a asshole moment at least in one instance. Portia is probably the most lovable, but she has her asshole moments too. There are no truly awful characters, but you don’t need to demonize and dehumanize your whole cast into two-dimensional racists just to make a point.

Merchant of Venice is not the best of plays. It is one of Shakespeare’s experiments, a proto-problem play before his Jacobean era, using dark comedy and a slight bent of farce to explore and elucidate social issues, racism and discrimination, chiefly. At least it tries, anyway. Taming of the Shrew is the first proto-problem play done completely farcical, which at least makes it compelling in a slapstick-satire way; Merchant is much more sociologically astute, but also more dull and coolly distant even from its own concerns. I don’t blame anyone, much less Jewish people, for not liking the play or thinking it a masterpiece. I myself don’t, though for reasons that have nothing to do with the usual ones. I like what Shakespeare was trying to do and I think he did some things very well. It has ambition and thought. But I feel like for most of it Shakespeare was on writing autopilot while mentally looking around for something a bit meatier to adapt and develop. It’s a jogging-in-one-place play; he has a couple of those.

In sum: Author argues for complicated play’s anti-Semitism, ends up just saying the racist slurs by the flawed/asshole Christian characters made her and her son uncomfortable (feat. A distorted and even misleading account of the Lopez affair). Plus some internalized anti-Semitism to sort through, methinks.

#the merchant of venice #shakespeare #cristina metas #shakespeare meta #kind of #cristina reviews #also kind of #merchant is not even one of my liked plays but these takes are just wearying

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toloveawarlord · 4 years ago

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You can find my masterlist in my bio!

25 Days of Christmas Day 1

Pairing: Lancelot x MC

Prompt: “We’re snowed in.”

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @christmaswarlock @sakura-1819 @starry-starry-night24 @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @thewitchofbooks @stardust-dreamer13 @ikemensengokufangirl @gay-noodle-clan

A/N: Day 1 is complete! Some mischief Alice and Lance to kick off our holiday season!

Headquarters had never been so quiet, so serene. Peace had settled over Cradle like the blanket of snow that coated the land. The holidays approached quickly, and for the first time ever, nearly all of the officers had left headquarters with time off, variously dispersing to family homes or Central Quarter.

Then the snowstorm hit.

The winds howled, throwing flakes like blades through the air with speed that limited visibility to practically nothing. It dropped the temperature to an unbearable degree. The few soldiers on duty braved the bad weather on their patrols.

But within the main building, the only two occupants were unaffected by the storm.

“We’re snowed in,” Lancelot announced, shedding his cape and military jacket, draping them over a chair in the dining hall. The dusting of snow melting into the fabric was the only remnants of his attempt to go outside.

Alice set the cooking sheet on the stove top, gasping softly to herself. Mischief in both her eyes and wicked smile that touched her lips. “Then, that means, we have the entire building to ourselves.”

“I suppose it does.” He recognized that expression well. Rolling up crimson sleeves to his elbows, Lancelot leaned against the door frame. “Did you have something you’d like to do?”

She carefully transferred the warm, chocolate chip cookies onto the cooling rack with a spatula, bobbing her head in response. “Far too many to complete in one night, but Jonah isn’t here.” A very rare occurrence, she’d come to learn over the years.

Lancelot simply waited to hear what she was thinking. He’d witness his second in command and his girlfriend argue over many topics. Many instances, neither of them actually won.

“He isn’t here to dictate how to hang up the decorations, so we can do whatever we want!”

Her giggled of utter delight brought a tender smile to her lover’s lips. “I do recall a situation last year.” Quite the commotion if he remembered correctly.

As if a switch had flipped, her features fell at the memory. Pink lips stuck out in a grumpy pout. “He locked me in a closet for two hours because I wanted to use wreaths instead of garland in the dining hall. Jonah can be so childish.”

“I reprimanded him for it.”

“I think he secretly enjoys it.”

Their eyes met and the pair broke out in laughter together. Alice removed her apron, folding it neatly and placing it on the counter. With a skip in her step, she caught his hand as she exited the kitchen. “We can decorate together. It’ll be fun.”

Anything is fun when you smile at me that way.

“I’ll assist. Where shall we begin?”

There was no shortage of decorations. Every box was labeled and organized with expert care, likely due to the strict instructions of the Queen of Hearts. He’d likely explode at the mess the two were making.

“Careful, you’ll fall,” Lancelot said, reaching up to steady her, hands on her hips. The step ladder creaked as it teetered to the left.

“I’ve almost... got it!”

The ornament hooked the garland, swaying side to side before nestling into place. Alice twisted on the ladder with a triumphant grin. “See? Nothing to worry about.” Her palms rested against his shoulders and she hopped down to the floor. “Do we have any more boxes of these?”

“I believe so. I’ll go retrieve it. No climbing until I’ve returned,” Lancelot answered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t have her causing injury to herself, especially without Kyle on the premises to treat her.

The attic had little dust, always being kept clean under Jonah’s command. Lancelot picked up the box that she’d requested before returning down to the main floor. The lights kicked off, signaling the late hour. He nearly turned them back on but chose not to.

The crystal string lights they’d strung only an hour early, twinkled in the hallway, creating an ethereal glow. It danced across the crimson carpet, enticing him to follow where it led. But when he turned the corner, he found the ladder abandoned. Icy blue irises scanned the glittering corridor, but no traces of his beloved remained.

Except for a piece of paper with the words come find me scribbled in her handwriting, with a little heart drawn beside them. Lancelot tucked the paper into his pocket, abandoning the box to pursue her. “Alice, you should know I’ll always find you.”

Lancelot slinked through the darkened hallways, his steps silent. Even with no one here, she’d never invade his officer’s privacy, and some closets required a key, leaving her only a few options. He reasoned that she’d likely stay away from closing herself in a room at all, as it would trap her.

No, she was here, near.

A crunch under his boot caused the King to glance down. His head tilted slightly as he knelt. Inspecting the piece, he chuckled softly. Snacking while hiding? How very Alice of her. Likely unbeknownst to her, it would lead him right to her.

Her gaze was away from him, body tense as she took slow, purposeful steps backwards. Her shoulders trembled slightly, hand covering her mouth as she laughed.

“Alice?”

The woman jumped and whirled around to run from the direction the voice appeared to come, only for her to collide into the very man she’d been hiding from. “Lance!” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout as she poked her finger against his chest. “You used magic! That’s cheating!”

His arm slipped around her waist, tugging her body flush with his. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, an amused smirk on his face. “I don’t recall any rules.”

All her contesting of the game melted away as he stole a tender kiss. Their lips meeting again and again. Her fingers twisted around in his shirt, both pushing to be closer than they already were. With no one to see, the two showered each other in affection.

Lancelot stooped to slip his hand beneath her knee, lifting her up to cradle her against his chest. Her slight squeal of both surprise and excitement only fueled him. The boxes of decorations scattered all throughout headquarters became forgotten.

“I’ve caught you, and I have no intention of letting you go.”

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #lancelot kingsley #lancelot kingsley x mc #25 Days of Christmas #2020 edition #lets have some joy in the last month of this hectic year #day 1

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gaylorlyrics · 4 years ago

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the last great american dynasty

Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train, it was sunny

Her saltbox house on the coast took her mind off St. Louis

Rebekah is Rebekah “Betty” Semple West Pierce a sculptor, and philanthropist born on April 17, 1915 in St. Louis. She also composed music, one of many similarities between her and Taylor.

Bill was the heir to the Standard Oil name, and money

Bill refers to William Hale "Bill" Harkness, the grandson of David Harkness who invested with John Rockefeller in Standard Oil. When David died he left what would today be over a billion dollars to Bill’s father, who was also named William Harkness. Eventually Bill inherited what would today be approximately $185M dollars from his father (approx 70% of this wealth was from Standard Oil shares).

And the town said "How did a middle class divorcée do it?"

In 1939 Rebekah married Dickson Pierce, descendent of President Franklin Pierce. However they divorced in 1946, and then in 1947 she married Bill. Her father was a stockbroker, and her grandfather started a trust company - so she wasn’t exactly middle class, but her wealth was significantly less than the wealth of the Harkness family.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche There's only so far new money goes They picked out a home and called it "Holiday House"

Holiday House was built on Watch Hill in Rhode Island by Mrs. George Grant Snowden who, contrary to the song, named it Holiday House. Seems like this house has been having raucous 4th of July parties for a long time - at least according to this NYTimes article from July 6, 1941:

Their parties were tasteful, if a little loud

The language here mirrors that of the first verse - “the wedding was charming, if a little gauche”.

The doctor had told him to settle down

Bill died in August (interesting!!!!) 1954 of a heart attack - he had also had a heart attack the year prior, but that one was obviously not fatal. He and Rebekah had one child together named Edith who eventually committed suicide at the age of 34.

It must have been her fault his heart gave out

This line calls attention to how women are frequently blamed for, well, everything. Something that is explored more in mad woman.

And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty" Who knows, if she never showed up what could've been There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything

The chorus and the title of this song seems to come from the title of a book about Rebekah called “Blue Blood: How Rebekah Harkness, One of the Richest Women in the World, Destroyed a Great American Family” written by Craig Unger. The from cover of the book reads “The story of Rebekah Harkness and how one of the richest families in the world descended into drugs, madness, suicide, and violence”. [Also, interesting that the background of the cover I found looks a lot like the blue/pink in the Lover cover!]

The chorus also references “mad woman”, another track on folklore. This song subverts the idea of a mad woman. The title and subtitle of Blue Blood use Rebekah as a scapegoat for everything that went wrong, blaming her solely for violence, drugs, mental illness, and loss. It uses several classic, sexist tropes of a gold-digger, a “crazy” woman, and the whore. However, in this song Rebekah is not taking the blame or feeling guilt about what is happening - she is having a marvelous time.

Another interesting thing is changing “great American family” - family is defined as “a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household” - to the word “great American dynasty” - dynasty is defined as “a line of hereditary rulers of a country.” I find this specifically interesting because dynasty, unlike family, acknowledges a long lineage of people and decisions that lead to this outcome, as opposed to placing all the responsibility and blame on Rebekah, who only entered the picture at the tail end of this story. The title of Blue Blood has no accountability for the people who were involved with the dynasty before - framing it as if David Harkness didn’t choose to leave his wealth to his lineage, as if Bill Harkness did not choose to marry Rebekah, and as if the wealth Bill inherited wasn’t already diminished by 81.5% from what the family’s original wealth was (as passed down from David Harkness to Bill’s father).

However, Taylor is changing the narrative here to give Rebekah a more joyful way to be remembered.

Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever Flew in all the Bitch Pack friends from the city

Rebekah and her fellow debutantes formed a group called the Bitch Pack and were known for causing a scene at parties, doing strip teases on the tables or putting mineral oil in the punch, which acts as a laxative.

Taylor is drawing a parallel here to her famous squad days, when her and her group of girl friends were constantly under fire from the internet/press.

Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names

Rumor has it that Rebekah cleaned her pool with Dom Perignon. Being a socialite and one of the richest women in America, she frequently kept high profile/famous/successful company - hence the “big names”. Stories of her involve J.D. Salinger, Alvin Ailey, and Andy Warhol, to name a few. However, swimming in champaign is also a metaphor or the carefree life of the rich and famous - something that she used in This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, from Reputation, where Taylor describes a similar scene:

It was so nice throwing big parties

Jumping to the pool from the balcony

Everyone swimming in a champagne sea

And there are no rules when you show up here

Bass beat rattling the chandelier

Feeling so Gatsby for that whole year

Another interesting tidbit is that the house where The Great Gatsby (1974) was filmed is the Rosecliff Mansion in Rhode Island, about 1 hour away from Holiday House.

And blew through the money on the boys and the ballet

Rebekah married twice more after Bill’s death, once in 1961 and once in 1974. As a life long dancer, she spent the majority of her time and energy founding (in 1964) and developing The Harkness Ballet Foundation, which still exists today as The Harkness Foundation for Dance. As part of this endeavor she also established a ballet training school and the Harkness Theater. She paid for everything for the company, from teachers to housing to plastic surgery. The company went on tour and performed at the White House, although it had a generally negative critical reception. At the peak of the company’s success Rebekah abandoned the project and started a different company

And losing on card game bets with Dalí

Although I couldn’t find anything specifically referencing a card game, Rebekah was good friends with Salvadore Dali. Here they are pictured holding a press conference together.

A portion of Rebekah’s ashes are in a $250,000 urn created by Dali called “The Chalice of Life”. The urn was designed to spin, so that Rebekah could always be dancing.

And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty" Who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything They say she was seen on occasion Pacing the rocks staring out at the midnight sea And in a feud with her neighbor She stole his dog and dyed it key lime green

According to the NYTimes, Rebekah dyed her neighbors cat green

Fifty years is a long time Holiday House sat quietly on that beach Free of women with madness Their men and bad habits, and then it was bought by me

Weeee the classic Taylor Swift storytelling twist! This is a great flex by Taylor to just casually drop in a reminder that she is a rich woman who has made her own money and can buy whatever she wants. The phrasing of this also let’s us know that the house is no longer free of women (plural, more than one woman) with madness (we’ll hear more about being a mad woman later in the album), their (possessive, something owned or bought) men, and their bad habits (bearding?). Taylor is admitting to having all of these things. Who knows, if I never showed up what could've been There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen I had a marvelous time ruining everything I had a marvelous time Ruining everything A marvelous time Ruining everything A marvelous time I had a marvelous time

This makes me think of the line at the end of Miss Americana - “Sorry I was loud in my house. That I bought. With the songs that I wrote about my life.”

Taylor, like Rebekah, is used to being blamed for everything and causing a scene. Even her purchase of Holiday House caused considerable backlash and commotion - with the governor creating a tax in 2015 (two years after Taylor purchased the house) called the “Taylor Swift tax” on homes worth over $1M dollars - something that affected many people in Rhode Island, especially those with large houses and vacation homes. All Taylor did was buy a house to live in (with her money, that she got from writing songs about her life), and she was immediately brought under fire.

However, like she did with Rebekah’s story, Taylor is flipping that narrative and focusing on how much fun she is having instead.

#last great american dynasty #the last great american dynasty #folklore #taylor swift #rebekah harkness

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fallout-lou-begas · 4 years ago

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Questions for OC Creators

Shamelessly stole this from @tarberrymentats‘ post because I’m always a sucker for behind-the-scenes character inspiration and meaning stuff, so if you steal this in turn, feel free to tag me!

(I’m also stealing Halk’s usage of lovely art by @yesjejunus for this one 🖤)

Agnes Sands, Courier Six of the Mojave Express

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Agnes was an opportunity to create what felt like a very unorthodox OC, and it’s an opportunity that has certainly paid off. She’s not young, and she’s not a particularly pleasant or easygoing person to be around, but she’s also not the endearingly tragic loner type or a badass army-of-one. She’s not “spunky” or “fun” and isn’t the kind of Fallout character who’s necessarily motivated to do every quest, meet every companion, accomplish every thing. She’s not an important person; being an important person is anathema to her, and the looming, overarching themes of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ are these ideas of the hard limits on unlikely heroism, and how you really can’t fly that far on circumstance and luck. I’m very excited for everyone to see how it goes when the going gets tough.

Furthermore, the design and writing process for Agnes was very informed by finding justifications, reasons, and origins for all of her personality traits, skills, and various hang-ups. The result is a character that feels, to me, so deeply real and well-rounded and alive, that Agnes is a person who has lived every one of her 34 years of age, and that in each of those years were key developments that molded her into the person she is. When I write her, I feel like I know her because of how intimately I’ve researched and come to understand the life she’s led. I don’t want to say it comes effortlessly, but there’s a very genuine, sculpted depth to her character that I’m proud of, and it forms the bedrock of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’.

It is also very important to me that Agnes is a trans woman, and is a trans woman who looks the way she does with a strong jaw and a big nose and long face and a wide body and hairy arms and so many other “masculine” features, because I wanted to create a character with a very real, visceral, visible transness to them, and for this transness to be a meaningful part of her character that informs her relationship to other people and the scarce world of the Mojave Wasteland instead of just an auxiliary character trait. She is no less of a woman for existing the way she does, but I simply wasn’t interested in creating a character or interpreting the Mojave Wasteland in a way that wouldn’t meaningfully grapple with what it really feels like, to me, to be a trans woman.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Many of Agnes’ character traits actually come from mechanical and specialization decisions that I play in game. I often joke that Agnes “just plain sucks,” but it’s true that in my Fallout: New Vegas game, I have encumbrance set to a measly 25 lbs without backpacks (necessitating her shoulder-slung duffel bag), use a directional flashlight instead of the Pip-Boy light (necessitating the shoulder-mounted flashlight), play with dramatically decreased total S.P.E.C.I.A.L. and skill points per level (which is why she’s so bad-to-average at most things except key specialties), and so on. This was the most obvious level of inspiration, and much of Agnes’ personality and backstory is reverse-engineered to justify the aspects of her character suggested and represented by her mechanical stats.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Epiphanies have come over time, but ultimately I more or less hammered out Agnes’ whole “story” upfront. I have a detailed character bible saved away that covers not only her entire life pre-courier, but the story beats of her experience as the courier thrown into the center of the events of Fallout: New Vegas and the seismic geopolitical power plays leading up to the second battle of Hoover Dam. So, uh, stay tuned for each new issue of IKROAH!

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

I wouldn’t say that I’ve meant to meaningfully change her appearance over time, but as I’ve been working on the comic, I’ve simply gotten better at drawing and the result has been an Agnes that more consistently looks like how I want her to look. One deliberate change to her appearance has been that her hair is a lot fluffier and voluminous than it used to be, just because a few other peoples’ fanart of her would be like that and I really liked how it looked.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Hard to say. Agnes has such a defensive, prickly, and particular personality and is so shy and anxious that she’s someone very hard to get along with in general, regardless of who you are. Cass could only ply her through a combination of drunken genuineness and total embarrassment that razor-cut right to her trauma. I don’t think I’d have the...audacious wherewithal to be that blunt with her if we’d just met. The best case scenario is that she imprints on me as a younger trans woman and feels compelled to look out for me because if there’s one soft spot she has, it’s that.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

Pride at the amount of work I’ve put into developing her and crafting her story so far, pride at how it’s been such a rewarding and enjoyable vehicle for getting so much better at art and writing since this summer, and occasionally sadness just because, man, I really let her fucking have it sometimes, huh.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Her solitary lifestyle made it necessary to find a way to write Cass into the story, just so that there would be some more dialogue while she traveled. She has a lot of interpersonal flaws, her habit of going from totally reclusive and private to hollering mad with no steps in between would certainly be off-putting to me especially. She gets a bad, sad, crying kind of angry, and she doesn’t get there quick but she goes get there suddenly.

H) What trait do you admire most?

She has a dedication to her and a commitment to what she’s good at. She understands the value of stability, good work and a good job. Sometimes this value is so much to her that it keeps her stagnant, and she’s very much a person who’s stuck in their ways in so many regards, but there’s a resilience to her that may not be obvious at first, but that she simply wouldn’t have gotten this far or survived without.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Agnes’ story is so tailored to the source material of Fallout: New Vegas that I thought that transplanting her into other AUs would be difficult, but it’s actually been pretty seamless inserting her into the a modern AU with a few friends called Courier House, where instead of being a courier, she kept up her medical training and works as an EMT. That also spun off into a modern zombie AU, which is just fun and tragic in a lot of juicy ways.

I also have a lot of thoughts on an AU in which she makes it to the Commonwealth, in which she’d become Nick’s partner at the eventually-renamed Valentine and Sands Detective Agency, helping to solve cases of burglary and theft, B&E, and advises on various security concerns. She’d also get extremely invested in tracking down missing children. There are a lot of parallels and dramatic development potential between Agnes Sands and Nick Valentine that I’d kill for more time to explore one day.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

I didn’t have to, no, but I chose to and at least filled in some holes. My theory on transitional health care in the wasteland is all my own (the Followers are the primary manufacturer and distributor of hormones, which can be inefficiently synthesized from Auto-Docs so they’re not impossible to find but are considerably rare) and I’ve taken some liberties in the IKROAH canon so far for convenience, such as Primm never getting taken over by convicts and the Cassidy Caravans buyout offer being a letter at the Mojave Express instead of something she’d have had to get personally from Alice McLafferty later on. Expect a lot more little twists like this in the future.

#agnes sands #ikroah meta

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masterhandss · 4 years ago

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Hamefura Idol AU!

No one on tumblr really knows it but... I love idols, like idol animes and games are my childhood and has eaten away at my very soul. I like drawing and imagining idol aus for pretty much any show I get into, and sadly hamefura isn’t gonna be an exception to that :P

(i’ve yet to draw for my dumb au so have a placeholder image from an upcoming anthology by @/relaxmakoto)

Instead of being isekai-ed to a bootleg PS4 otome game, our monkey girl gets reincarnated into “Fortune Lover: Cinderella Idol!”, an idol-production rhythm game (help me i’m bad a choosing names).

(Long post, I’m basically gonna retell the entire game in an idol setting lol. I only wanted to draw for this au, but thinking about plot and gameplay was too fun so I wanted to share it)

The Game

The original game’s story follows Maria Campbell, the main character of the game who applied for a job in Sorcier Productions after seeing a wanted ad online. By some luck, she gets hired as a temp-producer for the famous male idol group “Fortuna”. After a few hours of gameplay involving producing the male idols (Gerald, Keith, Alan and Nicol) through the game’s tutorial (introducing various aspects of the gameplay like “Choosing your Idol”, “Getting Relationship Points”, “Rhythm Game Concert Mode”, “Idol Produce Mode”, “TV Drama Mode” etc), the game reveals the plot twist of the game: Not just the male idols, but you get to also idol-produce yourself!

By the outcome of various events, Maria ends up performing in the stead of another idol during a mini concert that she escorts the boys with, and immediately stole the hearts of the audience by her beauty and hidden talents! M.C. is actually the first idol in the “Self-Produced Idol” project, one that aims to determine and bring out the full talents of an idol by exposing them to all the in outs of the idol world. Maria ends up becoming quite known very quickly, being rumored as a “Cinderella” of the idol world (In sports, the term Cinderella is used to refer to situations in which competitors achieve far greater success than would reasonably have been expected, rather than the typical meaning of Cinderella which means “damsel”). This rumor leads her to the anti-hero rivals for Maria (who ends up joining you in the game as idols you can produce), the perfect idol Mary Hunt and the “rarely appears publicly despite her talents” Sophia Ascart.

They start out as rivals for the game but ends up becoming friends with you and becoming produce-able idols like the 4 boys. You can even form a trio unit with the girls if you have enough relationship points (when your trio unit “Amour” is unlocked, you get more events, songs and outfits for you and the two girls!). But the true antagonist of the game is Katarina Claes, a boastful and prideful newbie idol who joined a few months before Maria, who earned a fan base thanks to her confidence and mature style. She doesn’t have the best voiced or is very skilled at dancing, but her confidence and ideals draws people to love her for her unique character. Katarina lacks self-awareness though, and thinks that she is the jack of all trades when it comes to being an idol, thus leading her to have an unbelievable amount of self confidence when it comes to her popularity and skills. She despises Maria Campbell because of how much the articles praise her for her charm and adorable singing, as she thinks that Maria is nothing more than a wannabe that doesn’t know the harsh reality of the idol world (the irony of that is an important aspect of the game’s story, since Katarina is overly reliant on her producer Anne, and Maria is the one who works both as an idol and as a producer).

Maria doesn’t really play much into the “self-insert” protagonist, more like an involved protagonist like Izumi from A3 that plays an important role into the story. The player does get to choose Maria’s (and everyone else’s) songs, schedules, outfits etc. by the guise that you are Maria, working as both an idol and as a producer.

The game does have a “relationship points” system, which means you can actually date one of the boys form Fortuna (secretly). Even if you don’t intentionally date anyone, the game already does play the “you, the main character, are so important and they wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t here” agenda that most games have, so the game already makes all the love interests seem interested with you regardless of whether you actively target Gerald, Keith, Alan or Nicol.

Katarina’s Bad End

(Rather than the life threatening doom flags of FL) In the game, Katarina Claes constantly sabotages Maria’s events and performances, creating the conflict in the “story mode” and the “events” of the game. Near the end of the game, the character who has the highest relationship points with Maria will reveal Katarina’s awful treatment of Maria in public, ruining Katarina’s reputation and causing her to lose public opinion and fans

Sabotaging fellow idols is actually quite common in idol stories, but the extent that Katarina goes for her bullying is terrible, which shocks the public because that side of the idol world had never been put into the forefront before. While Katarina does have an arrogant and prideful personality, learning that she, who didn’t have the cleanest reputation in the first place, has been harassing the darling of the idol world, meant that shows, programs, radios and events didn’t hire or invite Katarina anymore in fear of loss in sales or public outrage, leading to her eventual downfall.

The final event of the game, the Idol Queen Tournament, Katarina performs despite her ruined reputation, and was met with almost no response from the audience. Realizing that her life as an entertainer is ruined, she quits and vanishes from the public eye.

It is said in the epilogue that she moved into the country side, by a small farming field, shunned by her parents and the public for her embarrassing behavior, in order to repent and look back on her actions, much to her anger and disapproval.

The degree of Katarina appearances and story events differ depending on which male idol love interest Maria has the highest points in. Katarina is most active if you are closer to Gerald, as she is madly inlove with him and only became an idol to be by his side (as Gerald won as the “Idol King” of that year, and Katarina aimed to be his “queen”). Katarina is also frequently present in Keith’s events and interactions, as she makes fun of the both of you for being a disgrace as idols. She also appears on Alan and Nicole, but not as much.

“Fortuna” and “Amour”

Fortuna, the most popular male idol group during that time, and Amour the all-new girls idol unit, are the “produced” characters of the game

(i’m bad at thinking at idol group names so those are placeholders lol)

Gerald Stuart is a child actor known for being a perfectionist. Even as a child, he had a good face, pose, fashion sense, perfect memory, amazing acting talent and charisma to carry himself infront of a crowd. He became an idol in hopes of escaping the endless sea of acting offers he gets, and to just starve off a bit of his boredom and free time. He ends up becoming interest in their new producer Maria, due to her unique circumstance and how hard working and earnest she is. Idols are known for being prohibited from dating, but in the Gerald Ending Epilogue, he proudly announces Maria as the woman of his affections and deeply apologizes to all his rabid fans and supporters, and hopes to gain their support for his feelings for her. The two are crowned the “Prince and Princess” of the idol world for that decade.

Keith Claes is an adopted son of the Claes Household. He was bullied by his sister and mother, making him feel alone and isolated as a child. In his teens, he became a handsome playboy that easily caught the hearts of a female crowd, leading him to be scouted by someone in Sorcier Productions. He accepted, wanting to use the love of a huge fanbase to drown himself with praise and adoration and to fill the hole in his heart from years of trauma and loneliness.

Keith attempted to flirt with his new young producer, but gets constantly rejected due to the idea that idols can’t date (and bc Maria is just so busy), making him crave Maria’s attention even more. He ends up respecting her diligence, intelligence, beauty and honesty, making him slowly fall inlove with her. In the Keith Ending Epilogue, Keith confesses to Maria and wants to date her, but knows that he can’t just let go of the fans that he gained from his playboy persona, so instead he gives her a promise ring, telling Maria that when their whole “idol” thing is over with and pass them, he hopes to be able to date her (and even marry her) for real one day without a fanbase that might attempt to seperate them.

Alan Stuart is the twin brother of Gerald, who is often compared to his twin brother due to his lack of acting and entertainment skills. Alan does however, have a deep love for music. He might not be as good with instruments as his brother, but unlike Gerald, he truly loves composing and performing music and finds solace in the melodies that he can convey. Alan ends up becoming an idol due to his love for music, with the desire to one day use the connections he can make as an idol to become a full-time composer and song writer (as well as to generally learn how to sing bc he secretly likes that too). Alan also wanted to be an idol as a way to compete with his brother in an area that he is more knowledgeable on.

Throughout Alan’s encounters with Maria, he ends up rejecting Maria’s friendship and praises due to his inferiority with his brother. Through time, Maria’s constant praises of Alan’s music and singing ends up resonating with him, leading up to her telling him that he shouldn’t compare himself to his twin brother and there are only things that he is good at, like his music. Maybe a line like “Not even Gerald can recreate the melodies that you write and compose, Alan! These scores are very Alan-like, and there’s nothing I’d rather listen to; nothing that warms my heart more. This is something only you can do, as Alan and no one else” does him in.

In the Alan Ending Epilogue, he admits that his heart isn’t ready for a relationship yet, but declares that he wants to be with Maria forever and that from the moment Maria started to make an impact in his life, she had become the “Aria” of his music, and that he wants her to know that he will always write his music with his love for her in mind. He wants to be able to convey his love for her through song one day, and he hopes that she will continue to love him until he finds the right words to sing.

Mary Hunt is the daughter to a famous businessman and politician, who has connections to the Stuart Family. She met Alan by accident, during the dinner party in her house for his father’s birthday. Mary was hiding in her beloved garden, and had encountered Alan who had done the same, before she could retreat to her safe haven. She was in awe as she watched Alan play and sing a song in his small guitar, almost thinking that the song was for her. They ended up singing in a duet, with Alan complimenting her voice, saying that she should develop it. Mary instantly fell inlove with Alan, and had trained herself in the same musical arts that Alan loved, especially the voiced that he had complimented, in order to one day become worthy of performing by his side. She had originally assumed that Alan wanted to perform for an opera or musical, but when she found out that Alan wanted to become an idol, she auditioned to Sorcier Pro. as fast as she could.

In Alan’s ending, Mary was very heartbroken to know that she could not be the one to stay by her beloved Alan’s side, but silently thanked Maria for breaking Alan free from the inner turmoils that Mary knew was an impossible job for her. Despite her feelings, she still wanted to sing by Maria’s side and congratulates the two with all of her heart.

Nicol Ascart is the son to the esteemed Ascart Family, owner of the Ascart Inc., one of the major sponsors for Sorcier Productions. Nicol has been a child model and was popular since childhood because of his beautiful face. He doesn’t talk much, so when someone has filmed him singing to himself in the hallways in highschool, it immediately went viral, causing various scouts to offer him a role as an idol. Nicol had only accepted his request due to the circumstances of his little sister, Sophia.

Sophia Ascart is born with unique features, leading to her being bullied and made fun of in public due to her stage appearance. Sophia has always loved idols, being envious of their ability to enchant a crowd and sing songs about their feelings out loud. She had a sweet voice and an adorable face, but her hair and eyes caused people to think of her as a freak. She wanted to become one, but knew it would impossible for her. Nicol decided to use his popularity to jump-start Sophia’s possible idol career, by trying to brainwash/persuade his fans to also love Sophia (when she first joined and started as an idol). It didn’t work on everyone, but he was determined to help his sister.

When Maria befriends and even starts a unit with Sophia, Nicol eventually fell for the woman who made both his and Sophia’s wish come true. There’s also the fact that as their producer, Maria became a true friend of Nicol’s, one that didn’t look at him with obsessive desire and only wanted nothing more than to be a friend and an ally.

In the Nicol Ending Epilogue, he quits being an idol due to his desire to eventually join his father in the family business, much to the disappointment of his fans, but promises to always watch Maria from the side lines. He would always send bouquets almost everyday, with small cards giving the declarations of love that he normally wouldn’t be able to vocalize. He thanks her for supporting both him and his little sister, and promises to jump to her side once she is done being an idol.

Bakarina

As usual, Katarina ends up remembering her future as an 8 year old kid, and plans to prepare for her future “banishment” and humiliation. She learns to farm in order to provide for herself once she gets shunned and retreats to the countryside, and (unknowingly) meets all the characters in the game and gains their good favor before the events of the game begins

I’ll write the rest of the plot involving reincarnated!Katarina next time lol :P

This au is obviously heavily influenced by a lot of the Idolmaster console and mobile games, Ensemble Stars, A3, Vocaloid Project Diva games, Aikatsu etc lol. Thanks to anyone who gets to read till the end. Feedback (and name suggestions) are very appreciated! Hamefura is still a small fandom so idk if i’d write for this au, but it’s a good enough excuse to draw the girls in cute idol clothes so i’ll take it XD)

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