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noahsbookhoard · 2 months ago

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📚April 2024 Book Review (Part 2/3)📚

Lots of "first" this month: there are so many classic authors I had never read before! But they were all really enjoyable, it is another good batch.

Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett

To save her family's pub, Polly Perks has to find her brother, a Missing in Action soldier of the Borogravian army. She disguises herself as a man and enlist in the army under the name Oliver. A brilliant idea she might not have been the only one to have.

This one I was impatient to read, the concept was such a classic of fantasy novel that I had high hopes Terry Pratchett would make something awesome out of it.

I love the characters in every Discworld novel but this one especially: all the soldiers have different reasons to be here but they all stay together and care for one another. And I love the clown car effect of "surely this one isn't a woman too!" I couldn't get enough of it.

The story in itself is a bit blury in my memory, sorry. It's probably because I listen to the audiobook and I sometimes lose sight of the plot, on top of it being 5 months behind me. I remember most of all the Nuggan's ever expanding list of Abominations (religious taboos which includes the color blue, people under 3ft tall and sneezing) and the question of The Duchess (deified ruler of Borogravia) being alive or dead.

The message of the novel isn't subtle but if you need to be told that war is bad, religious bigotry and jingoism are bad and misogyny is bad you might be beyond subtlety. I love that Terry Pratchett is definite in his position, razor-like in his satire but always entertaining and funny. Fantasy is a political tool and he proves it everytime.

And (because I am still a fangirl inside) I had my little Vimes cameo as the cherry on top. 10/10 no notes.

Murder at the Vicarage (L'affaire Protheroe) by Agatha Christie

The Colonel Propheroe is widely disliked in the village of St Mary Mead, even his wife is cheating on him. So when he is found shot dead and with a strange half written note, there is no shortage of suspects, not even the Vicar with his very unkind words a few hours before. Miss Jane Marple, the Vicarage's neighbour, decides to solve the mystery.

My first Miss Marple novel! I have absolutely no reading order, this is a bit disjointed so I thought it was my first Christie but I remembered that technically I read And Then They Were None some time ago, it just completely slipped my mind. At that point I hadn't read any Hercule Poirot either so I was quite fresh to Christie's writing and ready for the challenge.

I made the questionable decision to read her novels in french because I wanted to give myself the best chance to solve the mystery. I thought reading in my native language would be easier. Well, apparently the most common translation is old and really not that great so I might rethink that! But for the foreseeable future (at least september) I will have read them in french. And completely failed at solving the crimes but that's another issue.

I don't want to say too much about the plot because that's the whole point of a whodunit but Agatha Christie always has the art of making an asshole the victim of the murder and you still want to know who did it just for the thrill of the chase.

But what I love with Christie is her detectives. The characters are usually quite flat and archetypal, but Poirot and Marple are a delight. Where Hercule Poirot is well established and respected in his craft, Miss Marple is just the nosy neighbour with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. The narrator is just so done with her putting her nose in this case which makes it even funnier. I love Miss Marple so much, I want to be her when I grow up.

I was absolutely lost in all the clues, so I did not deduce any part of the revelation but even if I had I would not have seen the murdered coming, I was floored. Everything is there, you know it is, and the culprit still takes you by surprise. Great job Mrs Christie, you did it again.

I, Robot (Robots #1) by Isaac Asimov

In the 2050's Dr. Susan Calvin, famous robopsychologist, answer a reporter's interview and tells him several stories about robot intelligence and their interaction with humans.

Asimov is a legend in SciFi so it was a prerequisite in my discovery of the genre. I read very few short stories anthology so I was a scared I wouldn't enjoy it but as always good books prove me wrong.

I don't remember all the short stories, the one who stuck to me are Robbie, Reason and Catch that Rabbit! but they were all good. Some more compelling than others (Catch the Rabbit! stayed in my memory because I STILL don't understand it) but I'll try to give an overall review rather than story by story.

The play on the Three Laws is at the heart of almost all of them: either it is a source of conflict or it helps in the resolution but it is endlessly creative.

Susan Calvin is an interesting character: a woman, pioneer in her field, a respected authority and she represents a more serious and scientific approach. The stories in which she appears are very murder mystery-like: there is a problem, some set of rules; how do you use the rules to solve the problem? Boom, done.

On the other hand you have the more comicsl stories with my goats: Mike Donovan and Gregory Powell! They approach each assignment as if it was some punishment in a hell design specifically for them (mood) and their first step to solving any problem is always to complain about it and bucket with the other. They are such and old couple together, please give me 10 more shorts stories with Donovan and Powell!

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski

While rummaging in a dead man's appartment, Johnny Truant found a stack of paper, disorganised, written on scraps of paper, some half destroyed. Johnny will lose himself trying to organise the notes, which turn out to be an essay on a documentary film called The Navidson Record. In this film Navidson, a famous photographer, records the exploration of the house he moved in with his family and the strange dark hallway that appeared in the living room.

I've heard about House of Leaves A LOT and had no idea what it was about, I thought it was some dark academia novel and since Fourth Wimg I am weary of social media's popular book rec. A booktube account I follow talked about it and although its reviews was very lukewarm, I was intrigued. The dedication sets the tone: "this is not for you" and that finished piquing my curiosity.

I loved the actual House on Ash Lane subplot the most: it's the heart of the book, the most mysterious and the spookiest. I loved the mise en abyme, and how it saltoed back to be a book in the book's universe. The academic paper language and scientific description of the events contrast with the uncomprehensible nature of the house and the format growing more and more indecipherable as the exploration of the house progresses. It was creepy, I felt pulled in the story, I deeply enjoyed that.

I was more lukewarm toward Johnny's subplot. Watching him slowly lost himself in Zampano's work and lose his grip with reality was chilling but there came a moment where I was lost in references. It was mostly the part with her mother where you can't say what is dementia and what is real. Some theories online are interesting but some or batshit insane and made sense of a small element of the book at the expense of all the rest. At least the Labyrinth under the house doesn't make sense in a somewhat linear matter. I can deal with linear nonsense. The fact that some part of the book (some of his mother's letters and poems) are still undecyphered (That's not just a matter of turning the book upside down) was just frustrating to me: there's content here and I just can't read it? Why?

I read it while oscillating from the french paperback (there's no way you can read it on an e-reader) and a pdf of the original I found in the subreddit for the book. Sadly there's a lot that's lost in translation but also some translating choice I am still pulling my hair about. (September 19, 1988, in which the words aren't translated literally, the name of Parisian streets and landmark aren't the same... either they were throwing things at the wall trying to see what sticks (unlikely) or they knew something us reader don't...)

Overall it is an interesting book, I understand the craze. However I am not obsessed enough to spend much of my free time trying to decypher it. I lurk sometimes in the subreddit trying to see if someone came up with an interesting theory but not much more.

#book review #bookblr #books #terry pratchett #discworld #monstrous regiment #agatha christie #murder at the vicarage #murder mystery #i robot #isaac asimov #sci fi #house of leaves #mark z danielewski #miss marple

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buffalojournal · 1 year ago

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Two Poems by Morgan L. Ventura

A Brief Synesthetic History

When I look around it could be said we are living in dark times, the walls & skies & sea & clouds & spaces within me, obsidian smoke, pitch tar, pooled oil. It tastes of ash & petrol & mould & the edge of a boiled knife & I hear the whooshing whooping of distant stars – black holes – ebony arias bending, twisting vibrations. What’s true is I want brighter times, amber & magenta times, spirals of smiling roses & giddy peonies, & detonations of laughing citrine. Times that carry the blush of wisteria, caramel popcorn, earnest eucalyptus. I was born in green times – aventurine smiles & verdant yards blooming viridian jewels, emerald & jade hanging from low branches, wistful and content. The 80s rainforest transmutes blue. Periwinkle times, the 90s breathed cornflower winds and bluebell gales, husked sapphire on metal plates, glimmering robin eggs on cedar porch chirping an unearthly jingle piercing aquamarine eyes of my father who knew only sadness. The sky only spoke rain, it was falling sea, shredded wave, lacerated labradorite, cascades of troubled cerulean. Shocked like glaciers arguing, raging because all’s spilled into red. A time of crimson, furls of fuchsia in the tide of blood after flames across New York, after strikes in Chicago, after death in the family. The 2000s were carnelian, lay the bead beneath my tongue, the rubies on my eyes, enshrine me in magma, encrust me in this livid tomb. Vitrine of vermillion, what is a body but stained glass, medieval sun never modern. The next era’s violet, arched, mutilated candy blossoming from irises in the back. In the evening light it all shivers purple, bruised lilacs yammer & portend a luminous love. Amethyst troves in the attic squirm & emit warmth, simmering with snapdragon & grapes, pisco vineyard from a decade ago, time punctured by lazy lost lagoons. Take me now into what seems like blank times, off-shades of pale peeling into crystal pears & glass shards as we wait, & the iridescent soul in the body of the future, the cloud high above spitting quartz & splitting mirrors, declares these are rainbow times, & I have to tell you, I love all the colours, I want all the colours. World, let me bathe in your prisms & drink your light. This marbled soil, this striated sky. I’d be no one & nowhere without.

Internal Monologue of an Anthropologist in Paris

My mother said if I fail on my new adventure I can live in her closet.

My French roommate has shit in my bed after having a midlife crisis at 29.

On television I look like an idiot. Even smart, floral blazers from the 10th Arrondissement make me look like a cartoon character because I’m very small.

They want to hire me as a curatorial fellow at the Musée du Quai Branly but then I have to stay here and oh, how I know the Parisians suffer.

Every Thursday there is a voracious vacuuming in the flat above me at 6am and I am suddenly murderous. I strike the ceiling with my broom and the ceiling strikes back.

ii.

My life is an Antonioni film. At the Sorbonne, I’m asked to describe my unwritten doctoral thesis in front of four medieval historians and a self-proclaimed spiritualist who spends most of his time at Père Lachaise by the grave of some important figure whose name I can’t remember. I whirl around in my seat and quip, “It is about nothing with precision.”

iii.

The community in Oaxaca wants me to ask the Mexican government to return the collection it stole but I’m merely an anthropologist, when did we ever hold power?

Margaret Mead was barely 5’0” and carried a walking stick taller than herself, which she’d use to intimidate men. That’s power.

I’m invited by the History Channel to appear on Ancient Aliens after my undergraduate advisor, a certain Mayanist, declines and thinks it would be hilarious to give them my personal email. “We will pay you $300,” they tell me. I think seriously about it.

Pseudoscience is absurd but my life is absurd. My next-door neighbour smokes cigarettes naked while his parrot shits on the patio. A colleague informs me they irrationally hate my surname.

“Would you like a career in anthropology?” my PhD advisor asks me after I tell him about the invite. This, coming from a man whose faculty headshot features him sacrificing a chicken.

Anthropologists don’t deserve careers, I think. But I sure enjoy all the grant and fellowship money, society’s conviction that we are worth something because “we are scientists.”

I don’t want a career, I conclude.

iv.

Over lunch in the EHESS cafeteria, my friend says everyone here complains too much and that the Parisians are insane and create their own chaos.

My brother texts me because my mother is in jail. She should stay there.

I go for coffee with an artist in Le Marais. The owner comes out to scream at all of us who dare to use their laptops and take up too much time – or space.

Claude Lévi-Strauss helped found UNESCO. Franz Boas died in his arms. Claude’s a structuralist and I despise structure. Will I die in the arms of anyone?

When Bronislaw Malinowski died, we all found out that he was a pervert. His field notebooks were festooned with scribbles of his interlocutor’s boobs.

“Anthropologists are very interesting, no?” asks the barista I’ve befriended at perhaps the most hipster café I could find.

I don’t know, are we?

Am I?

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evaskjew · 4 months ago

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My first painting (and quite possibly my only drawing) of Evangeline!

Taking the screenshot I used as a reference (I just imagined her haircut and some of her facial features which aren't the same as in my reference image), I was inspired to write a bit about her.

Warning, this is going to be a bit long (~2,9k words)

The Defence Against the Dark Arts tower was noisy. Numerous students were coming and going, some settling in corners to chat, while others took the opportunity to have tea near the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Evangeline wandered through the immense spaces of the tower, utterly disoriented and lost. She had not yet had time to get her bearings in this vast castle. Hogwarts was still unknown to her, having arrived at the British school only the previous day. Hogwarts was nothing like the classical French Renaissance style of Beauxbâtons, reminiscent of Chambord. The castle was darker, more labyrinthine than the French magical academy. Evangeline was certainly unsettled by her new school, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she adapted to her new British environment.

More generally, Hogwarts was quite different from Beauxbâtons in other respects. For one, she had discovered the previous day that in the fifth year, students had to take their OWLs (whereas the equivalent exams in the French school were taken in the sixth year). Furthermore, she was very surprised to have to undergo a sorting ceremony into a house. This system was completely foreign to the French school and had been a significant source of stress for her. Evangeline wanted to keep a low profile at her new school. Being a foreigner and struggling with English, particularly because of her pronounced French accent, she did not want to attract more attention to herself. But that was a failed endeavour.

During the sorting ceremony, being new in the fifth year and without a house, she had to be sorted after all the first years. Naturally, all eyes were on her that evening. She felt uncomfortable, like a lamb among wolves, which triggered her social anxiety. She took great effort to conceal this anxiety and act as if everything was fine. She was accustomed to repressing her emotions and appearing normal, so to speak, to others. Deep down, Evangeline despised her social anxiety. She would have loved not to have it, but it was beyond her control. She hated feeling watched like that; it made her uncomfortable. She wished she were different, more confident like her younger sister Lucille, who enjoyed undeniable popularity at Beauxbâtons. Evangeline envied her sister a little. She too would like to be as comfortable around others. Her reserved nature and significant lack of self-confidence were considerable social obstacles for Evangeline.

The most awkward moment that night was when she had to join her house table. As she walked silently, she could feel the eyes following her. She could sense the heads turning as she made her way to her table. And once seated, she could still feel the gaze of the students at the neighbouring table, the Slytherins, who were staring at her. Perhaps it was curiosity. After all, it’s quite unusual to see someone join the school in the fifth year. At least that’s what Evangeline told herself to ease her discomfort about the attention from her housemates, whom she spent the evening trying to avoid, pretending not to understand much and blaming it on fatigue.

Even though Evangeline managed to dodge social interactions upon her arrival at Hogwarts, it was a different story on her first day of classes. The day itself wasn’t very demanding: only two classes. One in Defence Against the Dark Arts and one in Charms. Nothing too alarming on the surface. She had similar classes at Beauxbâtons; all she needed to do was what she did there: stay in the background and be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately, she was quite good at this; the teachers rarely called on her, and she was almost invisible, as if she had mastered the Disillusionment Charm.

But events took a different turn. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor Hecat asked Evangeline to duel another student. And Charms class wasn’t any better. When Professor Ronan took the class outside for a practical activity on the Summoning Charm (which greatly intrigued Evangeline, as she had never seen such an approach before, not even at Beauxbâtons), Evangeline was once again surprised to find the professor making her duel another - or rather another - student. Naturally, in both cases, the entire class had their eyes fixed on poor Evangeline again. These were the most interminable hours of class for Evangeline. All she wanted was to disappear, to cast a Memory Charm on her entire class to be forgotten. She was convinced everyone would talk about her and her “exploits,” if they could be called that.

With the Charms class being the last of the day, Evangeline now had free time until dinner. While most students were lounging around and meeting in different parts of the castle, Evangeline just needed to find a place to be alone. Solitude didn’t bother her; at least it didn’t anymore. One could say that at Beauxbâtons, solitude had become Evangeline's best friend, as other students completely ignored her without her understanding why. In any case, Evangeline was used to being overlooked and knew that the French academy students whispered about her as soon as her back was turned. Even though she no longer paid much attention - not to give credence to what she heard - she remained deeply saddened. Unconsciously, Evangeline had begun to think that what was said about her at Beauxbâtons might be true. Maybe she had a problem. But how could she know? She had no one to talk to and confide in about her feelings. The only escape and defensive strategy she had developed was to retreat into her cocoon, her bubble, finding a secluded spot to be alone with her thoughts.

But at Hogwarts, Evangeline no longer had any landmarks or anchors to hold on to. This is why she wandered through the noisy corridors of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower. All she wanted was to find a place of her own, a small, isolated, and quiet corner, away from the bustling tide of students. The tower seemed immense to Evangeline. There were far too many stairs, making her feel like she was moving in place despite her progress. “This castle is a real maze…” she thought. However, she had to admit that from the little she had explored of Hogwarts, the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower was one of the most beautiful places in the castle for her. Bright, with beautiful stained glass windows, the paintings and statues were pleasant, and the rhinoceros skeleton gave her the impression of being in a museum. The string instruments playing Luigi Boccherini's minuet on loop, though a bit annoying over time for Evangeline, made her wish they could play other music like Schubert’s Trio Op. 100, Beethoven, or any other piece as long as it wasn’t the same melody repeatedly.

Evangeline felt overwhelmed. She glanced at the other students around her, listening to snippets of conversations and praying she wasn’t the topic. Perhaps this was her way of ensuring she wouldn’t be the victim of unflattering rumors again, a bad habit that undeniably came from her time at Beauxbâtons. “Be reasonable, Evangeline, it’s only your first day at this school. Statistically, it’s impossible for there to be gossip about you. Moreover, you don’t know anyone,” she told herself for reassurance. But deep down, she only half-believed it. The possibility that people from her class were talking about what happened during the lessons existed, and that made Evangeline anxious. She tried her best to scan the nearby people, hoping not to see or run into anyone from her class while continuing her quest to find a little corner to settle in.

As she was about to take the stairs to the Astronomy tower, Evangeline spotted in the distance the boy she had dueled during the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Given the circumstances, she knew that if he saw her, he would more than ever want to talk to her. Just imagining the possible conversation made Evangeline's heart start beating faster. These palpitations left no doubt: she was having a panic attack. Without a second thought, Evangeline quickly looked around for a place to hide until the Slytherin student - accompanied by what she guessed was his friend - passed by and went further away (and also so that her crisis passes). Once they were gone, Evangeline emerged from her hiding spot behind a statue and continued her search, still looking for a nook she could consider her secret garden.

Walking down a narrow corridor leading to the staircase that took her to the Theory of Magic classroom, Evangeline noticed a small recess in the hallway that led to a window, probably placed there to let in some light. Out of curiosity, Evangeline slipped into it. It was just a small nook with a few pots as decoration. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to it, and only a cat seemed to have decided to occupy the space. It was the perfect spot for Evangeline. She approached the nearest pot, took off her wizard’s robe, and placed it on the floor to sit on. Despite being used to sitting on the floor at Beauxbatons, the floor always felt cold to her, and after a while, it inevitably started to hurt her backside. So, she decided to put her wizard’s robe to good use by turning it into a cushion.

Once settled, Evangeline looked towards the corridor, which was visibly a very busy thoroughfare. Yet, no one seemed to notice her or even be aware of the small recess. Additionally, the pot with a majestic phoenix motif hid her from view and separated her from the hallway. It promised peace and quiet. It was perfect for the young witch. Evangeline sighed and tried to relax in this nook where she could finally be alone, left to her thoughts, not that it bothered her. On the contrary, she enjoyed these moments where she could lose herself in her thoughts. Her mind was focused on the day she had just experienced, especially her social interactions. Although she tried not to dwell on it, it inevitably surfaced in her mind. She recalled her classes, the social interactions she had had, all while imagining various scenarios about what could have happened if she had dared to speak, if she had at least tried to start a conversation to socialize a bit… The more she thought about how she had acted, the more tears welled up in her eyes. She felt them becoming moist, and before she could do anything, she felt something running down her cheeks. She tried to think of something else, to do anything to hold back the tears, but it was too late. Evangeline had crossed the line. She couldn’t fight it anymore; the best she could do was to sob quietly, fearing that someone might notice her and see her in such a moment of weakness. She knew what she had to do to calm herself down. She rummaged through the pocket of her wizard’s robe and pulled out an old notebook along with a quill and an inkwell.

Cher journal,

I hate myself. Really. I hate myself. Today was my first day of classes at Hogwarts. Being new and not knowing anyone here, I thought it was going to be a relatively good day. Plus, I only had two classes: Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms. These are subjects I enjoy, and I thought I was going to do what I usually did in class at Beauxbatons: sit in a corner and listen to the lesson while trying to be as discreet as possible. All I wanted was not to be noticed. I was afraid that being new and starting directly in the fifth year would draw too much attention to me, but luckily, everyone was only talking about the cancellation of the Quidditch season! (For the first time, I am happy about this sport! I’ve never understood the British obsession with it anyway...)

But fate had other plans. It started during the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Professor Hecat asked me and a Slytherin student (I think his name was Pallow or something like that) to duel. From what I gathered, he is one of the best duelists in the school. Of course, I have no talent for dueling, so I started to panic… And then all the students had their eyes fixed on me, seeming to have high expectations… I… I don’t remember what happened, but I won the duel. Honestly, I was the most surprised by this. I even wonder if Pallow lost on purpose… Nevertheless, at the end of the class, he wanted to talk to me. Naturally, I quickly left the classroom once the lesson was over. I… I don’t even know what to think of myself…

The Charms class wasn’t any better. Again, the professor wanted me to duel another student during a game he called “The Summoning Challenge”. Once again, all eyes were on me. So, of course, I lost my composure and made a mess of it… Some even mocked the way I pronounced “accio” because I pronounced it the French way, I suppose. I noted that only one student didn’t pay attention to me or what was happening; he never looked at me, and just for that, I thank him (though I have no idea who he was). My opponent, a girl from Gryffindor, didn’t taunt me at all for losing. She seemed very kind, but again, I didn’t even try to talk to her more...

When I tell you that I hate myself... I may envy those who easily socialize, but I make no effort to step out of my bubble and try to integrate and talk to others. Yes, I know my English is very mediocre (at least that’s what native speakers must think), but I can’t convince myself that it’s not a reason that should prevent me from making… friends. Of course, I’d love to have friends, even just one. As long as I can find at least one person willing to listen to my complaints, my anxieties, to accept me as I am. I’d like to be able to assert myself as I am. Yes, I am different, a bit odd compared to others, but that could be my strength... But I can’t bring myself to assert myself like that... I’d like to be like the Marquise de Merteuil from Laclos' Dangerous Liaisons and assert myself for who I am (though I am RADICALLY different from the Marquise, that libertine is an awful character, but you have to admire the way she asserts herself as an independent woman, even if it means believing herself superior to men). My God, if my parents knew I read such decadent books… I’d also like to be as comfortable in society as Georges Duroy... Of course, I don’t have the same dreams of grandeur as dear “Bel-ami”, but he is so at ease when he speaks... Okay, the two examples I’ve just cited are just characters who seek to climb the social ladder, and their actions are sometimes questionable (very questionable for dear Mme de Merteuil), but their rapport with others, the way they interact socially is so... I don’t know how to describe it, but anyway, I envy them for it.

They say we’d remake the world with “ifs”. And I can only agree. If only I had spoken to that Gryffindor girl after the Charms class… Besides, she seemed to be very kind… If I had been curious enough to see who the student was who didn’t look at me during the Summoning Challenge, maybe I’d know who he was, and who knows, we might have gotten along! And if I had approached that famous Pallow at the end of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class? What did he want to tell me? Congratulate me for beating him? (On one hand, I hope not, I’ve never known how to react to compliments, and on the other hand… I’m not even good at dueling… Beginner’s luck at best!)

In the latter case, I had a second chance. I could have made the effort to talk to him… In the corridor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, we should have crossed paths if I hadn’t hidden to avoid the conversation and calm my panic attack… Even writing all this, I don’t understand what got into me… Why did the idea of talking to him make me so anxious? I’m well aware that I am rather shy and reserved, but that’s not a reason not to be able to make friends… Was it because he was accompanied that I didn’t dare to talk to him? Yet I imagine his handsome blond friend didn’t look mean. Now that I think about it, the blond boy was holding his wand forward; I must admit that intrigues me.

Well, I’m running out of ink. I think I needed to write all this. Anyway, I feel better now that it’s been said (well, written). I’ve realized that I’ll have to force myself to make an effort to talk to others and hope to make friends. But knowing myself, it’s easier said than done. And even if I manage to get along with someone, who’s to say that over time this person will be able to put up with me once I start confiding in them? How could someone bear me if I can’t even bear myself?

For those of you who have read this far, I hope it's not too heavy and painful to read (I had to force myself to separate my paragraphs otherwise I'd be writing paving stones 😂) and I hope it's fairly coherent in its structure and vocabulary. I used a translator to translate my original text (because yes, I originally wrote in French and go figure why I was at 3.3k words in French but as soon as I translated into English I went down to 2.9k 🤷🏻‍♀️)

And I don't know if anyone's really interested, but before I forget the photos of the various stages of the process 😅

I made the phoenix with gilding, so depending on the light it shows more or less!

#My grandmother helped me do her hair (as I didn't have a model) but I'm not at all convinced 🥲#And I think her face is a mess #When I see talented artists from this fandom who manage to draw their MCs without difficulty and make drawings of their MC with others #I have to admit I'm admiring and envious because I know I'm incapable of doing it 😭#My writing style is really bad 😂 (the last straw for a literature teacher?)#Part of my inspiration comes from images and part from my depression following a period of stress (yippee 🥲)#After that I still have ideas for one-shots with my MC thanks to my depression #So it's really great for getting inspiration!#hogwarts legacy #drawing #art #watercolor #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy mc #my mc #evangeline rosier

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ask-the-eu6 · 3 years ago

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Do u guys speak English when you work together? If not, in which language do u guys communicate :D

Belgium: It is a bit more complicated than just being able to say we speak this or that language...

Some more (a lot more) information under the cut!

In the EU 24 languages are spoken, they are treated as equally as possible but despite this some countries (Especially France, but also definitely Germany) will try and push their own language to the forefront as their language users are a big percentage of the total population. Which is understandably really!

In this way there are 5 big or "main" languages: German, French, Spanish, Italian and English. Yes despite Brexit and the big debate about whether or not English would still be spoken.

Especially the French wanted to put French or Latin as main language post-Brexit and get rid of English, which is what is briefly touched upon here as well. We can talk about this in another post if someone wants to send a question regarding that because it's pretty hilarious. More information on that is here X

the EU only speaking one language wouldn't do though, yes it would indeed be more practical and cheaper as some of the more frugal countries (The Netherlands *cough cough*) would prefer.

(Actually the amount of money this costs us a year each of us is 2€ source: X so it's worth it for the sake of transparency etc...) Indeed, one of the EU's founding principles is multilingualism (X) meaning that the EU will promote and attempt to:

communicating with its citizens in their own languages

protect Europe’s rich linguistic diversity

promote language learning in Europe

If you ever want to work for the EU know you have to be at least trilingual and be able to speak at least 2 big languages fairly fluently (at least enough to pass the entrance exams). (No they aren't paying me to tell you this. Maybe they should... Hmmm...)

So all this information aside lets get back to the characters! We already touched upon languages in this ask so we thought we could combine them!

Belgium: I speak Flemish X, which is basically a Dutch dialect, French (some Walloon dialects) and German. These are also my official languages. I have no language of my own, sadly. Although when people tell me I speak Belgian, it will be because I have a very distinct Belgian accent in each of those languages. Something I get teased/bullied for a little bit by my neighbours. :(

Luxembourg: I, however, do have my own language! Something that surprises people a lot... Luxembourgish sounds a lot like German with some French word thrown in but despite that is not comprehensible to Germans unless it is written. Due to there being so little native speakers we do not really have a fixed written language. Everyone just writes this language like they want meaning there is sometimes communication issues. Something funny about my language is "that is" which is "Dat ass," which never fails to make my siblings laugh. Next to that my people also learn French and German at a young age and then English meaning my entire population is at least quadrilingual to some extend! There is also a big Portuguese diaspora in my country so those people then speak 5 languages. I picked that up a little as well... in short, I am very multilingual!

France: That's great! I will not lie, I love French and therefore if I could, I would only speak my own language as it is obviously the most beautiful of all languages!

Romano: bullshit.

France: But I am able to speak some local dialects in addition to some regional languages such as Basque and Breton! (X)

Netherlands: I mostly speak Dutch, although just like France I am also able to speak the regional dialects and regional languages such as Frisian X and some low German dialects X which I speak with Germany from time to time to annoy my siblings. :)

Germany: As the Netherlands said I speak some Frisian as well however, I mostly speak German and German dialects. One of these dialects is the Bayern dialect which I speak with Austria whenever I have to interact with him.

Romano: Finally! it’s our turn! So, t’m going to keep it short because I’m not a dick. Anyway, me and my brother speak so many regional dialects of Italian most of the time I have no idea what he is saying. X

Italy: Brother! Don’t be mean!

Romano: U viditi? Un sacciu cchi sta diciandu. (See? I don't know what he is saying)

Italy: Fine! I’m going to go speak some Tirolese with Austria! :(

Belgium: So yes... the EU is home to over 60 indigenous regional or minority languages, spoken by some 40 million people! Thus we are all bound to speak a lot of languages! Thank you for your question!

#hws Belgium #hws Germany #Hws Luxembourg #hws France #Hws Italy #hws South italy #hetalia EU #freecatmeow #Apologies to any (socio-) linguists noticing mistakes or a lack of certain information #I'm not a sociolinguist #like don't go and complain like "Why didn't you mention X or X dialect'#THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM #so yeah!#which is why I didn't stick a straight number on them #it would be too simplistic #:)#hope you learn something! :D

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fionamccall · 2 years ago

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My top ten historical films

While on long-term sick leave, I’ve started a project to list all my favourite films, and it seems natural to start with some historical ones. Really good historical films are a rarity - one of the drawbacks of becoming a historian is that you are eternally cringing at historical inaccuracies.

The following, entirely my own selection, are films based on real historical events or people, with varying levels of artistic licence or authenticity, in chronological order by the period in which they are set. It is surprising how many of them are about war. I have not included films with a fictional setting in the past or literary adaptions: these will go in separate lists.

1 Andrey Rublev (1966), Andrei Tarkovsky

An examination of the artistic process, this epic film follows the life of the icon painter Rublev, capturing the world of a medieval Russia suspended between paganism and Christian mysticism. The most memorable scene is a long sequence at the end in which a very young bellmaker dedicates his whole soul and being to creating a great bell, in the knowledge that if he fails he will be executed.

2 Winstanley (1975), Kevin Brownlow

Reflecting his extensive knowledge of early silent film technique, Kevin Brownlow uses black and white film to bring to life the idealism of the Diggers, proto-communists who, following the British Civil Wars, tried to return to their vision of Eden by sharing all things in common on St George’s Hill in Surrey. Led by Gerard Winstanley (an inspiring performance by amateur actor Miles Halliwell) the reality of pitching camp in the pouring rain of the English climate is shown as somewhat more depressing than the ideal, as support from a neighbouring parson’s wife drifts away and the Diggers are soon defeated by General Fairfax and the continuing power of the propertied class. Watch for a great scene filmed under the great plastered vault of the long gallery at Chastleton House in Oxfordshire

3 Witchhammer (1970), Otakar Vávra

The Czechs have made some of the best historical films of all. This film chillingly portrays the course of the North Moravian witch trials of the 1670s under the Catholic Inquisition, showing how the terms of investigation and the climate of fear create the perfect conditions for the witch hunt to escalate until even the clergy fall under suspicion. If you want to understand the dynamics and the universal qualities of witch-hunting, watch this.

4 Napoleon (1927), Abel Gance

I went completely mad about this film as the apotheosis of silent film-making technique, with its close attention to the visual language of communication. Technical brilliance, great performances as both the child and the adult Napoleon, ace snow fight and an underdog story. Quotes marked ‘historical’ – ha! This is Napoleon as the French would like to remember him, young, emotive, whip-smart and whip-thin. The later Napoleon, warmonger, egotist, pudgy womaniser and cultural looter, was a completely different matter. A very long film, but that makes it all the more profound an experience. There is a bizarre parallel love story involving a female Napoleon stalker, I guess because Gance found Josephine somewhat disappointing as a love-object!

5 Waterloo (1970), Sergei Bondarchuk

This was a failure at the time of release, but stands the test of time. See my review after watching it in 2014. Starring the incomparable (and much undervalued) Christopher Plummer as Wellington; Rod Steiger less appropriately cast as Napoleon. I’ve watched Bondarchuk’s War and Peace, which is the best version going (despite cutting out a good chunk of the story) but this is more effective because it is more focused, as the drama of the day of battle itself shapes the action.

6 Topsy Turvy (1999) Mike Leigh

Leigh immerses us in the late-19th century world of the Savoy Opera, demonstrating the genius of Gilbert and Sullivan, but set against the pathos of their own lives and those of the actors they employ. The genius and originality of Gilbert’s setting for the Mikado is counterpoised with the seamier realities of life for Gilbert, Sullivan and the actors they employ, involving impotency, addiction and abortion. It has a magnificent cast, particularly Jim Broadbent as W.S. Gilbert and Leslie Manville as his wife Kitty. Shirley Henderson, as always, takes your breath away as the alcoholic Leonora Braham, when the drama suspends time for her dream-like rendition of ‘The Sun whose Rays’.

7 The Pianist (2002)

An unforgettable performance by Adrian Brody as the Jewish pianist Władysław Szpilman who survived the holocaust and the Warsaw uprising in hiding. At the beginning of the film he is a normal man with ordinary hopes, and we gradually see him dehumanised by Nazi persecution until at the end of the film, living like a rat underground, he is unexpectedly asked once more to play the piano, and his music signifies his humanity that has almost but not quite been destroyed.

8 Schindler’s List (1993), Steven Spielberg

My then-husband refused to go with me to see this - it seemed like a hard watch. I was drenched with emotion by the end, and wept buckets. Spielberg had such a serious purpose behind this, and employed all the artistry he had accumulated over years of more popular film-making to say something important for humanity within a particular framework. We do have choices, for good or ill, and it is important to act as witnesses.

9 Come and See (1985)

The most harrowing film I have ever seen, about the German occupation of Belarus, seen through the eyes of a young boy. An unflinching depiction of German atrocities, seen as a game by the German soldiers who laugh and joke as they burn people alive. Not for the faint-hearted.

10 The Killing Fields (1984)

Its a long time since I’ve seen this but this film about the Khymer Rouge ‘Year Zero’ in Cambodia made a huge impression on me when younger. Some have objected to the use of John Lennon’s Imagine at the end of the film, but seem to misunderstand the point - if Winstanley shows the limits of idealism, when set against the need for day to day survival and the existing power-base, this is about what happens when idealism (such as envisaged in Lennon’s song) is taken too far until it strips us entirely of our humanity.

#historical films

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liyuesbian · 3 years ago

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liyue characters (+ childe) and what instruments i think they'd play

part two of my genshin characters and what instruments i think they'd play series! part one / part three

beidou

bass guitarist!!!

plays in xinyan's band

the incredibly attractive band member who everyone in the audience fawns over

good luck trying to get her number after gigs, she's most likely got the whole crowd tailing her already

chongyun

idk why but i think he'd suit the ukelele

was probably the one quiet, talented kid whose friends (i.e. xingqiu) made him audition in a famous talent show and guess what? he actually ended up winning

is now one of those quirky, aesthetic, softboy youtubers who posts covers of him singing and playing his little gay guitar

ganyu

guzheng

feels so powerful when she puts on the finger picks

looks so refined during a performance even while doing the notorious musician head-bobbing haha

leaves the string players in constant awe like how can she do vibrato with those picks?! AMAZING

hu tao

tuba player

never takes rehearsals seriously... or her instrument for that matter

is the one making the "tromboner" jokes and telling the strings: "how do you finger your instrument again?"

was also the one who convinced everyone to play the mii channel theme music as a prank in rehearsal

bet it was the only time the whole orchestra played so harmoniously

keqing

parents wanted her to play a traditional chinese instrument. if not, at least the piano or the violin

all hell broke loose when she came home with a synth

"electric instrument eh? keqing, i will electric chair yo-"

oh well, it's kinda like a piano... right...? *ancestors rolling in their graves*

ningguang

erhu player ("chinese violin")

fell in love with the instrument after hearing a busker playing it

tears run down her cheeks when she's practicing alone because the sound is so fuckin' beautiful :'DD

"damn, i'm so good"

qiqi

clarinet

"i'm sorry... what's a reed again?"

definitely forgets her entrance

is only here because she forgot she was actually supposed to join the gardening club and walked into the wrong place

xiangling

drummer in xinyan's band

goes stupid, goes crazy on those things

tries to do the stick tricks (like throwing it in the air midway through playing) she saw on youtube during practice but fails

legend has it she's still trying to this day

xiao

dizi, essentially a "chinese flute"

man is so emo he sometimes goes out to his garden and plays a sad tune :(

maybe does it with his eyes closed and his neighbours probably avoid him around 2pm—his daily sad song hour :((

xingqiu

ok, guys, hear me out. this boy is the personification of that one vine that goes "is there anything better than pussy? yes, a really good book!"

therefore, xingqiu is a pianist

his parents are definitely the asian parents who want their child to be a musician as a brag-worthy hobby (bonus: if he wants to pursue the piano as a career, they will absolutely not be okay with it)

xinyan

honestly, i think she could be an all-rounder with the usual band instruments

guitar, bass, keyboard, drums, vocalist etc.

is, quite literally, a one-woman band

loves rock so much she has become the rock

yanfei

plays the french horn

always has her part down pat

loves to share techniques with her section

during rehearsals, you can hear her more than you can hear her instrument

zhongli

cello. he's a cellist. and a first chair

"do you want to fucking be me or do you want to be fucking me"

the 2nd chair tries to convince him that he'd suit a conductor more in hopes that they'd finally get 1st chair without zhongli being in the way

thing is, this mfer takes it seriously and actually becomes the conductor

why's he good at everything?

tartaglia

"and the trumpets they go—"

EGO EGO EGO EGO EGO EGO EGO EGO

but he actually has the skills to fill up that ego >:(

and the lungs because, jesus, where are my earplugs?!

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fairyoftbz · 4 years ago

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serre-moi fort | j. changmin

🐈 pairing: bf!changmin x fem! reader 🐈 word count: 2.2k 🐈 genre: fluff, domestic!au 🐈 tw: none, maybe the overuse of nicknames (?) 🐈 synopsis: while changmin goes out for a run, you decide to do some self-care and unfold the hammock dusting on the side of your house. 🐈 a/n: part 4/14 of my french project!! with my baby boi changmin!! i am sorry if i still haven’t written your request or i take too long to finish it, but the inspo hasn’t been really present 🤕🥺 i’ll make sure to write more!!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

A yawn escaped from your mouth as you blocked the light out of your eyes with your elbow, feeling extra sleepy as your alarm clock hadn’t rung off yet. What a great mistake you did by accepting your boyfriend’s idea of starting to wake up early, you should have refused last night. You groaned as the annoying sound of an alarm finally rang, blindly searching for your phone on the bedside table. Changmin stirred on his side of the bed, turning to the side in great search of your body. Once he found it, he let out a sigh and kept his eyes closed, warm mouth resting against your exposed shoulder. Your hand settled on his forearm wrapped around your middle and you pecked his cheekbone, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the quietness of the morning for a while.

Changmin sat up after a few minutes, head heavily following the rest of his body. He stared at you still lying on your side, his hand gently rubbing your knee and he offered you a gentle smile when you opened your eyes to look at him. You mimicked him as he stood up, yawning as his hand rubbed his abs while making his way towards the kitchen. You deeply sighed as the birds started chirping, helping you slowly and start the day tranquilly.

Once you stood up, you went and opened the windows, letting the pale light and the fresh morning air from outside invading your room. The sky was still gloomy as it had just stopped pouring, the light fog due to the rain lingering around your neighbourhood, progressively disappearing as it rose in the sky. You wrapped your cardigan around your shoulders and joined your boyfriend in the kitchen, a hand gently stroking the back of his head, playing with the spiky, shorter hair. Changmin smiled at your display of affection and turned around to kiss you on the cheek.

“Are you eating this before going for a run?” you asked as you observed him spreading butter and honey on two toasts, only to find him shaking his head with a smile. “I was planning on bringing the toasts to my baby back in bed, but it seems like it’s too late,” he said, and your face fell, making your boyfriend giggle. “Oh, I didn’t know, Changmin. We’re so rarely together, I didn’t want to miss an opportunity of being with you,” you said, and he giggled, circling his arm around your shoulders. “It’s okay, Y/N. Let’s have breakfast together now that you are up,” he suggested and you nodded, kissing him on the lips as he handed you the plate he prepared for you.

Changmin sat across from you, a banana and a protein shake in front of him. He never liked eating a lot before going on a run, he hated working out feeling nauseous or having a heavy stomach, hence the super light breakfast. You, on the other hand, had worked out yesterday, and since you only did it every other day, it was your rest day today. Changmin only had the weekend to go for a run since his work was keeping him extremely busy. Living this kind of life wasn’t the best when it came to personal life, but he was passionate about his job, so it was natural for him to make sacrifices.

“I’m going, babe. I’ll be back in over an hour,” he said while standing up, winking at you as he placed everything in the dishwasher before disappearing back in your shared bedroom.

He appeared a few minutes later, all clad in black gym equipment with a rain jacket from his favourite football (soccer) team. He walked up to you, the plastic of his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor and kissed your forehead as you were drinking the rest of your orange juice.

“Have fun and be careful!” you said as he walked out the door, waving at you from the kitchen window as he walked past it.

Weekends weren't only meant for fitness activities, it also meant self-care for you. So, after brushing your teeth and changing into your home clothes, you decided to grab a book and go read outside. The temperature was quite chilly since it was still quite early, but the cold couldn’t reach your body as you were wrapped into Changmin’s long black hoodie. You walked across the living room and opened the sliding glass door, shutting it behind you as you put down your book on the wooden table.

Walking to the side of the house, you found the hammock you had decided to randomly buy while browsing the web, and it was one of the best purchases you did for your house after the pillow made for taking baths. You unfolded it and cosied it up a bit by adding some pillows and two extra blankets, comfortably lying in it after taking your book from the table.

You had forgotten how fascinating this book was, getting back into the story as soon as you read the last sentence of the previous chapter. Not even noticing your surroundings, the neighbour’s cat casually yet carefully walked across your small garden and meowed before disappearing under the fence, but you didn’t hear it. Your hand dangling outside the hammock, grabbing some petals of the flowers planted under you and playing with them between your fingers, carefully reading the story as you were close to finishing the book you had started a few weeks ago.

Slamming the book shut after reading the last sentence, you sighed and wiped the tear that threatened to fall from your eye and rested the book on the floor. Crossing your arms on your chest, you observed the light blue sky before sinking deeper into the hammock, the wind acting as a gentle caress as it blew on your face. Resting a foot on the floor, you gave a quick swing to the hammock before replacing your limb under the blankets, feeling it move side to side as you closed your eyes. The slow shift rocking you like a baby in their mother’s arms, and you fell back asleep right here, face tucked into your boyfriend’s hood over your head.

The neighbour’s cat came back a few minutes later and gently licked your hand dangling off the hammock, careful of not waking you up. It sat near the glass window, its whines stopping as you weren’t responding, too deep into Morpheus’ arms to come back to reality.

The three-coloured creature ran off as soon as the front door shut close, Changmin heavily breathing as he had just stopped his sports watch. Looking around the house, he wiped the sweat pearling off his forehead with his sleeve as he called your name, a smile forming on his lips as he saw you on the patio.

Just like you did an hour and a half ago, he slid the glass door open and closed it without making a noise, gently talking to the cat as it came to him, tail raising in the air while walking towards the sweaty man. Approaching you with the cat on his heels, he admired your sleepy face as your fist was resting against your cheek, pushing up the skin under your eye in a cute way. He brought the blanket further up to your chin and delicately kissed your forehead, the action making you shift.

“I’m home, sweetheart. I’m gonna take a shower and I’m yours, okay?” he whispered, and you lightly shifted in your sleep, repositioning yourself in the hammock.

Changmin gently pushed it to make it rock slowly, earning a muffled groan of happiness from your mouth. He beamed at your behaviour and told the cat to stay outside as it tried to come in with him, the animal letting out a frustrated noise but sat in the grass anyway.

Once your boyfriend reappeared from his shower, you were still comfortably tucked inside your new bed. With the towel around his shoulders, he was quick to toss it in the laundry bin and pull out the hairdryer. The muffled sound didn’t even make you move, the cat staring at your boyfriend as he quickly dried his hair in the living room. It had come closer just the time he went back to the bathroom to put the dryer away, stifling a laugh as the cat’s position. It was calmly sat on the patio, its wide, green eyes staring up at you as you slept.

Changmin chuckled at the innocence of the scene in front of him, the kitty suddenly looking away from you as he opened the window door. It only moved when he neared you, pacing under the fence like there was no tomorrow. He shook his head at the cat’s silliness and threw a glance at your sleeping figure, trying to think of a way to join you without waking you up.

You felt a presence near you as an arm delicately lifted your shoulders and upper back, careful movements moving around you. Lazily opening an eye, you noticed your boyfriend all fresh out of the shower, who was trying to get into the hammock without waking you up. Changmin miserably failed as you sat and you stood up despite his protests for you to stay in the hammock, lazily waiting for him to sit comfortably. You smiled when he reached out his arms for you to come and lay on top of him, his leg falling off the hammock as you comfortably laid back, your warmth kept and increased by your boyfriend’s body and hot shower.

“Hold me tight, please,” you whispered as you felt him giggle under you, arms securely wrapped around your figure. Changmin made sure that you were well hidden under the blanket before starting to balance the hammock again, closing your eyes as the comfort lulled you back to sleep. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against the crown of your head before kissing it, weakly smiling as his calm heartbeat helped you fall back asleep.

Changmin delicately plucked out a flower under the hammock and played with it for a while before pushing your hair away from your ear and slid it on top of it. Smiling at the pretty view of you sleeping with a flower on your head, he held you closer to him, as if it were possible. He stifled a yawn as his workout tired him out, his chin resting against your head as it was his turn to doze off. __

You softly sighed and opened your eyes, a chest slowly rising and falling under your ear. You recognised your boyfriend’s fragrance as you hoisted yourself higher in his hold, delicately kissing the side of his neck. It was later in the day, you had no idea how long you had been sleeping for, but you were rid of any tiredness and felt at peace.

Changmin seemed to be quietly sleeping, his arm protectively wrapped around you as the other hung off the hammock. Something fell on his stomach from your head as you shifted, only to discover a flower with a smile. You stared at your boyfriend for a while and couldn’t stop smiling, but this delicate, romantic moment got ruined by the not-so-sophisticated grumbling noises coming from your stomach.

Trying to extricate yourself from the hammock without waking your boyfriend up, you felt his hand catching your wrist, his eyes slowly opening with a soft smile drawn on his face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice deeper than it normally was. “I’m going to make us something to eat,” you spoke, and he sat up, motioning you to come closer. You obeyed and he reached out for something stuck in your hair, only to find a yellow petal of the flower he had placed in your hair while you were napping. You smiled at the sweet gesture and he got up as well, kissing your temple as he slightly limped and whined.

“Argh, I forgot to stretch,” he muttered as he made his way to the kitchen, wincing then hissing at his sore leg muscles. Shifting his weight on his hands resting against the kitchen counter, you compassionately rubbed his back as you got out a pan from a drawer. “I was too excited to come to cuddle with you, you seemed so peaceful that I completely forgot to stretch,” he said while wrapping his arms around your waist, earning a smile from you.

He peppered your cheek with kisses every time you moved around the kitchen, making a healthy brunch for the two of you. Once you were almost done, he let go of your waist to set the table, grabbing your shoulders and guided you to sit down to take the reins. Then, Changmin placed everything in the plates and served one to you, walking to his seat with his own.

You ate in silence, his hand linked with yours, the sun shining brighter than before as you finished eating. Changmin kindly rubbed your shoulder, whispering to go back outside while he cleaned and washed everything. You played with the cat for a while, giggling as you manage to place the flower on top of his head, the creature weirdly moving its head to get the thing off him.

Changmin laughed as he joined you on the patio, drawing his chair closer to yours and you kissed his cheek as he sat down.

Smiling to each other, you came nearer and delicately pressed your lips against his, feeling him grin in the kiss as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder blades. Once you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered the words you loved coming out of his mouth.

“I love you."

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years ago

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Anonymous asked: I loved your fantastic account of the battle of Waterloo and how each nation came to define the rest of the century for all the European countries in different ways. However what are your thoughts about the battle itself? Did Wellington win it or did Napoleon lose it? What were the turning points that you think determined the fate of the battle?

Thank you for reading and liking my previous post on Waterloo. I did heavily lean into studying ancient classical warfare when I was studying Classics but I only got into Napoleonic warfare because of a father who was (and still remains) big Napoleonic warfare military enthusiast. Through his keen eyes as a former serving military man, I also looked at the battle as a soldier might as well putting on my academic critical thinking cap. It’s a popular parlour game not just in Sandhurst but also in the officers’ mess (where those regiments actually fought at Waterloo) and around dinner tables - in my experience anyway.

I’ve always seen such speculative and counterfactual questions as an amusing diversion. I’ve never seriously looked at the detail until I came to France and unexpectedly interacted with Napoleonic scholars as well as soldiers (the cultured and historically well read ones at least) that forced me to think more about it. I’ve always been of the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived in time to save Wellington’ school; and this was always enough to get me by in any conversation.

But my vanity was stung by interacting with one of my downstairs neighbours, a high decorated retired army general, with whom I played a weekly game of chess over a glass of wine during the Covid lockdown in Paris. He didn’t spare me as he knew so much detail about the battle. But a typical failing of French thinking is to pontificate around generalities rather than specific reasons. So for him it came down to pooh-poohing the generalship of Wellington (the rain saved him) and lauding the emperor (he had haemorrhoids and thus a bad day at the office). So rain and haemorrhoids were the decisive factors in determining the outcome of the battle of Waterloo.

It was clear I had to raise my game. So I’ve been reading more when I could.

I had recently finished reading a wonderful book ‘The Longest Afternoon: The 400 Men Who Decided the Battle of Waterloo’ by the Cambridge historian Brendan Simms. The book came out in 2015 but it’s been lying on my shelf for these past few years until I actually took this slim book to read on my one of my business trips.

The idea behind this short book is so superbly useful. It places to one side the huge, cinematic panorama of history and instead concentrates on one particular farmhouse, on one particular day: 18 June 1815. History is vivified, lifts itself off the page and into the mind, when a historian of Brendan Simm’s immense stature zooms in on the details - and here the details are compelling.

For the course of one day, 400 soldiers, wet, cold, in some cases hungover, who had bivouacked for the night in an abandoned farmhouse at La Haye Sainte, near a crucially strategic crossroads, found themselves staring down the massed barrels of Napoleon’s vanguard – and held them off. On June 18, 1815, Wellington established his position and sent one battalion and part of a second to the farmhouse under the command of Major Baring. Napoléon’s initial attack was a direct assault that surrounded the house and came near to breaking Wellington’s line; but it held, and the legendary charge of two British heavy cavalry brigades drove back the French.

This is a detailed account of the defence of La Haye Sainte, a walled stone farmhouse forward of Wellington’s centre. Its defenders were the King’s German Legion, which (despite the British army’s penchant for oddball names) was genuinely German. Britain harboured many German expatriates who detested Napoléon, a number augmented in 1803 when he occupied Hanover and disbanded its army. That very year two ambitious officers recruited the first members of the King’s German Legion, which grew into a corps of some 14,000 men and served with distinction at Copenhagen, Walcheren and in Spain before its apotheosis at Waterloo.

Ordered to capture the farmhouse, Marshal Michel Ney - commanding Napoléon’s left wing - obeyed but became preoccupied with his famously unsuccessful cavalry attack. Reminded of the order two hours later, he dispatched infantry that reached the house and set it on fire. The men inside controlled the blaze and continued to fight until Ney took personal charge of a furious assault that succeeded only when the defenders ran out of ammunition and withdrew, having held out for six hours. Had they not defended it so stoutly and if the farm had fallen any sooner then Napoleon would have been able to get at Wellington’s troops before his Prussian reinforcements arrived, and in all likelihood Waterloo would have been a French victory instead; it would now be the name of a train station in Paris rather than London.

I doubt there is a definitive answer to this question which is why certain people love arguing about it because it’s so open ended in terms of cause and effect. You can pick on any episodic event and hail that as the decisive turning point. It’s one reason why we are so fortunate to have so many well researched history books on the battle of Waterloo to replenish the issues for a newer generation to argue with past generations.

If I were to go beyond the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived to save Wellington’ line then I would point to ten decisive turning points which in themselves might not have changed the outcome but taken together certainly influenced the final outcome of one of the most important and iconic battles in history.

Napoleon gives Marshal Davout a desk job

6 June 1815 – All commanders need a good chief of staff to ensure that their intentions are translated into clear orders. Unfortunately for Napoleon – as what is arguably one of the most decisive battles in European history loomed – his trusted chief of staff, Marshal Berthier, was no longer available. Berthier had sworn an oath of loyalty to Louis XVIII – and then fallen to his death from a window – so the job was given to Marshal Soult.

Soult was an experienced field commander but he was certainly no Berthier. Napoleon’s two main field commanders were also far from ideal. Emmanuel Grouchy had little experience of independent command. Michel Ney’s heroic command of the French rear-guard during the retreat from Moscow led Napoleon to dub him “the bravest of the brave”, but by 1815 he was clearly burnt out.

Worse still, when on 6 June Napoleon ordered his generals to assemble with their troops on the Belgian border he chose to leave behind Louis-Nicolas Davout, his ‘Iron Marshal’, as minister of war. The emperor needed someone loyal to oversee affairs at home but the decision not to take with him the ablest general at his disposal would deprive him of the one commander who might have made a difference.

Constant Rebecque ignores orders

15 June – In June 1815 Napoleon assembled 120,000 men on the Belgian border. Opposing him were 115,000 Prussians under Field Marshal Blücher and an allied force of about 93,000 men under Wellington. Faced with such odds, Napoleon’s best chance of victory was to get his army between his two enemies and defeat one before turning on the other. On 15 June his army crossed the frontier at Charleroi and headed straight for the gap between the two allied armies.

Wellington was taken completely by surprise: “Napoleon has humbugged me” he said. Uncertain what Napoleon’s intentions were, he ordered his army to concentrate around Nivelles, over 12 miles away from the Prussian position at Ligny. This would have left the two allied armies dangerously separated but fortunately for Wellington, a staff officer in the Dutch army, Baron Constant Rebecque, understood what was actually needed. He disregarded Wellington’s order and instead sent a force to occupy the key crossroads of Quatre Bras, much nearer to the Prussians.

D’Erlon misses the show

16 June – Two battles were fought on 16 June. While Marshal Ney took on Wellington’s army as it hurriedly tried to concentrate around Quatre Bras, Napoleon led the main French force against the Prussians at Ligny. Blücher’s inexperienced Prussians were given a severe mauling but despite this they managed to fall back in relatively good order.

This was partly due to a disastrous mix-up on the part of the French. Confusion over orders saw General D’Erlon’s corps instructed to leave Ney’s army at Quatre Bras and join the fighting at Ligny only to be recalled as soon as they got there. The result was that 16,000 Frenchmen who could have intervened decisively actually took part in neither battle.

Blücher stays in touch

17 June – Wellington succeeded in beating back Ney at Quatre Bras but Blücher’s defeat left the British general with a large French army on his eastern flank. He was forced to fall back northwards towards Brussels. The Prussians were retreating as well. Normally a retreating army tries to withdraw along its lines of communication (ie the route back to its base). Had the Prussians done this they would have headed eastwards. The two allied armies would then have been even further apart and Wellington would have been overwhelmed. But instead of doing that, the Prussians retreated northwards towards Wavre. It was to be a crucial move. The two allied armies stayed in contact and on 17 June Wellington was able to fall back to the ridge at Mont St Jean, and prepare to make a stand there until Blücher’s Prussians could come to his aid.

The weather takes a hand

17 June – The night before the battle was marked by a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. Rain lashed down, turning roads into quagmires and trampled fields into seas of mud.

It was a night of tremendous rain and cloudbursts. Wellington said that even in the monsoons in India, he’d never known rain like it. To wake up cold and damp, wet and terrified, then you have this slaughter in a very small space. By evening there were over 200,000 men struggling to kill each other within four square miles.

Private Wheeler of the 51st Regiment later wrote: “The ground was too wet to lie down… the water ran in streams from the cuffs of our Jackets… We had one consolation, we knew that the enemy were in the same plight.” Wheeler was right of course – the rain would inconvenience all three armies, not least the Prussians as they struggled along narrow country lanes to link up with Wellington.

It’s often said that Napoleon delayed starting the battle in order to allow the ground to dry out but the chief cause of the delay was probably the need to allow his units, many of whom had bivouacked some distance away, to take up their allotted places. Napoleon enjoyed a considerable advantage in artillery at Waterloo but this was lessened by the fact that the mud made it difficult to move his guns around and that cannonballs, normally designed to bounce along until they hit something, or someone, often disappeared harmlessly into the soggy ground. Macdonnell closes the gates

11:30am, 18 June – On 18 June the two armies prepared to do battle. Most of Wellington’s troops were sheltered from enemy fire on the reverse slope of the Mont St Jean ridge. The position was protected by three important outposts: a group of farms to the left, the farm of La Haye Sainte in front and the farmhouse of Hougoumont to the right.

At about 11.30am the French launched their first attack – an assault on Hougoumont. This soon developed into a battle within a battle as the French threw in ever more men in a bid to capture the vital chateau. They nearly succeeded: led by a giant officer nicknamed ‘the Smasher’, a group of French soldiers worked their way round to the rear of the chateau, forced open its north gate and burst inside.

James Macdonnell, the garrison commander, acted quickly. He gathered a group of men and they heaved the gate shut again. The French inside the chateau were then hunted down and killed. Only a young drummer boy was spared. Hougoumont was to remain in allied hands all day and Wellington later commented that the entire result of the battle depended on the closing of those gates.

Ney loses his head after his cavalry founders

1.30pm – The infantry of D’Erlon’s corps finally saw action as they attacked the left wing of Wellington’s army. As they reached the crest of the ridge they were met by the infantry of Sir Thomas Picton’s division. Picton, a foul-mouthed Welshman who rode into battle in a civilian coat and round-brimmed hat, was shot dead but his men stopped the French, who were then driven back by Wellington’s cavalry.

The next major French attack was very different. Ney unleashed his cavalry in a mass frontal attack, and thousands of Napoleon’s famous cuirassiers – big men in steel breastplates riding big horses – thundered up the hill. But Wellington’s infantry stayed calm. Forming squares, they presented in all directions a hedge of bayonets that no horse could be made to charge.

Ney needed to call the cavalry off or support them with infantry but he lost his head and threw more horsemen into the fray. When he abandoned these fruitless attacks, Wellington’s line was still unbroken, two hours had been wasted, and the Prussians were arriving in force.

The Prussians arrive

4.30pm – Blücher had promised to come to Wellington’s aid, and kept his word. Napoleon had detached nearly a third of his army under Grouchy to prevent the Prussians joining up with Wellington but Grouchy failed to do this and, by mid-afternoon, the first Prussian units were in action on the battlefield.

At about 4.30pm they launched their first attack upon the key village of Plancenoit near the rear of Napoleon’s main position. This savage battle would rage for over three hours. Faced with this, Napoleon was forced to send many of his remaining reserves to shore up his position – leaving him with precious few troops to exploit any success his troops might enjoy against Wellington.

Napoleon says no, and von Zeithen turns back

6.30pm – At about 6.30pm the French captured La Haye Sainte. Posting artillery and skirmishers around the farm, they unleashed a storm of shot, shell and musketry into Wellington’s exposed centre. The regiments there suffered horrendous casualties, but Wellington’s line held – just.

Ney asked for reinforcements to press home his advantage but Napoleon refused. Instead he sent troops to recapture Plancenoit which had just fallen to the Prussians. Von Zeiten’s Prussian I Corps arrived on the scene. These much-needed reinforcements were set to join Wellington when a Prussian aide de camp rode up with an order from Blücher instructing them to head south and support his troops at Plancenoit. Von Zeiten obeyed. Realising that Von Zeiten’s troops were desperately needed on the ridge, Baron von Müffling, Wellington’s Prussian liaison officer, galloped after Von Zeiten and pleaded with him to ignore this new order and stick to the original plan. The Prussian general turned back and took his place on Wellington’s left, enabling the duke to shift troops over to reinforce his crumbling centre. The crisis had passed.

Napoleon’s last roll of the dice ends in panic

7.30pm – With Plancenoit back in French hands the stage was set for the final act in the drama. At about 7.30pm Napoleon unleashed his elite imperial guard in a last desperate bid for victory. But it was too late – they were hopelessly outnumbered and Wellington was ready for them. His own troops had been sheltering from the French fire by lying down but when the two large columns of French guardsmen reached the crest of the ridge Wellington ordered his own guards to stand up. One British guardsman describes the scene: “Whether it was (our) sudden appearance so near to them, or the tremendously heavy fire we threw into them but La Garde, who had never previously failed in an attack, suddenly stopped.”

Meanwhile Sir John Colborne of the 52nd Light Infantry wheeled his regiment round to attack the flank of the first French column while General Chasse ordered his Dutch and Belgian troops forward against the other. Soon both French columns had withered away under the deadly fire. Their defeat led to widespread panic in the French army: amid cries of “La Garde recule” (“the Guard is retreating”) it dissolved into a disorderly retreat mercilessly harried by the Prussians. “The nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life,” as Wellington described the battle, was over.

This isn’t an exhaustive list but it will do.

Waterloo was a watershed moment for Europe, and indeed the world. The end of the Napoleonic Wars heralded a peace in Europe which was not broken until the outbreak of World War One in 1914. In the century following the Battle of Waterloo an increased respect developed for the figure of the soldier. True the Battle became mythologised in the nineteenth century and is now embedded in our cultural memory as one of the great British success stories.

We still celebrate Waterloo because it was a great British victory - even if we had a little bit of help from the Prussians. It embodied the British bulldog spirit and marked the moment we finally overcame Napoleon and his empire after a decade of being at war.

The ramifications from Waterloo and the Napoleonic Wars are still felt today in contemporary European politics. I think because of this the battle continues to fascinate and to court intense discussion and disagreement.

No doubt my French neighbour the retired army general and I will continue to stubbornly argue our differing viewpoints until the wine bottle empties. But we both agree that we would enjoy having dinner with Napoleon and talk about his military campaigns. I admire Napoleon a little more having read more and for living in France. He’d be a very amusing and stimulating companion.

In many ways, he was also an enlightened and intelligent ruler. His Code Napoleon is an extremely enlightened law code. At the same time this is a man who had a very, very low threshold for boredom. I think he was addicted to war.

General Robert E. Lee, at Fredericksburg said, “It is well that war is so dreadful, otherwise we would grow too fond of it.”

Napoleon would never have agreed with that. War was his drug. There’s no evidence that Wellington enjoyed war. He said after Waterloo, and I believe him, “I pray to God that I have fought my last battle.” He spent much of the battle saying to the men, “If you survive, if you just stand there and repel the French, I’ll guarantee you a generation of peace.” He thought the point of war was peace. And he sure gave not just Britain but also an entire European continent some respite from the spilling of blood on a battlefield.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #waterloo #battle #battle of waterloo #napoleon #wellington #history #britain #france #prussia #austria #german #europe #military #british army #soldier

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fumingspice · 4 years ago

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All The Things She Said

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Request: student x teacher au fic with lana, billie or cordelia?

Note: Added in a little sparkle with a soulmate AU. Those who are lucky enough to have a soulmate are assigned a necklace with a small pendant. No one knows where they come from or how they’re decided; they just appear and will match your soulmate’s identically. Also, yes the reader is eighteen, and yes there will probably be a part two.

Requests are open!

Your routine was like clock-work; every morning without fail. 5am you would get out of bed and go on a run. There was no reason, really. You weren't someone who was that interested in athletics, it was just a way to clear your mind and wake up your mind and body before going to school and having the energy sucked out of you.

You adored the way the sky looked this early in the morning as you ran through the country park. The heat gave you an extra kick of gratification as you watched the sky dance in colours of orange and pink, painting everything in shades of gold. The sun crept through the mountain like liquid glory and you couldn't get enough of it.

Realising the time, you made your way back to your neighbourhood, waving at neighbours you often saw at this time of morning.

You saw many of the same people on morning runs that you eventually learned by name while running past them, shouting a greeting and waving as you sped past them. This morning, you noticed that the home a few lots down from your own had been purchased; the new inhabitents were outside, speaking with a contractor.

As you ran, you noticed the woman watching you. Breaking your glance, you made a mental note to introduce yourself later.

The shower couldn't come soon enough as you lathered the cool water on your body. Cold showers after a run provided that little extra adrenaline rush that you needed to get you through the day, and boy would you need it today.

After months of persuasion, you had finally given in to skipping the end of school and heading to a gay bar with your friends Emmett and Heather. Being the model student you were, you had declined the offer time and time again; but after catching your boyfriend with another girl and the subsequent break up of one of the most liked couples in school, you decided that now would be the best time for it.

The school day rushed in and at 12pm on the dot, you and Emmett made your way to Heather's car, where she sat impatiently tapping her foot.

"You two took your sweet time," the blonde muttered, pulling on a pair of sunglasses and revving up the engine.

The plan was simple; Heather's parents were out of town for the week so the three of you planned to stay over. Today would be spent getting ready and having a few drinks before hitting the bar in order for you to have a "drink in celebration" for breaking up with your ex-boyfriend.

The bar was lively, and you could smell the mixture of cheap cigarettes, alcohol and weed and hear the music from the street behind. Emmett compared the similarity of the three of you strutting to the bar to the Sanderson sisters from Hocus Pocus.

Heather nudged you yet again, her elbow hitting a nerve in your ribs and making you bounce.

"Will you quit that?" you snapped, realising your fourth cocktail was making you slightly irritable.

Heather glared at you and pulled you over to whisper in your ear. "The brunette at seven o'clock has looked from her phone to you at least four times," she hissed, releasing you and nodding her head in the direction.

You nodded in understanding and gestured for her to tell you what to do. Picking chicks up at a bar wasn't exactly something you were accustomed to, after all.

"Go up to the bar and order something-" she looked at your outift, "-I don't know. Some business casual-sounding drink. Like an Old Fashioned or something. Make a joke about how much you've drank and if she's warm then ask if she's here with someone. Then go in for the kill and Emmett and I will be your wing-people when you break your seal."

"Break my what?"

Heather practically shoved you off your chair.

You shrugged and walked towards the bar, standing close to the brunette, but not close enough so that she knew what you were up to. The bartender approached and you smiled at her.

"Hey, could I get an Old Fashioned pl-"

"And get me another piña colada while you're making your move!" Heather called, acting more drunk than she was in an effort to hint off to the lady. You glared at her, and in return, for some added effect she lent into full view of the lady, shot her a cheesy grin and gave her a thumbs up.

You spun on your heel to see if the lady had noticed, and to your dismay she had. She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

At least she didn't look disappointed.

"Was that for me?" She chuckled, taking a tip from her class. You grinned as casually as possible, looking down at your hands. You finished off your order and paid, waiting for Heather to get her drink to no avail.

"You know what, yeah I think it was for you actually," you replied. Keeping it cool was the buzz phrase Heather had been using all day. "I'm sorry but my friend claimed that she had seen you checking me out a few times and was pretty insistant that I come over and talk to you."

You sat in the stool, leaving one between you.

The lady chuckled. "It's fine," she said, taking another sip. "I'd be grateful for the company."

"You're alone? You're more than welcome to sit with my friends and I," you offered.

You cut off immediately by Heather collecting her drink, standing between you and muttering, "don't you fucking dare," into your ear before walking over to the woman and leaning over her shoulder.

"Now, you see, Ms- I'm sorry what's your name? Jesus, Y/N! When you flirt it's basic manners to ask for a name," Heather muttered.

"It's Lana," she replied, smiling at you.

Lana. A pretty name.

"Awh, that's a lovely name actually, I wish my parents liked me enough to call me something like that. Anyways, enough about me. So, anyways, my good friend Y/N here just got two-timed by a piece of human trash that she's way hotter than and everyone warned her against dating but hey- you know our Y/N, she's balls-ier than a dodgey testical. So, all I'm really gonna say is we came here because we really want to get her laid so she doesn't need to feel like she got the short end of the bargain so, you know-"

At this stage Heather was trying to communicate through a series of dramatic gestures. Emmett strod over, took Heather by the shoulders and apologised to Lana before walking your drunk friend back to your table.

You were both a little shell-shocked and you feared that Heather's drunken rant had ruined any sembelance of a chance that you had with getting anywhere with this.

"I- I'm so sorry. She doesn't get out much," you said. Lana's smile returned as she waved it off.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot younger than twenty-one?" she asked. You couldn't tell if she was being genuine or if she was trying to hint that she thought you were younger than your ID said.

You nodded. "All the time," you say, it's not like that's a lie. "How old are you? If you're not offended by my asking."

"I'm twenty-nine. I hit the big three-oh in November," she replied. Lana reached into her bag and pulled out a box of Newport cigarettes. "I'm sorry, I've had a long day and I'm dying for a smoke. Care to join me?"

You sat still for a moment before excepting the offer. The club was absolutely packed and you could barely follow Lana through to the balcony without getting separated from her. She noticed and turned around, taking your hand and keeping you close so that you didn't get lost in the crowd.

Lana lent over the metal fence, cupping her hand over her lighter. You watched how her cheeks sucked in, defining her cheekbones and her jawline. You mirrored her position against the fence.

"Hard day at the office?" You asked, declining the cigarette she offered you. "Thanks but I don't smoke."

Lana smiled down at her cigarette. "I like a smart girl. Stay away from these for as long as possible," she took a long draw. "And to answer your question; I moved into a new house today only to find out that none of the plumbing was actually installed and contractor has no idea why."

"My house was like that too; turns out the pipes are just in really weird places," you replied. You turned to face in the opposite direction, laying your elbows onto the bar and watching the crowd. "What do you do? Career wise?"

Lana blew out a puff. "I'm a teacher. French and English Literature."

Ah great; a French student trying to hit on a French teacher. This was gonna be a fun story to tell the group.

"You're kidding? I'm studying French," you replied.

Lana laughed. "Damn, Y/N. This just has to be written in the stars," she replied, you could sent the well-meant underlying sarcasm in her voice. "You think I have that chance?" You ask, your eyes dart down to her hand. Her ring finger, although bare had an imprint on it as if she had only recently removed a ring. She noticed you looking and brought her hand into a fist.

"Don't look at me like that, Y/N. We're getting divorced," she said. She bit her lip and looked down into the woods beneath.

You felt slightly guilty. "Oh, I'm sorry." Lana shook her head in response.

"I'm in a gay bar for Christ's sake. We definetly weren't compatiable," she chuckled, reaching for another draw of her cigarette. She turned around, some noise in the background catching her attention. Her sleeve dropped a little bit, revealing two bruises at the side of her wrist that she had clearly tried to cover with foundation. Lana turned back around and you dropped your eyes before you noticed, unaware if it was your place to ask.

"If I'm honest, I don't really like bars. I know this really nice café a few places down. Do you wanna come with me?" You asked. Lana's head cocked slightly, her eyes scanned you as if they were looking for some alterier motive. "I'm not trying to get laid, Lana. I just don't like clubs and I don't think you do either."

Lana's shoulders relaxed, as if trying to decide. "Sure," she nodded. "I'd love to."

You walked back in through the bar, telling Emmett what you were doing. He made you promise to turn on your location and to call him to pick you up when you were ready to leave.

"It's nice that you have friends to watch your back," Lana said as you walked down the street. The air was now cold, nipping at your cheeks and nose. Lana slid her arm through yours after asking if it was okay to do so.

The café in question was small; dimly lit, decorated with plants. It was warm inside and the candles lit everything in orange. It was peaceful. You heard Lana sigh with relaxation as you asked her what she'd like to drink.

Two lattes later, you and Lana lay on the same old, green, springless couch. You giggled and talked for what could have been hours.

Lana noticed your Soul Necklace. “I have one too,” she said, touching the stone delicately. “I’ve never worn it though.”

She told you stories from high school and college while you sat and listened to her in some new form of fascination. You could listen to her talk forever. Your head rested on her shoulder, and hers rested on your head. There was an echo of peace which bounced around the both of you.

Eventually there came a moment when you had finally plucked up enough courage in a moment of silence between you to lift her chin with your finger and close in for a kiss. It was short and sweet, but you could still rellish the feeling of her lips kissing back against yours in a gentle passion.

She waited on you while Emmett drove back to get you, with an extremely drunk Heather in the backseat.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" Lana asked before she walked away. You nodded. "Would you like to maybe go out? On a date?"

Her final question was asked with a shyness that you found adorable, and giving her a kiss on the cheek as

The next day you went to school in a good mood. Your run was better than ever. Your breakfast was tastier. The sky was more beautiful. You couldn't contain your giggles as Heather drove you and Emmett to school.

"I cannot believe you've landed yourself a date with a teacher," Emmett said as the three with you walked to your French class. You practically danced down the corridor with happiness. The three of you were slightly late to class.

You pushed the door open harder than you intended, making it crash against the wall with a loud bang. You muttered an apology while your friends laughed at you and the teacher settled them down, chuckling under her breath.

That it until she looked up at you.

And you looked up at her.

Lana muttered a profanity under her breath as she realised that she had asked one of her students on a date.

taglist: @its-soph-xx

#lana winters #lana winters x reader #ahs #ahs imagines #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #sarah paulson

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sagamemes · 4 years ago

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quotes from tabletop games, part i. thank you to whomever decided in the first game i was in to start collecting quotes being said during the table—here’s a sentence meme featuring 100 sentences that have been said out loud or written down during various tabletop roleplaying games i’ve acted as a game master for, or in conversations surrounding it. sentences edited to fit written roleplay better. it’s a mixed bag, y’all. tw: implied sexual content and jokes, death and violence mentions.

❝ holy shit, /i'm/ the professional in this situation. ❞

❝ i don't think there's a lot of water in her birth chart. ❞

❝ you know how much I love goading you into bad decisions. ❞

❝ [i/you] did faceplant. ❞

❝ i hope you know this is all your fault, [name]. ❞

❝ wouldn't it be nice if you could bite it back? ❞

❝ [person] could've bonked the knob to death. ❞

❝ a little bit of making out in the cupboard is not a security threat. ❞

❝ no-one else can see it, but [person] is definitely being haunted by an ex-girlfriend. ❞

❝ she's a new yorker, leave her alone ❞

❝ we've all known each other for about four hours and we're making goblins of ourselves. ❞

❝ you’re laughing! [name] is dead and you’re laughing! ❞

❝ god, what a weird little man! ❞

❝ i don't speak [fandom/media]. ❞

❝ because, of course, you don't immediately run out of blood in your head— ❞

❝ technically shoes are skin without feet. ❞

❝ if it helps, she does have a youtube channel. ❞

❝ should we even play d&d, maybe we just do therapy instead. ❞

❝ oh great, what can i do with a dead body? ❞

❝ the man with no face is just a raccoon. ❞

❝ or whatever the victorian equivalent of reaching into the fridge and grabbing a block of cheese. ❞

❝ i do not acknowledge more men than i need to. ❞

❝ he footless because he got paws. ❞

❝ [i am/they are] intrigued by the bundle of scarves. ❞

❝ i thought she landed on her wrists? ❞

❝ i'm glad i didn't faceplant, at least. ❞

❝ it is not resistant to bonk damage. ❞

❝ my interpersonal skills are shit! ❞

❝ is he made of bees? ❞

❝ oh well, she's got one of those as well. ❞

❝ —which is objectively the wrong way to eat books. ❞

❝ no teeth, no feet. simply vibes. ❞

❝ we're going to have to listen to soft ballet while we fight this thing. ❞

❝ that was my third frowny face. ❞

❝ puff puff pass but instead of getting high you have a coherent thought ❞

❝ oh yeah, i killed your neighbour, didn't i? ❞

❝ we're city kids, we know what traffic is. ❞

❝ give me a gay vibe check. ❞

❝ THE QUEEN IS MICE. ❞

❝ doesn't matter which of us die because i'll see you all again on hell. ❞

❝ you know how when a person's decapitated— ❞

❝ i don't even have my eyebrows on. ❞

❝ we will create chaos. ❞

❝ i heard g-string. ❞

❝ i have a masters degree in library science and i googled ‘ feetless man ’ ! ❞

❝ am sad. want ham. ❞

❝ you are the most powerful person in the room with that cheese tray. ❞

❝ you'll wake up to something you don't wanna see ❞

❝ buff mice. ❞

❝ —but it would've been a sexy thing to do. ❞

❝ THE GAME'S OVER! THE GAME'S OVER! WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING THIS TO ME? ❞

❝ it’s mice mentality. ❞

❝ i know the implication was not that we were little beans but shh... ❞

❝ it's your turn! ❞

❝ charlie's angels, more like [name]'s headaches ❞

❝ it's me, the bitch who failed ❞

❝ i'm really good at that! ... no, i'm not. ❞

❝ i love this absolutely doomed party. ❞

❝ unless someone wants to try to overpower two peasants. ❞

❝ we don't make good leather. ❞

❝ you could definitely be mistaken for a respectable person now. ❞

❝ unfortunately, my alibi is dead ❞

❝ you would not think that english was my first, and frankly my only, language. ❞

❝ what the fuck happened to my music? ❞

❝ [name], that's gay behaviour. ❞

❝ i truly just want u to imagine putting a hand on a titty and feeling a sack of dust through the skin. ❞

❝ we've conspiracy theory'd this ghost and now it's a feral raccoon. ❞

❝ does the number of heads you have factor into how easy you are to hit? ❞

❝ i wanna do something weird. ❞

❝ are you trying to reason with a drugged cat? ❞

❝ what die do i roll? the one with numbers? ❞

❝ i'd avoid plants if i were you. ❞

❝ i want to be the burger king of a ruined world. ❞

❝ just because i can be charming doesn't mean i will initiate conversation. ❞

❝ that scream didn't have an american accent. ❞

❝ i guess he was just two horses in a trench coat in the end ❞

❝ make meth, i dare you! ❞

❝ holy shit, you read french?! ❞

❝ i've already put down two frowny faces on my notes. ❞

❝ [person/animal] doesn't have good stamina, actually. ❞

❝ we've established that the bees are trustworthy, [name]! ❞

❝ i can't find the fucking d! ❞

❝ frostbite'll do that to you too. you're not so special. ❞

❝ we laugh in the face of a vengeful god ❞

❝ sorry, but for the sake of the mission, i gotta drown everyone. ❞

❝ i don't know anything about... men. ❞

❝ i didn't consider all the emotional implications! ❞

❝ it's a little known fact, but the h in ‘ goth ’ stands for hrt. ❞

❝ thank you for giving me an opportunity to murder you. ❞

❝ don't worry, i'm a very gentle dom ❞

❝ i'm gonna stay riding it, then. ❞

❝ just two dudes who may or may not have done a murder ❞

❝ you can't even count on [name] for numbers. ❞

❝ 'twas the night before christmas and all through the house not a person was stirring, because they were all dead. ❞

❝ how is that rat bastard looking? ❞

❝ maybe [name], because he has rights ❞

❝ maybe [name], because he has no brain ❞

❝ i'm cruel but i'm not an asshole. ❞

❝ we're just two cartoon dogs vibing in the fire. ❞

❝ in the spanish dub, [person a] and [person b] kissed before [person a] left ❞

#roleplay meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #* sentences.#* meme.

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gravelyhumerus · 4 years ago

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Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 4

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Emily’s alarm wakes JJ up.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

Jennifer Jareau awoke in her bed to the sound of her alarm. She groaned as her body refused to cooperate, with the fog of sleep clouding her brain and the desire to just roll over and sleep in sounding very appealing.

It was such a late night last night with Emily and JJ had already set her alarm to nine thirty, giving her less time in the morning to get to her eleven am class than she would normally like. JJ liked eating breakfast, and with being an athlete, her body needed as much fuel as she could get.

She rolled over, slamming her hand onto her phone, attempting to turn off the beeping. It wasn’t working, forcing JJ to open her eyes against the sunlight. She grabbed her phone, unplugged it, and stared at the blank screen before realizing that it was only eight and her alarm wasn’t set for another hour.

JJ frowned, realizing that what she was hearing wasn’t her alarm, nor was it Penelope Garcia’s—her roommate who had a cheery jingle as an alarm—either. It must be coming from another room.

She looked over to the other side of the room where Penelope was sleeping peacefully, on her side with her chest slowing rising and falling. Lucky, JJ thought. Penelope, unlike JJ, hadn’t been rudely awoken by someone else’s alarm.

JJ pulled her pillow over her head, rolled over, and tried to fall back asleep. She was desperate to catch that extra hour of sleep.

She sighed, tried to relax and fall back into her slumber, but the blaring sound continued, and continued, without fail. Whoever was responsible for that god-awful noise apparently was not waking up.

JJ sat up, tossing her pillow aside. Quietly, despite her frustration, she threw back her comforter and blanket, slipped into her fuzzy slippers and walked to their door, peering into the hall.

She was wearing her pink pj bottoms and a grey cotton t-shirt from a soccer camp she went to in high school, and the cool air after the warmth of her bed made her shiver. Their dorm was either too hot, or too cold most days, never really reaching a comfortable living temperature.

Looking left and right, JJ tried to narrow down the sound of the incessant alarm. She held her breath for a moment, listening hard.

The beeping was coming from straight ahead. She looked at the door, staring it down, begging the other girl to simply wake up, turn off her alarm, and continue with her day.

That did not happen.

JJ slipped back into her room and grabbed her lanyard, to avoid getting locked out of her room with the annoying automatically locking doors.

She closed her own door quietly, as much as she was mad at Garcia for managing to sleep through the noise, she didn’t really want to bother her. JJ started with knocking lightly on the other girls door, rapping on the wooden door right next to the construction paper sea turtle that their RA had written Emily’s name tag on.

“Emily,” JJ said quietly, “Your alarm is going off.”

JJ checked her watch. Eight ten. Emily’s midterm for Clinical Psychology was at eight-thirty. She knocked louder.

No response.

She must be a very heavy sleeper.

JJ knocked louder, scared she would wake up the whole floor, but more worried about Emily’s education than disturbing them. Their walls were thin, but the fact that Emily could sleep through an alarm that could wake JJ up, across the hall, and sleep through JJ’s knocks, was borderline concerning.

After a few minutes of near-panicked knocking, she finally heard movement in the other room, with a muffled “Whaa-” coming from Emily.

She opened the door, rubbing her eyes and holding her phone.

“Your alarm was going off,” JJ said, sheepishly as she took in the taller girl staring at her in complete confusion. “And you have a midterm.”

Emily looked down to the phone in her hand, looking at the time and said, simply: “Shit,” before spinning back around.

“You have twenty minutes,” JJ pointed out, unhelpfully.

“Yes I very much do,” Emily replied, “And it’s in the psych building which is on the exact opposite side of campus. Dammit, the alarm must have been going off for a half hour. I have no idea how I slept through it.”

JJ, unsure at the protocol of what was happening, stood in the open doorway. She found herself somewhat overwhelmed at the sight of Emily. Instead of the t-shirt and pj pants that JJ had seen on her before, Emily was instead wearing a delicate, semi-transparent cotton camisole and silky looking shorts that were quite short and showed off most of Emily’s long legs. Her skin was pale, and even, without any freckles or scars marring the porcelain-like limbs. JJ, on the other hand, knew her tanned skin revealed the scars from the endless cuts and scrapes she’d acquired being a sporty child.

What caught her eye most was something poking through the fabric of the thin camisole. JJ blushed as she realized that Emily had her nipples pierced.

Emily’s ensemble showed off much more of Emily’s body than JJ had ever seen before, but it wasn’t the body that shocked her (Jennifer Jareau played sports her whole life, she wasn’t shy about nudity), what shocked her was the fact that she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away.

JJ had planned to wake up whoever was disturbing her with their alarm, then immediately go back to bed, but now she felt as if her feet were glued to the floor.

With her hands grasping her keys, clutching them tightly, JJ stared at her friend as Emily dug through her chest of drawers and stormed around the room in a frenzy.

She was not simply staring, JJ realized to her own personal confusion, she was ogling her. Emily’s typically perfectly straight black hair was wavy and messy, mussed by sleep and her bare face had a classic beauty that made something tighten in JJ’s chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Emily muttered, throwing a pair of sweat pants over her shorts, not really having any time to get dressed. “Thank you for waking me JJ.”

This roused JJ from her thoughts, forcing her to come to terms that she was checking her friend out. She felt her face warm in a blush, and stared at the floor so she would no longer be looking at Emily like that.

“We use the same alarm,” JJ said, dumbly. “I thought it was mine.”

She gulped, watching Emily yank a hoodie over her head, and smooth her hair down with her fingers. Emily yawned, letting out a cute noise that made JJ smile.

“Well,” Emily replies, smiling at her sweetly, “I would have fully slept through this midterm if it wasn’t for you. You saved my life. Merci.”

Emily grabbed her backpack which was hanging off the back of her chair, and slings it over her shoulder. From atop her dresser, Emily picked up a red apple, rubbing it off on her shirt in lieu of washing it.

“Thank you again,” Emily says, pulling her into a quick hug. JJ found herself engulfed in Emily’s warm arms, the smell of orchids and coffee, for a short, amazing moment, before Emily pulled back.

Emily shut her door, took a bite of her apple with a wink at JJ, then ran down the hall on her way to her class.

JJ stepped back, left behind standing in the centre of the hall, alone with her thoughts. She remained there for a moment, processing the mixed bag of emotions.

She turned back around, unlocked her door, then sat back onto her bed. It was still warm from her body, and beckoned for her to return to its warm embrace. JJ, on the other hand, was still reeling from another embrace, that of her friend and neighbour.

Her friend, she reminded herself. They were friends.

JJ stared into the distance, breathing deeply and trying to process her racing thoughts. Her break up was fresh in her mind. She was still reeling from her break up, was overtired, and had just spent the entire evening with Emily listening to her speak to her in the literal language of love, no wonder why her brain was all mixed up.

JJ shook her head and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

Instead of her normal anxious thoughts about her midterms, her upcoming game and the end of her almost two year long relationship, her brain flashed to Emily. How patient she was last night explaining all the possible conjugations of the verbs, how she told her funny stories about her childhood in France, how she tried to catch the M&Ms in her mouth, and missed every time.

Emily could speak French fluently, and it was probably one of the most attractive things that JJ had ever experienced. She rolled her r’s so perfectly, and spoke with a clarity that she struggled to find in her professor’s strange accent.

JJ rolled onto her side, tugging the blanket around her, lost in thought. Emily was so nice, JJ really liked her. She liked her as a friend, right? That’s what this was?

She thought about Emily, who bakes cookies in the middle of the night, who gets way too into beer pong and who smiles wide every time she saw JJ and held her hand tightly as they walked home last night.

Did JJ like Emily? Like-like her? She didn’t know. She doesn’t like girls. She hadn’t really liked that many people before. She dated Will for two years, two nice, normal, comfortable years where she didn’t have to think about these things, about crushes or feelings.

She was always a very focused child, focused on school and on soccer and on getting to college. It was Will who pursued her, who was the first to text, who invited her places and encouraged her to be present. JJ was always reacting to the boy's affection, every time.

Her mom had The Talk with her when she was thirteen, which was awkward and tense, but instead of the typical discussion about the birds and the bees, her mom talked about love and consent and JJ’s future partner . At the time, JJ thought her mom was being silly because JJ liked boys;, she had crushes on boys like all the other girls in her grade. She always would pick the nicest one, and select him as her crush when the other girls would ask. But now, looking back, maybe JJ’s mom saw something JJ hadn’t seen herself.

No. That couldn’t be.

Jennifer, she scolded herself, don’t go down the rabbit hole. You just went through a messy break up. You’re confused is all.

It was true, just yesterday JJ fought with Will and it ended in, well, an ending of their relationship. Over the phone. He told her that he needed more from her, from them, and JJ told him that she was giving all she had. That was not enough for him.

She hadn’t even had that much time to think about it, and him, let alone tell her friends and family that it had happened.

She had hung up the phone and immediately had to go to a class. Before she knew it she was in a study room with Emily Prentiss forgetting all about her break up.

Her mind flashed to the girl in her class who had come out in eighth grade, how after she had, the other girls had told JJ to make sure she had turned around so the girl wouldn’t look at her inappropriately. JJ had protested at the time, arguing that the girl probably didn’t even find them attractive anyway, but that hadn’t convinced the others. They had shunned the girl for the rest of the semester.

JJ remembered feeling a bit sick at the thought of being that other girl, who’s identity had been shamed by her peers. She went home that day and cried in sympathy. She didn’t know why she did.

After that she, on a private browser, looked up the acronym: LGBT. She discovered the term ally, and decided that that was what she was. She had cried because she supports people who are gay, or bi, or transgender, not because she likes girls. She was always told that she was a sensitive child, she cried because she was empathetic.

She had been confused about her feelings before, and had sorted them out. She could do that again easily. She didn’t like Emily that way. She was simply grateful for her company, for her friendship. She was a nice new friend, and JJ was just over excited as she got to know the girl across the hall.

JJ sighed. That made sense to her. She was a tangled mess of feelings and she needed some time to untangle them.

With that resolved, JJ tried to close her eyes and catch a few minutes of sleep but before she even closed her eyes, her alarm woke her up. Her real one.

She groaned.

To her right, Penelope woke up to the sound, yawning and rolling over at the sound.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Penelope murmured with a sleepy smile. “Late night last night?”

Penelope was probably her best friend at university, and her roommate. They were randomly placed together last year and had immediately become best friends. She was studying computer science, which was surprising because from what JJ could tell, Penelope could hack the FBI if she felt like it. She wasn't sure what else there was to study. Her side of the room was decorated in an explosion of colour, with endless trinkets on all of the available surfaces, and her walls covered in a rainbow of art, photos and miscellaneous ticket stubs and various moments of her life.

“Yeah,” JJ replied, sitting up in her bed and resigning herself to being awake. “I have that French midterm today.”

“Then the game!” she interjected, “I know! Spence and I will be there waving the flag.”

JJ smiled, grateful for her roommates' endless support.

“We should do trivia again this week,” Penelope says, “Reid is basically an encyclopedia and I think if we bring him we’ll win hands-down.”

JJ hummed in response, not really paying attention.

“I mean,” Penelope continued, “It’s probably unfair to drag a boy with an eidetic memory to a trivia game but I think it’ll be worth it.”

JJ was focusing on getting dressed, but tried to give her roommate enough reassuring nods to make sure she was active listening. She had to dress for her exam, then for her game so she chose track pants and her school windbreaker.

“Jayje, where’s your head at?” Penelope said and JJ frowned, she could read her like a book and could tell something was wrong. “You’re never this quiet. Is it about Will? We never really got to talk about what happened.”

JJ didn’t have the time to explain her tangled web of emotions.

“I’m fine Pen,” JJ assured her, “Just tired and worried about this midterm.”

“Okay,” she said, still looking worried, “You know I’m here.”

“I know.”

“Go get ‘em tiger!” Penelope grinned at her, “Just remember: voulez-vous coucher avec moi? That’s all you’ll need to know!”

JJ cracked a smile and wished Penelope a good morning, grabbed her bag before leaving. She waved goodbye and headed out into the morning, trying to shake her thoughts of Emily Prentiss away.

She had enough time to grab coffee and breakfast from the cafe before heading to her class a few minutes early so that she could look over her notes.

Forgetting Emily was hard when she was taking her French midterm, as the conjunction was coming to her, pronounced in Emily’s voice and explained in her clear, knowledgeable voice.

JJ sped through the midterm, a strange feeling tugging at her stomach as her focus was pulled two ways. One part of her, the one focused on the test, pictured Emily in front of her, her bangs getting in her face, her eyeliner drawn over her lid thickly coming to a sharp point on either side of her eyes, imagining her lips as she mouthed the words out to her. The other part of JJ, terrified of these thoughts and feelings, pushed her out of her mind, trying to compartmentalize the knowledge from the person.

Then her brain was filled with Will: of his kind smile, of how he hugged her tight and kissed her softly. Her brain desperately wanted to hang onto some sort of normal feeling of loss at the end of her relationship, but the majority of her feelings were unsatisfying and confusing.

The verb endings blurred together, and as she looked over her work before submitting, she found herself making stupid mistakes. JJ was in the middle of erasing an answer when her Professor called out to announce that time was up.

JJ walked out of the midterm frustrated. She was sure she did fine on it but was mad at herself for being distracted by her own personal issues.

She cursed Will for breaking up with her in midterm season, because she couldn’t focus on anything. She knew she was being distant, she knew it was her fault they were over, but the timing was overwhelming. Her status quo was crumbling and she was not quite sure how to keep the pieces together.

It’s over Jennifer, she said to herself, you finished your midterm. Time to focus on soccer and you’ll feel better.

That afternoon, JJ played an aggressive game, forcing her feelings out in her gameplay, running faster, tackling harder and hogging the ball more than she typically would.

She fought hard for the ball, barrelling towards the net, and setting up a perfect goal for her teammate. Who missed. It took JJ everything to not yell at her teammate, because she did not want to be red carded at a home game.

Next time she was on, instead of passing, she made sure she set herself up for a goal, charging past her opponents. She kicked. She scored. The roar of the crowd, the feeling of her team jumping upon her felt great.

In the stands, Penelope Garcia and Spencer Reid jumped high, cheering for their friend.

The adrenaline of the game wiped away the feelings of the day and JJ felt better. She felt normal. She could deal.

JJ could be happily single. She didn’t need Will and she certainly didn’t need to be distracted by anything right now anyways. She still had three midterms to go, then an away game next weekend.

After that, JJ could worry about her feelings. Until then, she had more important things to do.

In the locker room, JJ dried off, still buzzing with the win.

“Hey Jennifer,” a voice asked, coming up behind her. It was Kennedy. “Are you ok?”

Kennedy was a nice girl, in third year, who played defence. She was probably JJ’s closest friend on the team but outside of games, practise, and the occasional mandatory team social, JJ and she didn’t really talk.

“I’m fine,” JJ replied, stuffing her uniform into her locker. “Why do you ask?”

“You played a hard game,” Kennedy says, “I was impressed. You brought the heat.”

“So what’s the problem?” JJ says, hearing the terseness in her voice.

“Woah,” she says, stepping back and raising her hands in surrender, “Is something wrong? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m fine,” JJ says, slamming her locker harder than she meant to.

She walked out of the locker room, feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst. It had started to rain again, the cold, sharp droplets hitting her face and soaking her hoodie. Making a mental note to apologize to Kennedy later, JJ walked straight home to her dorm with tears stinging at her eyes.

As soon as her door closed, JJ jumped onto her bed, laying with her pillow on her head to block out the afternoon sun, as tears leaked out of the sides of her eyes. Letting go, JJ cried. She cried for the end of her relationship, for the fact that it was her fault for it ending, for the fact that she didn’t feel sad about the end of her relationship and because she didn’t know what to think about Emily.

---

That week, everywhere she turned, Emily Prentiss was there.

For a girl that she never seemed to run into at the beginning of the semester, Emily seemed to make up for that with this week.

First thing the next morning, JJ walked into the bathroom with bleary eyes. She hadn’t slept well and had trudged through her morning routine. As she put some toothpaste onto her toothbrush, the door swung open and Emily wandered in, with her own toiletries in hand, wearing only a robe. JJ found herself brushing her teeth harder, not making eye contact and focusing on her own reflection in the mirror. JJ stared herself down, not allowing her eyes to stray or herself to think about the naked Emily Prentiss behind the curtain. JJ didn’t want to see her. JJ was straight, and that would be silly. She did not want to think about that girls god damned nipple piercings, or the fact that they made her blush to think about.

On Tuesday night, JJ looked out of her window into the courtyard, only to see Emily Prentiss, smoking a cigarette near the streetlamp. JJ closed her curtains. She had to study for her midterms.

Coming home from class on Wednesday, Emily had her door propped open as she read a book, with some music playing off her record player. JJ pretended she was in a rush to get somewhere, grabbing a random book out of her room before leaving for the library. She realized after that she needed a different book for her essay, but it was too late after she had rushed down the hall to go back.

Leaving her Media Studies midterm on Thursday, she passed Emily in the hall on her way back from practise. Emily touched her arm as they crossed paths and asked her, in her sweet voice, if JJ needed any more help on her French homework. JJ hurriedly said that she didn’t, and that she would text her if she did. Pointing out that JJ didn’t have Emily’s number, she then insisted that JJ add her as a contact. She did not text Emily.

That weekend, JJ relished how an away game took her off campus, and away from her issues. All JJ had to focus on was soccer.

Except, news had finally gotten to her mother about Will. JJ spent most of the weekend fending off phone calls and from her concerned mother, who wanted to be there for her. JJ felt incredibly guilty avoiding her calls, because her mom had loved Will.

As soon as JJ was back in her room, she was forced to finally return her mom's call, as she had run out of excuses. It was a long coversation. After hanging up, JJ laid on her bed, exhausted by her mother's distress. It felt like her mom was going to miss Will more than she would. JJ had assured her that she was fine, that she would call again soon, and, yes, she would like a care package, because that would mean she’d get a box of snacks, including Cheetos, which she was desperately craving.

After a few minutes of laying on her bed, with her packed bags still on the floor next to her, and still wearing her school branded windbreaker, there was a knock on her door.

She ignored it. She was sick of people being worried about her. Sick of everyone asking her if she was ok.

The person knocked again, more insistently.

JJ rolled onto her side, looking at her wall. There was her ex-boyfriend, on the wall in her once treasured prom photo, looking at her. She tore the photo down.

Her eyes wandered up to her other photos taped to the wall: her and her sister at Christmas when she was eight. JJ was holding up her new shadow box containing a blue butterfly (morpho menelaus) and standing next to her was her sister Rosaline, grinning wide and hugging her tight.

She wanted to ask Ros what was going on with her. Why she felt so untethered. Why she felt relieved that her boyfriend broke up with her. Why she simultaneously wanted to run towards and away from Emily Prentiss.

But, she could not ask her any of these questions. She tugged at her sister’s necklace, which was around her neck, resting over her heart, as always. Hoping for some kind of direction.

There was another knock on her door.

JJ opened it, finding the meek face of Spencer Reid on the other side. He waved awkwardly, and did not seem to notice her disheveled state.

“Garcia said that we could eat without her,” he said, “She’s in a lab this evening and is ordering pizza.”

Dinner. The trio always ate together when JJ was in town.

“I’m starving,” JJ admitted, realizing that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and her stomach flipped in protest.

JJ opened the door for him and turned back to the mirror. Reid sat down on the edge of Penelope’s bed. Of all the people on the other side of the door, he was probably the only one who wouldn't force her to talk about her feelings if she didn't want to.

“How was your game?” he asked politely.

JJ made a noncommittal noise.

“You know,” he continued without a pause, “Around two hundred countries or territories in the world play soccer, depending on what you consider a country, as the UN only recognizes two hundred and fifty one countries and territories while the US recognizes less than two hundred. You could play this game with more people than you could speak to in English.”

JJ ran a brush through her hair, hoping to make herself look presentable for the cafeteria. Spencer continued, barely coming up for air let alone wait for her response. Normally, JJ would fight to get a word in edgewise, but today, Spencer’s monologue was soothing her.

The rain had slowed to a slightly annoying drip, with dull clouds hanging low onto campus.

Together, they walked down the street to the cafeteria, which was in a dull concrete building near most of the residences. Spencer transitioned from discussing the impact of sports on global diplomacy, to talking about his day and chatting about how he has started hanging out with Derek Morgan more often.

JJ blinked at that, trying not to let her thoughts wander from Derek to Emily and her current turmoil.

Her minor reaction unheeded, Spencer discussed how Derek discovered that he could lift him, and had bench pressed him. Spencer, despite admitting that he was nervous around football players like Derek, given his rough time in high school, smiled as he told her this. She forced herself to be present, to engage with her friend, which was a welcome distraction.

Grabbing their trays, they both wandered around the buffet style cafeteria, peeking at the specials and deciding their preference. JJ steered past the vegetarian option, which was simply three pieces of tofu on some plain rice, and walked up to the burger bar. Comfort food was the plan. Reid, walking in her wake, joined her in her dinner choice. Soon, the two of them were eating burgers in companionable silence, both tackling mediocre, yet somewhat tasty meals. JJ sipped her water and felt Reid’s eyes on hers.

“You seem distracted,” he comments.

JJ looks down into her water.

“Penelope told me about Will,” he says, nervously, “I’m sorry?”

It comes out as a question.

“Look. I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m fine.”

I’m fine, she thought to herself, I’ve said that a lot today.

JJ softens, reminding herself that the boy only wants to help. She reaches her hand out and grabs his.

“Thank you for asking,” she smiles at him.

He perks up. She looked at him and while he was only three or so years younger, he looked so young. He was taller than her but still likely to keep growing, his gangly limbs awkward still in his adolescence. Still, he dressed like a professor, his outfits filled with cardigans and tweed.

They stood and made their way back to residence. JJ was starting to feel like herself again.

But, about thirty feet ahead of her was Emily Prentiss, fumbling with her keys as she tried to unlock the door to their building. It was really hard to push someone out of your mind when they lived across the hall.

Spencer noticed her hesitation.

“Do you maybe want to go for a walk?” he asked.

JJ nodded, relieved at the offer. They turned to the right, and walked down the steps that lead to the lower part of campus, towards the nice graduate residences and the park. JJ stuck her hands deep into her jacket pockets, the fresh air making her feel a bit better.

“Will broke up with me,” she says to Spencer, not looking at him as she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, following suit.

“I’m…. not,” she admitted.

She found that in the cool, fall air, the words flowed out and after she started, it didn’t seem to stop.

“I’m not and I should be. I should be crying about my breakup, eating chocolate and watching shitty romcoms with Penelope. I should be calling my mom and getting advice about my heartbreak. I should be getting drunk and trying to rebound. For some reason, I’m just… angry.”

She stood, raising her arms into the air.

“I feel embarrassed that he was the one who broke up with me when I didn’t even like him that much.”

She sighed. He looked at her with wide eyes, listening intently without any judgment, or reservations. He wasn’t pushing her to share, or judging her for her words.

“And I think I like someone else.”

JJ did not mean to say that. She looked back over at Spencer, who didn’t look particularly surprised.

“Emily?” he guessed.

JJ fell silent. She did. She liked Emily. She spent the week running from that, and it had been staring her in the face the whole time. She nodded.

“That’s great!” he replied with a smile. “I think you would be really good together.”

JJ was struck with this. She wasn’t expecting the homophobia she remembered from high school, but she was not expecting this.

“We would?” She found herself smiling as she said this.

“Yeah, I think she likes you too.”

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #jemily fanfiction #WOOO chapter 4!!!!!#enjoy #tell me what u guys think #sorry its late i struggled #the fic is almost 20k now!!!

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lu-undy · 3 years ago

Text

Un-alone, Chapter 3

Here it is!

Was it only the water of the shower?

Non, his tears were mixing with it. His tears, and his blood.

Lucien had only slept for a few hours. When he had come back from the gym, he cried himself to sleep, only to wake up on the carpeted floor of his hotel room, his head and hands on the coffee table, next to the letter.

But now, he was taking a shower.

He couldn't go to the funeral covered in bruises and dried blood. Non. He even thought that he couldn't go to the funeral at all. But he had to. This was his wife that they were putting underground, and he hadn't seen her in years.

Lucien rocked back and forth under the shower head. His eyes were closed and his arms wrapped around himself. He kept bumping his forehead against the tiled wall, a low drumming that gave him the illusion that time was stopping around him, that he could take that time, without it passing, without losing it. His tears did not stop.

He had talked to Marie, sometimes, on the telephone. Whenever his work took him to the United States, he would always stop at a public telephone booth and call the number he knew by heart.

Like a teenager on the phone with their secret lover, he would speak low to her, for no one else to hear, even though the booth was closed and no one paid attention to him. He would lazily play with the phone cord around his gloved finger as he murmured words of love and longing to her.

He would ask how Jérémy was and on the few occasions that it was Jérémy himself who picked the phone, Lucien would freeze, and it would take him a few seconds to clear his throat, collect himself and ask to speak to his mother.

He had heard his son grow over the phone mostly. His voice went from a little boy's to a man's. The first time that Jérémy picked up the phone with a deeper voice, Lucien's eyebrows had jumped.

"Who is this?" He had asked.

"It's Jay." The voice with the Boston accent answered.

Lucien's jaw had dropped.

"Jérémy?" His lips mumbled.

"Yeah, funky accent you got there. Who's this?"

The Frenchman gulped down hard and a trembling hand went to his brow.

"May I speak with your mother, please?"

"Sure… Ma'! Phone's for ya!"

"Hello?" The feminine voice was a delight to the spy's ears.

"Marie?"

"Oh, hey… Jay? Why don't you go out with your friends?"

Lucien waited for a few seconds.

"Yeah, Lulu? Hon'? How are you?"

"Jérémy…" He answered. "His voice…"

"Yeah, he's growin' up. He reminds me of you, in his own little way… Lulu? love, are you here?”

The spy had to look up to swallow back the tears that came to his eyes. His son was becoming a man…!

Last time he held him, the little boy could hardly walk.

And Lucien remembered how he used to feed him, put him to sleep, play with the little blond baby. Ah, putting him to sleep was what Lucien would remember all his life and beyond. There was something of a deeper connection when the lights were out and baby Jérémy looking up at his then much younger father, with his hair still all black. The father would sing to his son and if at first Jérémy would play and laugh with him, soon, the deep and soothing sound of Lucien’s singing would put him to sleep.

“I heard you sing to him.”

“Oui.” Lucien would slip in the bed with the woman who stole him off of the million arms of other, non important women.

“What song is that?”

“A lullaby.”

“Sing it to me.”

“It is not in English, Marie.”

“I know, heard you purr like you do when you sing in French.” She laid her head on his chest and he switched the night lamp off. “So go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at her and smiled.

“Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me.]

Je vais devoir m’en aller.

[I have to go.]

Ne m’oublie pas

[Don’t forget me.]

Tu ne dois pas pleurer.

[You must not cry.]

Même quand je suis très loin de toi,

[Even when I am very far from you,]

Tu restes dans mon coeur

[You remain in my heart.]

Je chante en secret chaque soir

[I sing in secret every night]

Pour que tu n’aies plus peur.

[So that you don’t feel scared]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

C’est à regret que je pars.

[It is with regret that I leave.]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

Quand je chante, tu es dans mes bras.”

[When I sing, you are in my arms.]

He sang it again, translating himself and Marie looked up at him with a distraught smile on her lips.

“We will miss you, hon’.”

“Me too.” He squeezed her tighter and adjusted the blanket on her back to better cover her.

“But we won’t ever forget you.”

Their eyes met and soon, their lips.

Meanwhile, the old Lucien sighed under the continuous flow of the shower, the white noise of it covered his sniffles. He mechanically stopped the water and stepped out.

He readied himself. Black suit and tie, black hat too and assorted, varnished shoes.

He raised his eyes to the mirror and hated the sight. He had nothing against the suit, it did its job, making his cinder hair appear even lighter, the bags under his eyes and his slender cheeks a show of death itself. Non, what he hated was the insult of a man that stared back at him.

Lucien put his gloves on his still bruised knuckles, to hide the misery he now had to, and made his way out without anything in his stomach.

The taxi ride was as silent as it had been since he had learnt the news and jumped into the first plane for Boston. He had left Paris hurriedly, taking only what the letter from the American secret services had told him to.

The flower is withering. Black suit.

Of course, Lucien had trusted Fred with keeping an eye on Marie and Jérémy. But that telegram had killed him. He had wanted to see her before it was too late but Marie's lungs gave up before the Frenchman set a foot in America.

"Here we are, Sir. And I'm sorry for your loss."

The driver's voice cut Lucien's train of thought. He paid what he owed, maybe more, God only knew, and he left. He passed the black wrought iron gates of the cemetery and walked resolutely to the group of people that he did not recognise.

He kept his distance from them all but couldn't help hearing their low chatter.

"Where's her husband?”

“Who?”

“Jay’s dad. Isn't he gonna come? Even for that?"

"I don't know… Jay said his father's dead."

Lucien lowered his hatted head and frowned, exhaling from his nostrils angrily.

"Mary told me it wasn't actually true."

"She lied to him?"

"No, he made this up because he got fed up with people askin' him about his dad."

Lucien looked away but soon, silence fell. The coffin was brought forth and the priest started speaking.

He spoke at length about the courage of this single mother who raised and provided for those children, how she did a formidable job at it despite an absent and cowardly father.

If only they knew…

But where she was going, Mary would still see her boys, her little men. She would still be there for them.

Such nonsense, Lucien was thinking.

Mary was gone. She was dead. She wasn't there anymore with anyone. She wasn't there for Jérémy, she wasn't there for him, she was there for no one!

Lucien thought he'd better get used to the hard truth rather than sugarcoat it with nonsense like that.

Oh.

They started lowering the coffin.

Lucien heard the sniffles, the cries, the muffled tears in Marie's family. He wanted for the whole show to be done with to stay with her, alone.

It lasted quite a while. As he eavesdropped on the conversations, he learnt that some people were family, some were friends, others, neighbours.

They all put flowers down, candles, words on a letter that would crumple under the rain. But they eventually left.

The Frenchman took a few steps forward, coming out of his hiding, and crouched down.

"Marie…"

Words failed him.

"Ma petite fleur."

[My little flower.]

He sniffled.

"I beg you to forgive me." He paused. "I wasn't at your side when you most needed it. I failed you."

Lucien wiped a tear with the back of his gloved hand.

"I failed you as a husband, and I failed myself as a man. I took vows that I did not uphold."

No, Lulu, hon'... We agreed on this. I knew you had to be far for work and you only wanted to protect us. It's ok, it's alright-

"Non." Lucien answered the voice that he could only hear in his head. "Non, it is not alright. I swore, Marie. I swore that I would take care of you from the moment I said 'I do' in front of that priest and until death do us apart. I…"

Had he been alone in his lonely room, he would have gone through yet another fit of sobs, of pulling his hair off his own head, of rocking back and forth like a madman. But he was out in the open and most importantly, he was right in front of the tombstone that shall haunt him from now on.

"Hey! Who the hell're you?! Get the hell out of my Ma's grave!"

Cold sweat. Lucien tapped a button on his watch and his silhouette vanished in a thin cloud of smoke.

"Hey! What the-?!"

The young man stopped, a few feet away from his mother's grave. Unbeknownst to him, his father was standing right in front of him, a hand on his own mouth and tears streaming down his face.

More than twenty years. More than twenty years had passed and he was now seeing his son.

Mon Dieu, he had his mother's kind eyes even though they were red with tears and slightly swollen, he had her gentle gaze, Lucien could see it. The blond boy had grown up and his hair had darkened to be dirty blond now.

He had short hair and seemed uncomfortable in his black suit. Ah, he surely wasn't used to wearing one.

"Jay, you comin'?"

"Yeah, Auntie…"

“Hurry up or I’ll send your brothers!”

Unbeknownst to him, Jérémy was squinting and staring through his very invisible father. He left soon after but Lucien remained, petrified.

That was… Jérémy?

The baby he had held in his arms all those years ago was now a man nearly as tall as him.

He stared at him as he made his way out, following the crowd, his family that surely somehow was Lucien's too. But he had never met them, never talked to them. He knew the names or the existence of a few of them, when Marie would tell him about them.

But both had wanted to keep their private lives very much private. Marie knew her family would never approve of her marrying a stranger. Lucien was the only man to ever treat her as a woman, he knew that, she had told him that. He made her feel taken care of in his hands, even if he was absent most of the time. It was the respect he treated her with that made her cling to him at all costs, he knew it.

When he told her about his job and what he had to do sometimes, she had nodded.

“Do you understand, Marie? I… I cannot be the family man that I should be. My job requires me to… to do unthinkable things that no one else can and… Sometimes, if you knew what I do, you would… You would doubt my feelings for you.”

“No.”

“Pardon?” He had asked in his mother tongue.

“No, Lulu. I know that you love me sincerely. And I love you the same way. I don’t care what your job is. I… I know you love it too and…”

“Marie, I am sorry.”

“No, let me finish.”

He was holding her in his arms, in their bed that morning.

“I had Fred talk to me.”

“Merde…” Lucien mumbled to himself.

[Shit.]

“He explained to me that you were a… a war hero…?”

He sighed, frowned and looked away.

“Is that true?” She insisted and he shook his head.

“Non. I just did what had to be done and what no one else could. It could have been anyone else. I just happened to be there at those times and places where my skills came in handy, nothing more.”

“Pff…” He looked at her and she was smiling. “Fred also said you’d say that. You’re a war hero and certainly, you’re my hero.” She leaned her head on his chest again and left a prude kiss.

“I know this is selfish of me but…”

“But what?” She raised her head to him and he held her hand in his.

“But I wish I could keep you forever, just for myself.” He closed his eyes but soon, he felt her shift on the bed. She lay down and pulled him to lay his head on her chest.

“You say it as if it’s impossible.” She answered.

“I told you. I am away most of the time and this mission is coming to an end soon. I will have to leave.”

“What if we get married?”

Lucien’s eyes couldn’t have snapped wider.

But today, he could hardly keep them open.

“Petite fleur…” He addressed the tombstone, as if Marie could still hear him. “Je suis désolé, mon amour.”

[Little flower… I am sorry, my love.]

Later that day, when he was alone in his room, drinking again, Lucien heard a knock on his door.

“Go to hell.”

“L, it’s me.”

Lucien sighed. He recognised that voice. He stood up from the carpet and opened the door.

“L? Hi…”

Lucien returned to sit on the sofa, the bottle of whiskey hadn’t left his hand.

“What do you want?”

“Just to offer my condolences.” Fred closed the door and came to sit next to his French friend, who took a gulp of the bottle straight. He was still wearing his black attire, although the collar of the shirt was open and the buttons were undone. Seeing his old time colleague so disheveled made Fred frown. "I've never seen you like this before, pal… I thought you were the kind of sailor to have one woman in every harbour…"

Lucien raised dangerously piercing eyes to him. He did not like Fred's comment.

"Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound bad or anythin'. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Help me quit.”

“Yeah, you should quit your drinkin’, pal.”

“I did not mean it for the drinking.”

Fred’s eyebrows jumped.

“You wanna quit your job?”

Lucien nodded.

“It killed one too many.” He took a generous gulp of the whiskey that now dripped at the corner of his lips. He wiped the mess with the back of his forearm.

“L, you know you can’t just quit. Besides, I was comin’ to talk to you about it.”

Finally, Lucien raised his eyes to his colleague.

“We got some work to do. Well, you have.” The American got a cigarette pack out of his jacket and offered one to Lucien who winced and shook his head. Instead, the Frenchman went to grab his own cigarette case and let Fred light one for him. “Ah, yeah, you like yours French, eh…”

They puffed on their cigarettes and Fred looked around them.

“Mind if I get myself a glass?”

Lucien motioned him to go ahead. The American went to the mini bar.

“They knew up there that you’d like to retire after this. And if you don't mind me sayin', you and I aren't gettin' any younger. So they’ve sent me to suggest somethin’.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow and watched his friend grab a glass and pour some wine. He squinted to see the label and rolled his eyes, force of habit. As much as Lucien appreciated Fred, his taste in wine left a great deal to be desired…

“They say that you should get someone to work with you.”

“Non.”

“Hold on, let me finish…” The American spy joined his French colleague on the sofa again. “They say you should train a young one to replace you.”

Lucien’s eyebrows twitched.

“Not that they’d manage to fit those big shoes of yours but, y’know, someone to replace you while you go and retire. What would you do? Go back to France, I guess?"

The Frenchman sucked on his cigarette harder as he frowned.

"Non."

"I knew you wouldn't like it so I told them. They're ok to give you an alternative."

Lucien shook the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and Fred noticed the bruises on his hands.

"You could drop field work completely and train the young ones."

"Pff…" Lucien exhaled the smoke from his cigarette in a long gust. "And where is the choice? Either train one or train them all? Is that the choice that the country that I have lost everything for is giving me now, hm?"

Fred could see his friend's fingers shake. He was mad and barely holding himself back. His chest betrayed his fast and short breathing.

"Seems so. If that's any consolation, I'm trainin' one of them kids too. He isn't bright, hasn't learnt the job like you and I, but he works hard." Fred tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and lay back on the sofa. "They're givin' you a few days to think."

"I should go and kill them." The Frenchman said calmly. "One by one. Start with their loved ones and as they wonder what kind of curse had fallen on them, I would deal with them all."

"You can't get to your Minister of Defense…!" Fred scoffed but the gaze that Lucien gave him made him stop his chuckle sharp. "L…?"

"I could."

"But you won't… Right?"

The Frenchman stood up and went to the door that he opened and held wide.

"Good night to you, Fred."

"L…?"

"I said, good night."

Fred sighed. He walked to the door but didn’t leave yet. He turned to his French colleague and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t do anythin’ you’ll regret, eh?”

Lucien exhaled a bitter sigh of smoke.

“See ya.” Fred left and the Frenchman shut the door.

He came back to his solitude.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

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mariekavanagh · 3 years ago

Note

Is amateur breeding really that bad? My beloved four-legged friend passed away during lockdown and an acquaintance of mine’s doggo got pregnant from the neighbour’s dog, so I adopted one of the puppies. He’s been my best friend since, but damn. I kinda feel guilty now that I read that. He’s purebred, both dogs are the same race and had a pedigree (and an interest in each other). I can see that dogs (inter)breeding without care can be a problem for the existence of the dog’s race and the accompanying health problems, but that’s not an issue over here? I think, lol. I’m not an expert, though! He’s been checked over and doesn’t have any health problems. I don’t intend on breeding at all, just living my best life with him.

Don't feel bad at all! Like I said, it is very much a paradox situation for all of us because who doesn't love puppies? And obviously we need puppies to continue breeds and the dog population as a whole. But there are right and wrong approaches to dog breeding, and the concepts of "professional" and "amateur" dog breeding are two very different things, and there are reasons why one of favourable over the other.

The sort of breeding we try to discourage is people who see breeding their dogs either as just a bit of fun (or they feel that their dog "wants to be a mother" and such like. This is called anthropomorphism and is an entire other subject) or people who wish to breed their dog for financial gain with no previous experience. This is what I define as amateur breeding.

Breeding dogs is certainly not something that people should undertake lightly, as it is certainly a big commitment to want to breed a litter, both physically and financially.

Litters, particularly people who intent to breed specific pedigrees, should be planned very carefully, taking into account the physical traits, health and temperament of the sire and dam. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, and many breeds have been negatively affected as a whole over the years as a result of unscrupulous breeding practices to fuel demand. Breeds that have gone through spurts of popularity such as Dalmatians, King Charles spaniels and French bulldogs are all rife with common health and physical defects which have lowered the quality of the breed as a whole.

Additionally, what a lot of people don't take into account is the financial commitment of raising a litter. Particularly in these current times, in which the "pandemic puppy" trend has seen puppy prices go through the roof, we have seen a big increase in the number of people wishing to breed their dogs purely to gain financially from selling the puppies, which can easily go for upward of a thousand pounds each.

What many people fail to realise is that well-planned breeding is expensive. The money you invest prior to the pups being born on stud fees or sperm purchasing and inseminating, ultrasounds, health check visits and the dam's wellbeing throughout the pregnancy is not to be underestimated. And once the pups are born, any decent breeder will ensure that their litter is vaccinated, wormed and microchipped before going to their new homes - and any decent buyer will do well to refuse to by a pup which does not have proof of these being done. All of this is expensive, and there are people who fail to factor in these costs before producing litters which they cannot afford to provide basic healthcare for.

On top of these expected costs, you then have the potential unexpected costs which can relate to unexpected problems, including but not limited to an emergency caesarean section, which can very easily cost over two thousand pounds. I am unsympathetic of owners of planned litters who cannot afford the cost of such a procedure. I have seen whelping bitches on the brink of being put down because their owner did not plan for the eventuality that the labour would not go smoothly, but merely saw pound signs at the thought of a litter of pups. It is not nice, and I never sugar-coat this eventuality when advising people planning to breed their dogs.

Let me be clear - dog breeding is not all bad. The basic fact is that without breeding, we would have no more dogs. The "adopt don't shop" mantra can sometimes make people feel guilty for wanting to get a puppy from a breeder, which shouldn't be the case. In terms of the people looking to buy puppies, the best thing we can advise is making sure that you do your research and ensure that you are buying from a reputable breeder.

As a profession, the veterinary world does not discourage breeding, only bad breeding. And it is through education and spreading awareness that we hope to persuade people that breeding their dogs for the fun of it or for a bit of spare cash is not a good idea.

#dogs #puppies #dog breeding #veterinary nursing #veterinary medicine #vetmed #asks #anon

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ficsnroses · 4 years ago

Text

Friends With Benefits Chapter 9 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter IX ~ Full Circle.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

❧ Word Count : 3.7K

❧ Warnings : Angst, light nsfw/smut, (I apologize in advance..)

❧ Series Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

Notes : Just a couple more chapters after this, series is scheduled to end this month! Thanks for sticking around since I started this in November. I love it with my entire heart, and I hope you do too. Please do leave feedback and comments if ya get a sec. There’s tons of parallels in here from previous chapters, kudos if you can spot em!

Chapter 8 Recap : After leaving Keanu’s house in tears at midnight, Y/N’s car breaks down, and she’s left with no one to call but Keanu. After much persuasion, Keanu convinces her to come back to his house and spend the night; where they end up having sex yet again, only making things worse. In the morning, Keanu reveals to Y/N that he plans on purchasing a new car for her, which offends her significantly, considering their relationship. Y/N ends things with Keanu for good, leaving them both distraught and heartbroken in their own ways.

It all comes down to the last person you think of at night.

That’s, where your heart is.

Day after day; week after week, abiding to dreary half executed routines and less than productive projects. It’s been 3 weeks since you’d weary boned, walked out of Keanu’s house,

and perhaps his life

once and for all demolishing the sole, fraying thread of your damaged relationship. As you roam your seemingly emptier apartment, the air around secludes, chilling wavelengths and brisky cold temperate in the atmosphere. On an oak coat hanger, draped in a corner of the living room entrance, a knitted black coat hangs, the same one Keanu had forced you to wear on impromptu evening adventures downtown the LA scene. Neither of you were much for the crowds, yet social affairs seemed…alright. When in the company of the other.

A lot seemed alright when in the company of one another.

Gray ash clouds outside, the LA afternoon falls dark, the dewy gold gleam of a black pine candle illuminating a halo around its part on the coffee table.

It was his favourite scent.

To the hallway wall, a small chip in the crisp white walls taunts you, his elbow bellowed in a charge too fierce when you’d pushed him to it; satin lips on yours in a feverish kiss.

His baseball cap, long forgotten on the loveseat by the skyline window.

Two wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets.

The lighter you kept on hand for him when he’d need a smoke after sex.

Quiet laughs shared in the moonlit dark within these very walls.

All around, there was him.

You don’t realize just how much someone is a part of you, until they’re gone.

For him, it may have just been sex. For you, you were making love. You were making love the entire time, to him. And now, as you sit alone in your outcast LA apartment, that same love mocks you. Suffocates you. Kills you, because it never really goes away. Just because he’s gone, it

hasn’t

gone

away.

He’d yet to call, and you distrust he will. Lover or not, you know him as the back of your hand. He won’t call, he cares too much. Respects you too much to force himself on you. Loud and clear, you’d made rich, undoubted clarity of the end that dreadful morning. The death of you and him.

And nothing comes back from the dead. All that leaves mark is haunting, cold memories.

Cold comfort. Burning memories of what was. He’s a man of measured words, speaks only when there was reason to. Yet, they’d left you haunted. His words that spoke far too much, far too deep, forced you to fall far too profound when you’d promised each other, it wasn’t ever the end goal.

You’d blinked once; then twice, thrice, until the first tear fell.

Warm, stinging, burning. You’d gotten used to those first couple tears lately; the ones that would come uninvited, without notice.

Even after him, all there was,

was burn.

Out.

You needed to go out, do something, find anything to distract, to quench that burning long inside you. The studio sounded nice, nothing a half finish project to get your brain juices flowing couldn’t fix.

Work had been an outlet; designs, sculptures, drawings, late night sessions locked away in your studio had been rather therapeutic when you’d first moved out.

Therapeutic-before you began finding comfort in Keanu’s king bed, silken sheets and cotton pillows scattered around almost every night.

The lock to the apartment door clinks, keys bustling with a toss into your bag before you start toward the elevator.

This is good. This is okay. The morning is rather low-spirited and desolate, not a soul in the halls or lobby. Perhaps you preferred it that way for now.

Alone. Something so familiar, but revitalising. Or maybe truth be told, right now, for you, if it wasn’t him,

it couldn’t be anyone at all.

His rich chuckle,

His smoky laugh,

That inquisitive, immersed stare with the tip of his lips slightly agape while he listens, breathes in the world around him,

Stop.

With a half executed, drained sigh, you trudge to the brassy elevator doors, sounds of trudging cables and gaudy belts before the doors glide open, the elevator scent of a freshener far too strong, mimicking fresh linen and Californian citrus. The ride down is short, a derisory accomplishment of actually stepping foot out into the world outside your sheltered apartment corridors. With a stop to the third floor below yours, the elevator dings, heavy footsteps and the scent of spiced cologne wafted through the trivial space.

Spiced cologne; a dire contrast to the woodier, pine-ier one of Keanus.

Voice intruding, you pick up deep soundwaves and flashy baritone, a greeting of curious surprise your way. “Y/N?” They speak, snapped out your dreary daydream, thoughts somehow continually reverted back to broken eyes, deadbeat silence from that shattered morning endured three weeks ago.

Curious orbs raised, you perceive him; an old colleague residing in the same complex. He’d been the first neighbour you encountered in the midst of your move here, a heavy box of dishes and cutlery saved by his robust arms carrying them up to your front door that year ago. “Matt?”

“It’s been a while, haven’t seen you around.” He raises, hands shoved into his blue jean pockets, tall frame taking place a mere few inches apart from you.

“Just been busy.” You smile, stray strand of lock tucked behind your ear. Matt had been much help during your move, and you’d kept in touch thereafter. He’d come visit time to time for a piping cup of French coffee; discussions of work and projects mindlessly favoured together.

“Right.” He replies, amiable smile to his full lips. “I saw you’d been working on bigger films.” He starts, admirable sheen to his dark eyes. “Very commendable work.” He praises, a gentle chuckle when the following words flow. “Hey, I have to ask…” The elevator descends further down, main lobby in approach. Sounds of trudging still bellow above, yet the sound of his talk was…nice. It was nice to hear someone.

Apart from failed attempts of your girlfriends to take you out for drinks, you’d heard little rather from the voice that would seep your television; the Netflix catalogue had been getting much devotion lately.

With his brows scrunching, the baritone of his voice raises slight, wondering. “I’ve seen a guy visit you every now and then…was that Keanu freaking Reeves?” timidly chuckled, he takes in your gentle giggle, a nod to his query.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Ahhh.” He breathes, glance at the polished floor. “Boyfriend…?” His voice lingers, a dragged out tone in question, eyes focused to assess your features change.

“Business partner.” You lie.

A cold, dreadful lie that held so much history, so much regard. So much history, thrown away with those two, taciturn words.

“Right.” Matt rakes a heavy palm through his hair, moved to gesture out a peace offering in front of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” He apologizes, nervous tone thick with unease, yet held to a certain confidence. Matt had charisma, poise, a pleasant presence.

Voice warm, you overtake, smiling in return. “Of course not.” Sincerely, you compliment. “You look well.” Commenting, the elevator rings open, the main lobby arrives. Matt allows you to go first, leading the way graciously.

“You do too, as always.” He praises, eyes glazing over your features in an admirable glow. Hand tucked back into his jean pocket, a timid silence stays put in the air around, your brows raising when at a loss of what to say next. Features contemplative, Matt’s voice gruffs in his throat, gently coughing a nervous pitch to the look of your welcoming gaze. “I’d actually love to catch up sometime, if you’re free.” He proposes. “Maybe a coffee sometime this week?”

Your thoughts halt in trek, gaze flickering to the pavement below in the distance for a moment. Company…someone to ease your mind off the storm brewing inside….

You think back,

Two wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets. A half drank bottle of Merlot sitting in solitude.

“Do you wanna come over tonight?” You blurt, uncertain of when the words had even fallen off your lonesome lips. Partly wonderstruck you’d extended an invitation so sudden, you marvel if it was too soon. You’d just met Matt again; only shared a meagre 3 minutes together thus far.

You’d only shut Keanu out so soon ago, yet you knew deep inside, he was still stuck in each part of you. But it couldn’t go on like that forever, this couldn’t go on forever. You need something new, potentially someone new.

Someone that doesn’t come with such baggage, someone who doesn’t come with so many complications.

Matt shifts, charming smile plastered to his lips with a quick glance down. His thoughts collect; gaze locked to yours in an admiration filled sincerity. “Yeah, for sure.” He speaks. “I’d really like that.” Controlled and certain, you nod, gesturing to the roads off sight. “I’ve just got a day of errands and work ahead. But I’ll see you at my place tonight?” You offer. “Is 7:00 alright?”

“Of course.” He smiles, giving you a gentle nod, and if you thought close enough, you’d swore his awed eyes sputtered to your rosy lips ever so briefly,

wondering….

3 weeks. 3 long, tiresome, drained week without her. Without her company, without her voice, without her floral scent; roses and lilies to brighten his days. It had felt as if she’d been wiped away, his motionless mind left with nothing but burning memories of their time together.

Laying in his king bed, Keanu wonders what she’s doing right now. Is she thinking of him, the way he thinks of her? Has she forgotten him, the way they were, the things they did? He prays. He pleads she hasn’t forgotten. Three weeks had passed, and time seemed to mock him at every second. A lifetime spent alone, the lonesome days and months, turned mindlessly to years. Her walking away had been perhaps the most gut wrenching, soul eating occurrence to ever break his mind. Her walking away was the sourest sting he’d ever had to swallow.

Because he knows he’ll never forget her. Not now, not today, not in another three weeks.

She was it for him, he’d known it for a while. If it was going to be anyone, if he had a chance to make it right with anyone, it was solely, unconditionally, her. He couldn’t forget.

Couldn’t forget the things they did.

She’d been a dire reflection of him, mirroring his tepid, half sheltered heart. The heart that longs, for so much more. It was only her. It could only be her.

It wasn’t toxicity.

time passed, the days turned to nights, the tick bestowing further, the time spending away, not making either of them younger, he knew. She was it. It all meant something, it was never just sex.

It could never just be sex. What he felt, she had to feel it too.

She had to. No longer was it feasible to suffer. He won’t suffer. This time, now, finally, he won’t suffer. He won’t let it be.

As he turns his side, an exasperated sigh flees his lips, hand bestowed to his feeble forehead in an aching protrude. He wonders what she’s doing right now, if she’s awake, wondering, thinking, missing him like he is her. Longing for him, as he is for her.

Suffering for him, as he is for her.

A glance toward the bedside table shows, dainty clock illuminating the time. He’d seek her in the early morning, and this time, he’d at least try to make things right. Lay his heart out on the line, hoping, pleading she’d accept it. Enough had been enough, dreary thoughts and lonesome nights, burning away, wondering of what could be would perverse no more.

He wonders what she’s doing right now.

11:38pm.

She couldn’t forget him. He wouldn’t let her.

Couldn’t forget the things they did.

Words not spoken,

Things not said,

Regrets; enveloping you.

A finished bottle of Merlot, a shot or two as well. Something crisp…something that,

burned.

You don’t remember who did it first, who wanted it first, who let it happen first.

His scent lasted longer than you’d liked on your skin, that murky dusk of spiced cologne, his polite, appealing presence. He arrived with a bottle of White, a variety you’d almost never kept on hand in the last couple of months.

Red used to be his favourite; so it was yours.

Perhaps you were vulnerable, perhaps he was too kind. Too charming, too present. But you asked for it, you did it, you wanted it. Or so you think you did.

It always comes full circle.

You needed someone that night, needed to feel someone that night. You don’t remember who made the first move, seemed as if both of you wanted that mutuality, that connection just as much.

Back where you’d started.

His skin grazed yours, gentle thumb soothed to your own; wine glass held in a wavering grip, frail to your boney fingers. You didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away. He moved closer, and maybe you did too. Closer to him, nearer to him.

The gray bedroom walls heard the scene; they saw it all, unadulterated, held the secrets of what you’d done. His lips on yours, his hands on you, your fingers clawing to his back. You let him in, and he took each inch of you. Raw, exposed, desperately attempting to chase that high, that cloud nine feel that came with months gone. You could lay with this man while you thought of him, drawing sorrow deep inside his skin. Scratch his back to forget his face, bite his neck with his name on your tongue, touch his face while you think of him.

It’s an awful feeling, knowing you did nothing wrong.

But did everything wrong, all in the same.

“Y/N…” You cut Matt off by kissing his lips, gracefully on the bed underneath him, hands in his hair with his heavy palms to your hips. Moving diligently, he sulks into your neck, moaning, soft and quiet grunts between bites and nips to your neck. “Faster,” You spill, nerve endings tantalized as he thrusts, your lips stippled to his piercing jawline.

Is it easier for him? you wonder, you ponder,

you guess.

“You’re irresistible…” He whispers, lips browsed to your chest in a warm enhold, skin on skin within the softness of release. Back arching, you lean into his touch, hips bucking along with his when your mind jumbles, an awful realization, the bitter realism. He’s changing your breath with every thrust, working your body in a hot, humid intimacy so foreign, his manhood hastily working your body beneath. So foreign, so…empty.

That familiar stretch isn’t there, the sweet burn isn’t there, he isn’t there. This isn’t him. No matter how hard you try, how tight you clench your eyes hoping you’ll trick yourself into believing it, it isn’t him.

He’s safe, he’s new, he’s different,

But he’s not him. The façade you show melts away.

He’ll never be him. No one will ever be him.

As he slips out in the midnight light, the bed sinks beside you, and you turn with the comforter held to your exposed chest. The only light in the bedroom filters from the cracked window, the illuminated alarm clock on your dainty nightstand enlightening the while,

11:38pm.

The misty LA morning brought new found hope; new found anticipation. The weather had predicted a storm brewing out soon, yet that wouldn’t be enough to stop Keanu.

Not today. Not when he needs her to know. Not when he loves her, and he knows so deep, so profound that he does.

Sunny California had grayed a dark to its golden rays lately, a frigid mist clings to the air. Heavier rains had been the norm recently, damper months in full fledge. A tug of war impends his mind, should he wait until evening? Should he call? Was this an intrusion of her space? Her choices?

Was she really, truly content leaving things the way she did?

He looks in the mirror; beard longer than it had been since he’d seen her; hair shaggier than she’d left him. He hadn’t had anyone to look good for since she’d gone away. Hadn’t had motivation to present himself to anyone since she’d left. Some of Y/N’s things still lingered the empty walls of his home; a lacy bra left in his wardrobe, a crewneck sweater mindlessly thrown under his bed; her copy of a Hemingway novel abandoned in his office, a toothbrush for when she’d spend the night.

It had been there the entire time.

Just sex isn’t this involved.

Friends with benefits aren’t this involved.

She’d been there the entire time.

After a quick shower and groom of his rather untamed features, Keanu snatches his keys and wallet, fear filled drive to her apartment drained on his mind. Y/N had to see this through, had to trust him, understand him.

Y/N and Keanu had never really got it right, never quite found the balance. But it could be found, could be learnt, could be when they’d finally accept it.

The balance was always them. Them together, as whole. Half executed attempts at being anything less would suffice no more. What was, what is, was always more.

It was never just sex.

It was so much more.

The apartment complex is rather fuller than normal, piercing cold and dewy morning air enveloped around. Crowds had stayed in, and the first murky dewdrops of fresh rain speckled his worn out leather jacket on arrival.

This worn out leather jacket….

He’d placed it on her shoulders when the bitter cold threatened her skin. She’d peeled it off him when they did what lovers do.

It was never just sex.

It was companionship.

The wearing pockets had held her special birthstone ring, forgotten in his possession solely for him to have a reason to come to her, sooner than they’d planned.

It was never just sex.

It was the feeling of needing someone; having someone.

The fraying insides and ravelling threads felt the weight of her body holding him, chest pressed to his back along the scenic LA mountains, breezy winds and violet sunsets known all too well on destination less rides.

It was never just sex.

It was connection; intimacy.

This old, worn out leather jacket, a possession of his he’d held for so long, something that had been through it all, held so much of her. Knew so much of her.

It was never just sex.

It was their love. And it was so much more, so much more than just physical.

The ride up and trek to her door seemed endless, racing pace and quick strides in desperate attempt to get to her as soon as he could. Everything had finally fallen into place, he’d finally understood. And he knew so well, that she would too. Takes one to know one; they’d been lonely far too long.

Within moments, Keanu stood firm at her door, abundance of confidence, anticipation, yet a timid nervousness all in one piping cocktail of eagerness flowing through his veins. He hadn’t seen her in weeks; his favourite, the most prized possession in his life, he hadn’t seen in weeks. More than anything, he hopes she had been alright. Taken care of herself, stayed healthy and safe.

A ring at the door bell, and a loud knock.

Seconds, moments, small increments of time passing seem as if an eternity slowly moving by.

Another knock, for good measure.

Hands shaking so slightly, skin crawling, fists clenched with a stare to the floor.

She should be home, it’s only morning.

Trudging elevator belts moving in the distance, footsteps in and around the complex halls, leg bouncing, lip bitten in dreary wait, a nervous sigh when more moments pass until…

Click. The door wavers open, she stands behind, half dressed, features borderline stoic, yet with a gentle hold of sorrowed blues. She looks beautiful as always, and his heart hitches at the sight of her. The woman he loves, so dearly, so much. Hair stowed in a messy bun, fatigue seeps under her eyelids, tired features soft under the artificial hallway lights.

“Y/N…” Keanu speaks above a smooth, buttery whisper; the sound of her name slipping off so naturally, so effortlessly. “I wanted to see you…”

She swallows tight, eyes never leaving his chocolaty, sincere gaze, so love drunk as he stares. He’d engulf her in his arm right now if he could. Hold her for an eternity if time allowed. Kiss her so passionately, so lovingly that it’d take her breath away. Yet he waits; waits to do things right. Do it the right way, for the first time in their tumbling relationship. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice almost choking in his gruffed throat.

She’d hardly moved before he’d caught glimpse; a deep baritone behind her, the sound an intruding shock to his already racing heart. Calm yet collected, Keanu stands, eyes tracing behind as the voice firms in closer,

a man, jacket hung over his left shoulder blade, morning hair just woken ruffled a mess, palm placed to her back with a gentle squeeze as he bids goodbye. “I need to head out, but I’ll call you.” He smiles at her, before locking gaze with Keanu.

“Morning.” He greets Keanu, before giving Y/N’s arm a reassuring, goodbye squeeze, slipping beside Keanu and out the door, disappearing down the hall. Y/N stands in front of him, eyes locked to his still, as if pleading, begging for something…something neither of them could quite understand.

Keanu stills, fists clenched, heart stinging with piercing defeat.

She’d been with another man.

The love he so desperately longed for, the women he knew he needed,

had been in the arms,

of another.

>>Chapter 10>>

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s/o to ma bish @fanficsrusz for looking over this cluster fuck for me lol. ily

My taglists will be posted in reblogs from now on. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from either this series, or the permanent!

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves smut

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