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oharaswife · 5 years ago

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From Hate To Love - Alex Morgan x Reader - Chapter 1

A/N : Hello people, welcome to my new Alex x Reader story. To sum it up a little it will be an “enemies to lovers” kind of story with a lot of angst and drama. R is the new girl on the USWNT and for some reason Alex doesn’t like her at all, mostly because she thinks she’s an arrogant person, who loves breaking women’s heart aka a massive fuckboy. Also this is before the WC.

WORD COUNT : 3.2K

Warnings : Angst, light swearing

Anyway, hope you’ll like it.

ENJOY

When Alex first saw Y/N Y/LN, it was on her TV as she was introduced to the world as the newest addition to the USWNT. She remembered thinking that having a new talented attacking midfielder could only be a good thing. But after 5 minutes in the interview, her excitement turned into dread and slight anger. She knew the second she saw the smug look on the new player’s face that she wasn’t going to like her. She reeked of cockiness despite her clear lack of experience and that only infuriated Alex. Plus, the fact that she was depicted by the media as “The soccer player the USWNT desperately needed” only seemed to add fuel to the fire. Maybe they weren’t playing to the best of their abilities lately, but that didn’t mean they desperately needed someone new. Alex wasn’t jealous of the new girl, only hurt over the fact that her - and her teammates - had worked their asses off to get to where they were today, only to have all their work thrown out the window because some random 25 yo girl posted videos of herself humiliating people in amateur friendly games. How does a girl who’s never played a game on a professional level - or in any club related team for that matter - become a professional soccer player overnight, worse even, how does she get propelled to a national team without being properly tested beforehand? Part of her hated Ashlyn for showing a compilation of the girl’s feats to Jill who, shockingly, immediately took it upon herself to make her a part of the National Team as soon as possible. But another part of her, a very small part though, felt that the girl could be an asset to the team, at least on the field.

When she first met her, Alex promised Kelley she’d tried to be nice, having shared with her best friend her growing dislike for the girl. But the second the midfielder spoke to her, hatred started bubbling up in her guts again. “Hey gorgeous.” She had greeted her, a smirk on her face, which only angered Alex, because who says that when they meet their future “co-worker” for the first time. She still shook her hand, introducing herself quickly before instantly establishing a distance between them both, which Y/n didn’t seem to mind, or notice. During the two weeks that followed Alex barely spoke to the girl, unless it was on the field or during trainings. Her other teammates though had all grown really close to her, which caused Alex to isolate herself sometimes since they all gravitated around the new midfielder as if she was the new star of their galaxy. Even her own girlies Allie and Kelley seemed to have fallen for her, too busy flirting with her sometimes to notice Alex, which the latter didn’t get at all. How could they be friends with her when she enjoyed toying with women’s feelings? In just a few days, Alex had seen Y/N flirt with every woman she came across. She’d lost count of how many women she’d seen walking out of Y/N’s room when morning would come. Maybe she was a bit jealous of the attention the girl was getting all the time, but only because she felt like she was left on the sidelines most of the time. The only person she could talk to was Servando. Granted he wasn’t physically with her most of the time, but he was always there to listen to her when she needed it, even though she spent most of her time complaining about Y/N.

When Orlando Pride offered Y/N a deal with them, Alex lost it, complaining to Kelley about it this time.

“I have to put up with her smug face and consistent flirting with everyone on the National Team, I don’t need that in my club as well.” Alex had yelled, her anger getting the best out of her.

“Chill, Al. You don’t even know if she’s gonna sign with Orlando. She said she received a lot of offers from different clubs.” Kelley answered her, plopping on the couch next to her.

“Well I hope she goes to play in Europe, where I don’t have to see her. I can’t stand her.” Alex shot angrily.

“Why though? I think she’s pretty cool, and super-hot.” Kelley replied absentmindedly, but regretted her words instantly as she saw the glare Alex sent her way. She chose to drop the subject knowing how Alex would get whenever her name was mentioned. It wasn’t until a few days later, at another press conference that Y/N announced that she would be signing with the Thorns, much to Sonnett and Tobin’s pleasure, who felt like they’d found a sister in Y/N. Alex was only happy because she wouldn’t have to see her that often hopefully.

For now though, she was going to have to be around her for a month, as the January camp was starting today, to prepare for the 2019 World Cup in France.

Alex was happy to see most of her best friends again, at least the ones she didn’t get to see in the past month, but was secretly hoping they wouldn’t be obsessing over Y/N like last time. She was one of the first ones to arrive to the hotel. The team soon started arriving in groups, depending on where they were playing the rest of the year. The first ones to arrive were the Royal girls and Alex was excited to see Kelley again, especially without Y/N being around to steal her away, to steal anyone away for that matter.

ALEX’S POINT OF VIEW

The fact that I was rooming with my best friend did help, maybe we’d get to hang out as much as we used to, at least I hoped so. I didn’t know exactly when Y/N arrived, but since Tobin and Christen knocked on our door to say hi, I assumed the new Portland player was here as well. It wasn’t until we made our way to dinner that I saw her. She was in the hotel lobby with the rest of the girls, probably waiting for Preath, Kelley and I so we could all go and eat out, to catch up. She was in the midst of a hug with Julie when her eyes fell on me or more like on us. A small smirk made its way to her face while I just rolled my eyes, seeing Kelley sprint towards the girl and jump into her arms, engulfing her in a hug. Dread overcame me as I got closer.

“Hey Alex.” was all she said as she saw me, no unwanted compliments or sweet names which made me frown slightly. She usually couldn’t help but use pet names with me, no matter how much I hated it, or her for the matter.

“Hi.” I answered, not wanting to be impolite.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Kelley give her a thumbs up, making Y/N roll her eyes.

“What was that about?” I questioned Kelley. But got no real answer from her, she just shrugged her shoulders before we all started walking outside. I made a mental note to ask about it again later, not wanting to drop the subject, especially if it had something to do with me.

—

Dinner went surprisingly well, at least at first. I was more involved in the conversation than last time we all were together, as Y/N spent practically the whole lunch talking to Sonny, Megan and Ashlyn. But of course, she had to ruin everything again. In the middle of dinner, she got up as the girls started cheering her on, causing the rest of us to look her way. She walked towards the bar, with her typical smug grin on her face. She turned around sending a quick wink to Megan before she reached the bar.

“What’s going on?” Kelley asked as the cheers died down and everyone started looking intently in the direction of the bar.

“She said that the bartender was beautiful, so we dared her to get her number in less than 3 minutes.” Sonnett answered before adding. “Which I’m pretty sure is impossible.” She added before checking the timer on Megan’s phone, ready to yell LOSER the second it would reach three minutes.

Why she always had to be such a fuckboy was something I didn't get. All I knew was that it was pissing me off. It seemed like everything she did was angering me, and I had no control over it. I was hoping she’d get rejected but as I saw the flirtatious smile on the bartender’s face, I groaned earning a confused look from Kelley. Before we even had the time to process it, she was returning to the table, faintly smirking as Megan stopped the timer.

“Sooo?” Ashlyn started wiggling her eyebrows. “Did you get it?”

Y/N stepped closer to look at the timer before her smirk turned into a grin, nodding her head.

“And it only took 2 minutes.” She shot arrogantly, as she proceeded to show the new marked phone number on her forearm, with the name Leana written next to it.

“Nothing to be proud about.” I heard myself say before I could even process it causing everyone to look at me.

“Al-” Kelley started probably trying to get me to back off, but she instantly got interrupted by Y/N.

“Why not?” She shot at me, with a daring look on her face.

“Well I don’t think you should be proud to be a fuckboy.” I answered truthfully, tired of having to stay civil with her. Weirdly enough, that brought a smile to her face as the rest of the girls just glared at me.

“You should probably stop talking now Janice.” Allie said. Even she was siding with her apparently which only fuelled my anger more.

“No, I’m curious. What’s a fuckboy to you?” She asked resting her chin on her hand, as she looked at me intently, her trademark smirk not leaving her face even for a second. I looked at her, as if questioning if she actually wanted an answer, but she only looked at me like she was amused.

“Well to make it short, a fuckboy is someone who doesn’t respect women, and doesn’t care about their feelings. Someone who only cares about sex and is self-absorbed. Someone who doesn’t actually have a heart and doesn’t care how many she breaks. That’s literally you.” I answered proudly, sure of myself and that seemed to make her face fall slightly.

“Alex for fuck’s sake.” Ali shot, clearly angry at me now, her head falling into her hands. But I didn't back down, I was only speaking the truth.

“Well it’s good to know what you really think about me at last.” She said after some time. I was waiting for her to retort, deny or maybe proudly admitting that she enjoyed being a player but none of that came. Instead, she eventually got up, excused herself, telling the girls she’s meet them at the hotel, and got up before leaving without another word leaving me confused.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ashlyn shot, anger winning her over. They were all glaring at me, absolutely all of them, some were fuming more than the others. Even Christen who is the literal embodiment of peace, was looking at me with hatred.

“I’m only speaking the truth.” I retorted, shrugging my shoulders.

“No you’re not.” Tobin interfered. “You don’t even know her. You’ve never made an effort to actually talk to her. So how would you know if she respects women or not or if she has a heart.” Disappointment was written all over her face much to my surprise.

“I honestly didn’t peg you for the petty kind of person.” Sonnett finally shot before everyone focused on their lunch again, in silence this time, because of me.

—————

READER’S POINT OF VIEW

Heading back to the hotel, Alex’s words resonated in my mind. I knew she didn’t like me that much, I just had no idea why until today. It was stupid of me to ask Kelley what I could do to make her like me more, not enjoying the fact that there was tension between me and my teammate. But clearly, she had an opinion of me and didn’t want it to change, so why should I try anymore. I walked back to my room, taking a quick shower before I walked up to the roof, knowing I would find comfort staring at the stars, or more like I’d get lost in them and forget what happened. I sat down, leaning against the wall on the roof and lost myself in my thoughts. It did hurt a little that Alex would think that about me, because after all she never actually talked to me. We only ever said hi to each other, never speaking more than 2 words to each other, unless it was soccer related. Had she actually talked to me, she would know that I do respect women, that I care deeply about women, but yes, loving someone was something else. I had a complicated story, but she wasn’t interested enough to ask for it, or hear it for the matter. Maybe I should just keep my distance and stop trying to get her to like me eventually. I didn’t know how long I stayed here, lost in my thoughts. It wasn’t until I heard the roof door opening that I brought my attention back to my surroundings.

“There you are.” I heard a voice say, before seeing Kelley walk towards me, followed by Ashlyn and Ali.

“Hey guys.” I answered tiredly, actually exhausted.

“We’ve been calling you non-stop.” Ali pointed to my phone that was lying on the floor as she sat down next to me, a worried look on her face.

“Sorry I got lost in my thoughts I guess.” I replied apologetically, as Ali rested her head on my shoulder, the other two sitting in front of me.

“You know you shouldn’t pay attention to what Alex says. I don’t know why she feels this way about you but deep down she’s not a bad person.” Kelley defended making me scoff.

“Yeah allow me to doubt that.” I said before adding quickly. “I don’t care guys really. I’ve had worse things said to me. I just won’t try anymore that’s all.” I lied. Of course I have had worse things said to me, but on a deeper level, I did care about what the forward thought about me. And obviously Ali knew I did.

“You do care Y/N.” She pointed. “You told me you used to idolize her. So, it would be normal to be hurt by her behaviour.”

“Maybe, but I’m not a kid. I’ll get over it.” I replied before getting up, ready to go back to my room as it was late. I saw the sad looks they exchanged before they all followed me out of the roof, and back to our floor we were staying on.

Tiredly dragging my feet, I was surprised when I saw Alex standing in front of the room I shared with Sonny. She looked at me ready to speak but I walked past her, opening the door turning around at the last second.

“Let’s not pretend we’re ever going to like each other. You don’t like me, and honestly the feeling is mutual, so let’s just stay professional and only speak to each other when necessary. I honestly don’t give a shit about what you think about me. And trust me you don’t want to know what I think about you.” I shot angrily, not giving her the time to say anything, before I turned to the girls who were previously with me on the roof. “Goodnight ladies.” And with that I slammed the door in her face, not giving a shit anymore. She thought I didn’t care about my actions possibly hurting the women around me, I was going to show how much that statement would apply to her.

————

Alex’s point of view

Having the door slammed in my face hurt more than I liked to admit. I wasn’t used to her being angry and upset. She usually always had a smile on her lips, even though it always seemed arrogant. I turned to the three girls who looked at me as if to say “You brought that upon yourself.” And without saying anything I walked back to my room, heading straight for bed, the images of the anger on her face filling my head. She obviously wasn’t used to girls not going her way, and not falling for her instantly. I wasn’t going to be one of her groupies, that was for sure. Here I was, going to apologize for being an asshole, and she was the one who ended up acting like one.

“You know you could actually talk to her.” Kelley said as she walked in the room. “I’m sure you would like her.” She added and that caused a wholehearted laugh to escape me.

“Yeah I don’t think so.” I answered making her roll her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you like her, but she just infuriates you on some level, the only question is why.” Kelley added as she slipped into bed to which I didn’t answer with anything, not wanting to elaborate any more than I had to. I didn’t like her. I was in a happy relationship with Servando. The new girl just got under my skin and there was nothing I could do to stop that.

To be continued...

A/N : That ends our first chapter. There’s a lot of angst planned for this whole story but eventually the relationship between R and Alex will evolve.

Next chapter, there’s trouble in paradise for Alex and Servando, and a looooot more of jealous Alex in store. (Maybe some jealous R as well)

I live off feedback so let me know if you liked it !

-Kat

#uswnt fiction #uswnt #uswntsoccer #woso #women’s soccer #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagines #uswnt imagines #alex morgan #imagines

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marvelsbestsuperheroine · 5 years ago

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Waiting - IronWidow Request

TonyNat angst with a happy ending? Natasha's secretly in love with Tony but she thinks after his break-up with Pepper, he would never even try to love again. She was wrong.

A/N. Hello! Apologies for the delay. My laptop is no longer usable and I need a new one. I’m posting this on mobile and I’m still getting used to the formatting so forgive me if it looks weird. I’ll work on the next request as soon as I can.

- Rose

Tony and Pepper’s split was highly publicized. For ten years, it was impossible to get a public appearance of Tony Stark without spotting his assistant Virginia Potts somewhere in the background, running the show and overall just keeping everything together. Over the course of Ms. Potts’ tenure there had been rampant speculation about her and Mr. Stark. Her progression to CEO of Stark Industries was not a quick one but even then people speculated that she only got the job because of Stark’s fondness for her.

And it was true. He was fond of her. But that wasn’t why he made her the CEO in 2010. She was truly the most capable candidate with the most experience and highest qualifications. But most importantly, she had proven time and time again that she was trustworthy, something Tony valued her highly for.

They did get together not long after her promotion, which sent rumours flying. But neither of them cared that much what the paparazzi had to say. They needed to have good PR for the company, sure, but they didn’t have to believe anything that was said.

For a while, they had a good relationship. Tony put his all into being there for her. He dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe millions, to make Pepper happy. Anything she wanted, he would give her, even things she maybe didn’t want but Tony thought she might appreciate. They communicated openly and were honest with each other. But like every couple, they had their problems.

As Iron Man grew in popularity, so too did Tony Stark. As Tony Stark became more Iron Man, he became less involved in Stark Industries. When the Avengers formed, Pepper was happy that Tony finally had people he could talk to about the whole superhero thing. But then Tony became busier than ever, more traumatized, more hurt more often. Pepper worried herself sick over him constantly. His myriad of pre-existing issues intensified the more traumatic events he had to live through and she hated watching him suffer. Watching was a suffering on its own.

After the battle of Sokovia, when Tony broke his promise of toning down his obsession with the suits and when he accidentally built an evil robot that nearly destroyed the world, Pepper asked for a break. Nothing permanent. Just time apart to reflect and be alone.

Tony had resisted. Hard. He’d put his foot down, dragged his other foot behind him, and threw a tantrum when nothing else worked. That had been the last straw. Pepper didn’t want to marry someone who still had tantrums like a child.

So she packed up her things and left and Tony kicked himself until he was blue and broken. When he stopped to think about it, he picked himself back up and vowed to win her back. He threw himself into his work - not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries and major player in the clean energy sector and liaison between the U.S. government and the Avengers. He hoped that signing the Sokovia accords would relieve him of some of his duties as Iron Man, that maybe then Pepper would see that he was trying to compromise, to make it work... for her.

Natasha watched all of this with a careful and sneaky eye, never snooping too much but always prying a little more than strictly necessary. Her heart broke for Tony, who had nothing but good intentions and a desire to save the world and everyone in it. She knew better than anyone what it was like to try to redeem yourself. She also knew how people who got too close could hurt you the most and she sympathized. There had never been anyone after Alexei, never anyone who could even come close. Steve was her closest friend and confidant but even then she kept him at arm’s length. He was too good for her, anyway.

But Tony... Tony was a deeply flawed human being. He was broken in ways that Natasha wasn’t and vice versa. He was an addict. He could be so single-minded that it blinded him to anything else. He was impulsive. He was cocky.

Natasha was in love with him. And she couldn’t for the life of her understand why. It had been years - years - since Natasha had felt like this. But she was fascinated by him, utterly entranced. Nothing would please her more than to hug him and tell him that everything would be okay.

So she sided with him in the civil war to come. She had her own reasons too. But if she was being honest with herself, at least a small part of her just wanted to stand by his side and say, ‘I’m here for you’. He didn’t seem all that grateful, so wrapped up was he in his longing for Pepper.

Natasha knew, then, that whatever she felt for Tony would never come to fruition. Tony pined for a woman who complemented him in every way, a woman who was his polar opposite, a good woman with no shady pasts or murderous ways. A woman he could trust. If there was one thing to be said about Natasha that everyone agreed on, it was that she wasn’t very trustworthy.

In the end, she had proven that to Tony in the worst way possible by betraying him to side with Steve, the one man who had put all of his trust, all of his faith in her.

When the dust was still settling, after breaking the other Avengers out of the Raft, Natasha paid Tony one final visit to say good-bye and to apologize. She found him in his bedroom, two bottles deep into a stupor, one eye still back and blue and one arm still strung up in an awkward position. It struck her then, just how alone Tony must feel. His best friend was in the hospital recovering from being paralyzed, his girlfriend of four years had left him, the team he’d called a family abandoned him...

Natasha folded herself to climb through his window and he let her. What was the point in stopping her? He had nothing now. It had all back-fired in his face.

She sat on the floor next to him, cross-legged. For a while, they sat together in the darkness and said nothing. He continued to drink and all the while the room only smelled worse (which is why Natasha left the window open).

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “For everything.” Her whispers seemed like screams in the silence.

Tony took a while to respond. “I should be angry,” he croaked, taking another swig. “But I can’t feel anything. I should hate you with my whole being. You betrayed me when I needed you most. I wish I could hate you. I want to hate you. But why can’t I?” He pondered this as he took yet another swig, finishing the bottle and then letting it roll away from him.

“You can,” she said quietly back and tugged her knees in towards her chest. “You should.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t because I understand why you did it and all it does is make me hate myself for putting you in that situation in the first place.”

“Tony...”

“Am I a horrible person?” He turned to look at her with sunken eyes, red-rimmed and watery. His head hung low, heavy with the weight of the world.

“No, Tony,” she assured and scooched closer. They sat with their backs against the end of the bed, their hips touching. “You’re just a man looking for redemption.”

He buried his face in his hands. “I thought I had it. For Christ’s sake, I thought I had it. I had the perfect girlfriend and I stopped my company from selling illegal arms to the enemy and I became a freaking superhero and I worked okay with the others and-” He was shaking.

Natasha hesitated. She wasn’t very good at this stuff. But she wanted to try. She slowly wrapped an arm around his shoulders and soothed him, rubbing his back and holding him close.

“Why are you here?” He asked suddenly, clamming up.

Natasha froze. “Me?” She repeated stupidly. “I, uh, I’m... I’m here to...” Her first instinct was to lie. But he didn’t deserve that. Not after everything. “I’m here to apologize.”

He gave her a disbelieving look.

“No, I’m serious. Look, watch.” She pulled back a little so she could more easily look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Tony. For everything. I never wanted to hurt you and Pepper was a fool to leave you, especially like this.” Too honest, she panicked. Too honest!

Tony merely blinked. “You think Pepper made a mistake?”

The hope in his eyes made Natasha’s gut sink. Nonetheless, she agreed. “Yeah.”

And then he was kissing her, warm lips pushing firmly against hers, clumsy hands pawing at her hair and his weight shifting to lean over her, to knock her over. She let him and they tumbled to the floor in a heap, toppling the other empty bottle and making it roll away. His breath reeked of alcohol but she didn’t mind.

It felt so good to be passionate like this. She had forgotten what it felt like not to fake it, to let it happen spontaneously, naturally. It was addicting, like inhaling a drug and feeling immediate effects. She opened her mouth to let in more, guided his hands to her hips, pulled him closer.

She didn’t stop to think because thinking would mean stopping and she didn’t want this to ever end. Whatever the consequences, she would deal with them. But for now she let herself enjoy this, let Tony have this. Together, they shared a night without regret or guilt, something they both sorely needed.

—————

Natasha woke up to a man she had pined over for years naked beneath her and playing with her hair.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said.

Her answering smile was so bright that it looked as if it made Tony’s hangover even worse. He kissed her anyway.

“Good morning,” she returned and snuggled closer, pulling him tighter and vowing never to let go. “How are you feeling?”

“In pain,” he replied honestly, “but happier. Just knowing that someone thinks it was Pepper who made the mistake and not me... It gave me a lot of my self-confidence back.”

“Oh,” said Natasha, wondering if she should be disappointed.

“You valued me,” he continued. He stared up at the ceiling as he spoke but he was most definitely speaking to her in an impossibly intimate sort of way. “And you had faith in me. Even when I fucked up, you had faith in me. And I... I can’t possibly begin to explain what that means to me.

“And you’ve shown me that there’s a world outside of Pepper. That if I don’t get her back I can still....”

Natasha wanted to say that she wouldn’t be his second choice. But she knew in her heart that she would. If he asked her, she would. Because she didn’t feel this way about anybody else and she didn’t deserve anyone at all, let alone this kind, generous, selfless man whose bed she was lying in.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Tony plowed on. “I still love her. I’ll always love her. And I’m not ready for anything else just yet. But tonight- er, last night... you helped me. I’ll remember that. Maybe someday I’ll be ready but-”

“I’ll wait,” she blurted, not registering that her brain and mouth didn’t seem to be communicating very well.

Tony shifted to get a better look at her. “You will? Cause I think someday I could be ready for whatever “this” is but not today. Someday. You’ll wait?”

Their eyes locked. In his, she saw only sincerity and a broken man whose fractures matched her own.

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll wait.”

#fanfiction #marvel #mcu #iron man #black widow #ironwidow #prompt

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maggotmouth · 5 years ago

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hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY , CIS-FEMALE , SHE/HER → according to the school records , ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM has been attending sacred heart for the past three years . i last saw them hanging around the sacred heart cathedral ; i think they were studying the stations of the cross with a smile like a well - kept secret. at twenty - one years old , alma has been studying classics and get this , i heard that she has made a fortune on the black market by forging renaissance art to sell to collectors — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do in french new wave films , running barefoot through the woods drunk on red wine and untapped power , a smile like a locked door that speaks only in riddles . in the time since these strange happenings , they have have encountered any unexplained occurrences . ( written by nora , 24 , she/her , gmt )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled.

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant.

— she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

#heretics:intro #heretics:ooc #my two most pretentious characters ive ever written n i bring em both here . we love to see it.

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anakito · 6 years ago

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Kiribaku fic rec list (Aged Up)

A list of my fav Aged-up (after graduation) Kiribaku fics!

One of my fav tags for this pairing is aged-up or pro-Heroes, I try to read every one I found under it! So here my recommended ones!

Be prepared for a lot of pining and slow burn! ♥

PRO-Heroes

COMPLETED FICS

Heartworm by @clairesail

Bakugou was pining after Kirishima since school days, and now that said redhead move to live in his neighborhood, he needs to confront his feelings for good.

This was the first Kiribaku pro-heroes fic I read, is kinda nostalgic take a look at it again ♥ This fic have a lot of Hero action! Also, be prepared for a roller-coaster of emotions.

his is getting kinda out of my hands ... by multiclassmaps

Kirishima and bakugou have been in a relationship for long, Maybe is time for them to go a step further?

nice and happy fluff to warm your heart ♥

RED by @mrtodoroki

Kirishima is a very very straight party animal, he and bakugou are living toghether...oh well... maybe Kirishima is not so straight as he thought...

Kirishima having a gay awakening and a Low key possessive bakugou, IS GREAT PLEASE READ IT.

Now the author is working on a new fic with Bakugou POV! YES!

the fool's rush by @chonideno

"how Bakugou and Kirishima find a way to call each other “home” and struggle with the realization that once all their bills are on auto-pay, the only thing they still have to deal with is this pit full of feelings they have ignored for too long."

THIS! the fic that makes me fall totally in love with the premises of the Pro heroes +roommates. Chonideno is so GOOD with slow burn and pining, be prepared to MELT reading this

I let you go, hoping that you'd come back by shiro_yuu

Bakugou cames back after some years living abroad, and now he has a daughter. Now he will rebuild the relationship with his old friends. But what 'll happen with Kirishima now they meet again?

Bakugou is really mature in this fic! is an interesting take, his daughter is so precious!

You'll have to take me down by pickledbrows

Bakugou is a stubborn workaholic and Kirishima is there to take care of him.

Domestic FLUFF! A super cute short story about them living together

Five Years by TheVegetaFiles ( @pseudosayer )

After graduation, they went separate ways, or best sad, Kirishima distanced himself from bakugou, but now, 5 years from that, they meet again, time to confront old misunderstandings.

What can I say? Reunion after years apart is my jam, this has all the pining I'm searching for in this tag.

Cooldown by Kenjiandco

"Kirishima has a hard time cooling down after tough missions. Bakugou helps"

The NSFW fic that all Fic rec list needs!

Stay a Little Longer by Morpheel

Reunion fic, even after some years Bakugou regrets his lost contact with Kirishima, but one night at the bar suddenly they meet again, the alcohol helps with the rest.

The sexual tension builds up quickly, Kirishima has his hair long and black! I can totally understand Bakugou weak gay ass here.

slow it down (go easy on me) by newamsterdam

“When a confrontation with a villain throws Bakugou through time, he's forced to face a future he never imagined, and maybe something he can't leave behind.”

Really interesting time travel history, full of action, and some mystery. Poor Bakugou is so confused here.

ON GOING FICS (my current subscriptions!)

Broken Bridges by DeathBelle ( @worthlesspride )

Kirishima is back on Japan after some years working abroad, he meets again with Bakugou after "losing contact". Is possible for them to rebuild his past bond?

Bakugou being emotionally constipated and Kirishima being too good for the world. A lot of the others AU students appears here. Very nice!

Pushed Down by Leticheecopae

Bakugou is a Pro hero now, still, he is not over Deku death, but when a strong Villain attacks his friends, the truth comes to light, and is too late to scape from it.

This is also a Villain!Deku fic with all the implications that this usually brings, so mind the tags and warnings. This is NOT a lighthearted fic.

Villain!Deku and his one-sided obsession for Kacchan is one of my guilty pleasures, especially with Kirishima in the mix. So, here is!

The Kiribaku parts are totally lovely, the bond they share here, Kirishima presence is so grounding for Katsuki, even when they are not together...so...FEELS!

Six Page Spread by @indigonow

They are pro Heroes now. With all the fame and public image to take care off apart of their Hero duty. Kirishima found himself still hopeless in love with his best friend.

I don't have enough words to explain how much I love this fic, is all I want in a pro-hero KRBK fic.

super badass hero partners, strong pining and good S L O W B U R N,

I live each time a new chapter is added

AUs / No Quirks

Road Trip AU - COMPLETED

neon season by @chonideno

Kirishima and bakugou went on a road trip together, with all that time for them, they meet with denied feelings under the rug and a lot of time to think about that...

Is a very sensorial fic, I love the ambient and the descriptions, the slow passing and very silent moments. LOVED IT

Chonideno's Slow burn stories are on my top List of recommendation, all her stories are great, please check them out!

Mechanic AU - COMPLETED

and my heart went boom by Slumber

When Bakugou crashes Deku's car, he was not expecting to have to deal with a very hot mechanic that works in the repair shop.

Strangers to lovers fics, Bakugou is weak for Kiri tick body and bright Smile

Modern AU - ONGOING

Get me to the higher ground by @exbrodokills

" In which Kirishima and Bakugou meet on a bus and get in touch little by little. The blond could only damn that stupid vehicle. Four wheels and some metal doing all of this to him. ”

Strangers to lovers! a very nice story

A/O/B dynamics - COMPLETED

Surrender my everything Lolistar92

"Kirishima sighs, “You’re trying to put a baby in me because of Deku, aren’t you?” Omega Kirishima needs to put a stop to his partner competitiveness.

I usually say I don't like the idea of M!preg..but...well, sometimes the concept can be used in an interesting way, I enjoyed this story, especially how Kirishima Stand his ground around Bakugou.

Musician/Actor AU - On going

quote love unquote by @newamsterdame

Bakugou is a famous actor, Kirishima is part of a modest band waiting for his big moment, their paths meet in a fancy party and all go fast for Kirishima from there, suddenly he is in a fake relationship with his favorite actor!

What are you doing if you didn't read this yet? GO READ IT! is a roller coasting of emotions. It will let you thinking about it hours after reading it.

Hockey Players AU - COMPLETED

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

Bakugou is a Hockey player...Kirishima has a lot of secrets, they meet in the ice rink.

ok...I don't know if this one count as Aged-up...but I liked it a lot! So there it is.

OFFICE AU - Ongoing

Chitchat and Pencil Pushers by beebuzz

Kirishima starts to work in the same office that his best friend Denki, but problems start when he meets his new HOT boss.

Kirishima is a gay mess, Bakugou is an angry boss, Denki only wants to help!

Bodyguard AU - COMPLETE

Heart stains on the carpet by cityboys

Bakugou is a scientist working under Jeanist, someone is after the research Bakugou is working on, so he Is assigned a loud and nonchalant redhead bodyguard that will put his routine upside down.

This story is lovely and brings a lot of FEELS! I just finished it today and..damn, I'm hooked now with cityboys fics... gotta read em all!

That's all for now, I checked ALL my A03 history for this ones!

I left out all the adventure and Fantasy AU fics. You can find it on my second rec list. HERE

If you know a good aged-up Kiribaku fic that is not in this list I’ll be so happy if you let me know about it!

My Kiribaku Fanfiction recommendations Lists:

Fantasy AU Fics | Post-graduation/Aged up Fics | KRBK ficRec List III

#kiribaku #bakushima #fanfic rec #fanfiction #kirishima eijirou #katsuki bakugou

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ben-winch-writer-rocker · 6 years ago

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Live, Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, 01/14/1978

Fred “Sonic” Smith and Oppositional Defiance Disorder:

The appeal of MC5 guitarist Fred “Sonic” Smith goes beyond his guitar work, savage, deft and incendiary as that work may have been, and far beyond what traces of that work remain via studio and live recordings. In this era of “over-diagnosed” psychological disorders, Smith’s “condition” might well be labelled, like Kurt Cobain’s, “oppositional defiance disorder”. But unlike Cobain, Smith had neither the drive to be a frontman nor the good grace (or self-doubt) to back down in the face of physical opposition. And unlike Cobain, he was no suicide; his anger faced squarely outwards, driven by a righteous indignation that, at first, was anything but self-implicating.

A famous MC5 creation myth paints the young would-be revolutionary. While discussing the band-to-come at a Detroit restaurant with Wayne Kramer and Rob Tyner, Smith knocked a glass over mid-rant and (according to Kramer) said, “Yeah, this is what we’ll do, we’ll just knock shit over if we wanna knock shit over. We’ll be powerful. We’ll take a stand.”

“That ain’t cool,” Tyner said. “That ain’t being powerful. You’re not taking a stand. You’re not proving anything.”

Smith: “Well what are you gonna do about it?”

Tyner: “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Smith: “Then let’s fight.”

So they fought outside in the icy parking lot. After a couple of punches it went to the ground and Smith, an athletic six-foot-plus, came out on top, fist raised. “I could smash your face in,” he said.

And Tyner said, “Well why don’t you?”

As Kramer tells it, for three teenagers this was deep, and they got in the car and drove around for hours analysing what had happened. For Smith, I suspect it was a turning point, maybe not just in his relationship with Tyner (“After that they were tight,” says Kramer) but in his understanding of what nowadays might be termed his disorder. Of course it didn’t stop him fighting (he’d spar with Tyner again, and tackle two policemen when they arrested MC5 manager John Sinclair), but just maybe it started him questioning, turning his ideals from “smash everything” to “smash what needs smashing”, and giving him the dignity and true-seeming righteousness that comes across so strongly in his future wife Patti Smith’s recollections. (Fred Smith died in 1994, aged 46. See Patti Smith’s book M. Train for some touching writing on the man.)

From Detroit delinquent to doting family man, Smith’s trajectory was always up, despite that the MC5 crashed and burned due to record-company hassles and Sonic’s Rendezvous Band never had the chance to repeat that ignominy, largely or partly, if the other players’ testimonies are accurate, because Smith willed it that way—because Cobain-like he taunted and insulted any A & R man plucky enough to make him overtures.

So, like the MC5, like the Flamin’ Groovies, like even—to some extent—the Stooges (whose masterpiece Raw Power was, production-wise, a misfire) Sonic’s Rendezvous Band are one of the great protopunk should-have-been-a-success stories. In a sense they may be the greatest, because of their failure, because of their mystique. And that mystique is rooted not only in mists-of-time semi-invisibility, but in the aura of rebel iconoclast Fred “Sonic” Smith.

Scott Morgan and the Tonic:

But since Sonic’s Rendezvous Band, despite the name, were a two-singer band, let’s discuss the second singer, especially as he was, by any traditional yardstick, the better frontman—louder, more professional, with clearer diction (Smith’s was, make no mistake, awful; fans will be arguing over the substance of his lyrics forever), and more possessing of what some listeners may have taken as charisma. And in any case, the first song on the album is his: “Electrophonic Tonic”.

Scott Morgan, a veteran of fellow almost-made-it Detroit rock band the Rationals, had cut his teeth as a frontman singing Otis’s “Respect” pre-Aretha’s-version and turned that song into a regional hit, which, thanks to the last-minute non-involvement of Jerry Wexler’s Atlantic, never made it national. (Faced with the Rationals’ lofty demand of five grand upfront, Wexler demurred, handed the song to Aretha, and the rest is history.) A soul singer, then, with a hard rock edge, which may simply have been what it took to get across in the intimate and sonically inadequate venues of Detroit in the late 1960s, Morgan delivers his parts here with an R & B frontman’s panache, positioning himself on the classic-rock continuum somewhere between Ted Nugent and Steve Marriot, though when he sets his band loose they kick harder—thanks to ex-Up bassist Gary Rasmussen and ex-Stooges drummer Scott Asheton as much as to Smith’s semi-insane, close-to-breaking-point, post-Chuck-Berry guitar solos—than almost anyone except AC/DC, and with a sheer abandon which the famous Scots-Australians, ever the professionals, rarely mustered.

But let’s back up a little. Harder than anyone? What about Sabbath, Zeppelin, Deep Purple? I’ll make it clear: Sonic’s Rendezvous Band doesn’t do lumbering. Much as they’re classic, classic as hell, you couldn’t call them dinosaurs because they’re too fleet-footed. But nor do they sprint, they’ve got too much distance to cover; every other track here clocks in at over five minutes, and two of them (Smith’s masterpieces “Sweet Nothin’” and “City Slang”) are nearer to seven. The tempo is Sex Pistols and up, the beat almost motoric. (Asheton focusses on hitting hard and keeping the pace; he hasn’t got time for fancy flourishes.) Their roots are in R ’n’ B boogie, just as Sabbath’s were in blues. And I’d say they were just about as ahead of their time as Sabbath, if inevitably (given they had no record deal) nowhere near as influential.

But back to the “Tonic”. It’s a good song: deft, workmanlike, shuffling the same old three classic-rock chords in a natural and not entirely expected fashion. There’s a nice halftime breakdown in the middle. It’s got grit. Those who weren’t bemoaning its classicism (this was a support slot at a Ramone’s gig, after all) were probably shaking their heads in disbelief at its onslaught, unless they were shaking their asses with sheer abandon, tearing up seating, going wild. As an opener and a mission statement, it kicks ass. But for me, it’s only in track two, “Sweet Nothin’”, that the magic happens.

Sweet Nothin’:

Who can say what arcane voodoo is at work here? On the surface it starts out not so dissimilar to track one. We’ve jumped from E to B though, a good sign. (B is a great guitar key, enabling riffs that E makes obscure.) But to start off with, at least, it’s the same three-chord theory. There’s a subtle key-shift in the pre-chorus, and then with the chorus we’re in new territory: the minor sixth—the “Raw Power” chord, the “Suffragette City” chord, the “Sonic Reducer” chord—rears its head and Smith puts his cards on the table. Like Sabbath’s embrace of the devil’s interval, this is a chord-change that would inspire an entire genre—postpunk—and it darkens proceedings and ups the drama as soon as Smith unveils it.

What can I say? “Sweet Nothin’” is an anthem, despite or maybe because of the fact that I can’t hear more than a few words of it. It’s a love song, that much I’m sure of, maybe penned for the soon-to-be Mrs Patti “Sonic” Smith. (Patti Smith was on the scene intermittently in Detroit around the time: the two had sparked up an affair—she was still married to her last husband—and SRB would support her in bigger venues, breaking away from their intimate, not to say dead-end, bar gigs, where according to legend they played for as few as six people.) Whatever the “message”, I don’t care; I feel it in my bones. And when Smith, after repeating the simple refrain “You’re really really something sweet nothin’” in the plainest of minor-key melodies five or six times before the final solo, sing-shouts “You take my breath away”, barely caring if he’s in earshot of the microphone, I know exactly what he’s saying. Besides, whoever said an anthem has to meansomething? What does “Pretty Vacant” mean? “There’s no point in asking, you’ll get no reply.” You either know it deep down, deeper than words, or you never will. “There’s more to the picture than meets the eye” after all, and “Sweet Nothin’” is as good an illustration as any.

To make it clear, “Sweet Nothin’”, in my opinion, is one of the top twenty rock songs ever. It gets in. It obsesses you, or obsesses me, and I say this as someone who discovered it at age 43, via Spotify, through a $200 portable Bluetooth player. As Roberto Bolañosaid, if you want to find out if something’s a masterpiece, translate it. Translate it badly. If it stillretains its power, there’s your answer. And this album, smothered in tape saturation and poorly mixed from the live desk, was hardly a good translation to begin with. It’s not a classic like Bowie’s Low, or Abbey Road, or even the flawed Raw Power—not a finely-wrought work of art. It’s more like a jam tape. And what’s more, like a jam tape that doesn’t half sound familiar. I’ve beenat those jams. I’ve played in them. Not that our jams were as powerful, but I’d say Sonic’s Rendezvous Band stake a convincing claim to sounding like what, to this day, many rock bands want to sound like.

Into the Red:

And so it goes, through the five-minute semi-psychotic choogle of “Asteroid B612” (weird name for Morgan’s declaration of righteous love for his woman, bisected by a brilliant, dexterous-soulful blues-at-11 solo from Smith) to Smith’s five-plus-minute slightly more contemplative but still excoriating “Gone With the Dogs”, which to tell the truth slightly pales, given that Smith’s voice is already hoarse and he’s just graced “Asteroid B612” with some of his tastiest guitar-work. But wait, that accolade may well go to track six, “Song L”, which attempts a truly strange percussive minor-chord motif that doesn’t quitework but adds a new-wave-like aspect to Smith’s palette (it almost sounds—wait for it—sophisticated), before the nuclear explosion of the solo. By now, admittedly, following Morgan’s “Love and Learn”, it all seems slightly like business as usual: high-energy rocker after high-energy rocker; two guitar solos a piece, apparently thrown in whenever Smith feels like it; each song culminating in a swelling classic-rock crescendo. Nonetheless it’s precisely the lack of dynamics that makes this feel so modern. It’s unrelenting.

And I wonder, was it only in the space above zero VU—well into the red—that Smith felt the thrill of being powerful, of knocking stuff over, that had made him want to play guitar in the first place, but without the need to do violence that had very nearly made him cave his friend’s face in? Whatever their motivation, for the remainder of the set he and his collaborators play their hearts out, so much so that by “City Slang”, pretty much the ultimate showstopper, it’s hard to believe they can still play at all. Yes, the performance is patchy compared to the seven-inch version (the only record released by SRB in its lifetime, and a flat-out masterpiece). Smith is barely enunciating by the last shouted refrains. But he always maintained he liked performers that stepped up to or over the line, and all four players do that here. It’s pure adrenalin.

Plainly no band could have kept up this intensity without some serious motivation. And the truth is that by “City Slang” Smith sounds tired. Probably he didn’t have what it takes to be a frontman, at least not a touring frontman, and possibly he knew it. Maybe all he wanted was to sing his songs—because they existed, because he’d written them, because if he didn’t no-one else would. And it’s this near-complete lack of ego—this hesitating on the verge of doing nothing at all, then throwing himself in regardless body and soul—that makes Smith’s performance here one of my all-time favourite perfomances by a male singer, despite its faults. It’s the tone, bluntly masculine but vulnerable, straight-talking, speaking calmly from the centre of the storm. What can I say? He means it, and he really doesn’t much care how it goes over. Or better put, sure, you can tell he’s humbled by the crowd’s ecstatic response, but get a record deal, tour the country, maybe get rich and famous? The song and its performance are their own rewards. And, just maybe, this degree of selflessness could only have come from a singer who didn’t think of himself as a frontman.

From playing back-up to Rob Tyner and sharing the stage with Scott Morgan, Smith transitioned, shortly after this recording, to playing husband and sideman to Patti Smith, collaborating on her 1988 album comeback album Dream of Lifeand its breakthrough single “The People Have the Power”. For someone who started with a will to destroy, the adult Fred “Sonic” Smith had learned humility. His story, or what I’ve managed to uncover of it, is a true inspiration, because though he never hit the bigtime he lived the dream, doing what he wanted how he wanted at maximum volume, and never with that preening strut of the peacock that suggests it’s all theatre.

Live, Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, 01/14/1978 is a flawed document, and who knows, it may be that Sonic’s Rendezvous Band were never going to break through outside of Michigan. Regardless, it’s a classic. It takes your breath away.

#sonics rendezvous band #fred sonic smith #detroit rock #mc5 #rock writing #rock n roll #classic rock #hard rock #scott morgan #patti smith

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almarchive · 6 years ago

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hello, its nora bringing yet another problematic character. this is a spoiled daddy’s bitch, raised in a farmhouse in vermont, who’s never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. has a twin brother called otto who is basically guy bellingfield from the riot club and tbh knowing my lack of self control i‘ll probs end up bringing him here too.

bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages x

it might be HER SOPHOMORE year but I still think ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM looks exactly like ALICE PAGANI and sometimes I think the FEMALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they’re 20 and studying CLASSICAL CIVILISATION while living in AUDAX here at Lockwood. The TAURUS can be rather TENACIOUS and MAGNETIC, but also kind of FANCIFUL and DOUBLE-CROSSING. Their most played song on Spotify was LAISSE TOMBER LES FILLES by FRANCE GALL, so I think that says a lot.

THE SHORT FORM.

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immagrant and worked on a plantation, made his wa up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had Large Personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit Wise Beyond Her Years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. frida prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. LOVES poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very Intelligent and Beautiful and knows both of those facts. vocal feminist. soapbox sadie. Very Passionate about Issues. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. — just wants to be Loved By All. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she Should enjoy it. — tries to be an Enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women Desirable and Interesting and Cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

PLOTS.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

FULL BIOGRAPHY.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

The girl is a knife. Razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. Silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. You’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. A mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. Bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. To have the power to control that is to be a God. It’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. Small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. You cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “Mama, when will I be a Queen?” As soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? In the beginning, you never knew hunger. Twins, born under the same star, you first, him second -- a nuclear family. Never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. Raven-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. The townhouse in Vermont and the summer house in Lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

At eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “Alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your Mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody Mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

Your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather Wolfgang Hildegarde a German immigrant, great-grandmother Maura Lisbon a prairie girl. They fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the Indians, vacations to Calcutta, your father Todd Putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. He worked hard so that you’d never have to. Your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? That blood money had no business raising a child. You look far back enough, Edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a Civil War to silence, and I think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

Language was never fickle on your tongue, French dinner time talk by the time you were out of your Hush Puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. You learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. By eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. Loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. That was how magnetic you wanted to feel. But mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to English boarding school.

Fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. You were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. Wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed Harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. Tell us what it’s like in the States, Alma. They’d coo, enamoured by your Hollywood drawl. Does your father own a gun? You hardly knew. Barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. When you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

The road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. Bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. There was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. In leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were Helen of Troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. But there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. Hockey helped. There was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. Sweat. Stiff knuckles. Feet pounding the earth. The smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “Slipped, sorry.” Hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. On the pitch, you feel alive.

#lw:intro #i shd probs have done a bullet point version of this but cba #see also: rich bitch with daddy issues - loves attention - wants to have a villa and wear nice dressing gowns and drink wine all day

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geejaysmith · 7 years ago

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Further observations on this here Extended Homestuck Zodiac:

I fucking called it. Sure, me and most of the rest of the fandom, but still. I was also right about Mind and Heart being a dichotomy though apparently not so much for the rest. The other pairs listed are Hope/Rage, Breath/Blood, Light/Void, and Life/Doom. And while I’m not surprised, I was rather attached to my personal interpretation of Hope/Doom, Blood/Rage, Void/Life, and Light/Breath. Oh well, like I’ve ever been one to be tied down by canon.

How ‘bout that Rage confirmed for discord and chaos, though? Called it. Blood being bonds was I guess largely accepted by the fandom already, though I based my idea of Rage/Blood as a pair off Rage being discord and Blood being harmony. Insert My Little Pony theme here.

GOD am I glad to at least have some kind of overarching description of the Time player personality type, though. I felt it was there for the longest time but was never able to put into words exactly what ties Dave, Aradia, Caliborn, and Damara together beyond things like their preoccupations with death. THOUGH SPEAKING OF WHICH, how DO the Megidos square with this? Is it that they found the end of their respective fights?

And this will be my excuse to keep calling myself a Time player.

Though that’s not to say I’m not completely up-front about the fact that when I originally took Page of Hope’s Classpect test six years ago (which was at the time the most detailed, in-depth test out there and is probably still is) I scored 100% for both Time and Space.

And yeah, I’ve probably nurtured the Space side pretty well over the years.

I also wanna say, by their description of Doom? I’ve chosen my Doom players well.

And now, the Sign Classes! Looks like these are really just based off the Post-Scratch trolls, as far as I can tell. Someone more versed in astrology is going to have to tell me if the traditional zodiac traits are in there at all. Otherwise - pick the troll you relate to most, I guess? Which is gonna take a lot more thought for me. I dunno, I’m going through them over and over again and none in particular are jumping out at me.

Probably not Teal tho, lmao

Speaking of Teal,

Please, continue tossing this shade, or at least what I will interpret as shade thrown at Gamzee and Vriska.

Speaking of which things get pretty damn funny IMHO when we get into... certain troll’s classes

...I mean, they’re not wrong, but

Again, they’re not wrong from a broader point of view, but keep in mind this is Gamzee’s sign class we’re talking about here.

Politics, sure, but humanitarianism? Not if your last name is “Ampora.”

*Ampora voice* im sapiosexual dontcha knoww

@ What Pumpkin: stop stalking me.

I seem to gravitate towards Bronze, Gold, Lime, Olive, Indigo, Violet and Fushcia. Oh boy, I find half the damn zodiac relatable! This is the part where I kept typing “X is the Biggest Mood though” but continually going back and changing it so good fucking luck in that department, I guess.

And finally, the Lunar Sway, aka what had me most skeptical about whether or not the writers of this thing had a handle on things. Mostly Prospit. To take it from the top:

Marked by a flexible optimism, the personalities of Prospit Dreamers are reactive and intuitive.

Methinks we were looking primarily to the human kids here, but from my Troll Knowledge this isn’t untrue in a broad sense. If you can call Karkat’s early “I am surrounded by idiots and it’s up to me to push them through this” attitude “optimistic”.

They naturally exist in the present, rather than look to the future or obsess over the past.

Uh... Points at Jade’s meticulous planning with her reminders, at Jane’s oft-overlooked ambitious qualities? Points at Terezi’s E V E R Y T H I N G?

When making decisions Prospit Dreamers tend to rely on gut instinct and whatever emotions they are experiencing at the moment. This makes them quick to act and reliable in a crisis, but it also can make them capricious.

Sometimes terminally so? :y I can’t discount the overall impression that they’re pushing that Derse dreamers are more Thinking, while Prospit players are more Feeling, to put it in Myer-Briggs terms, but I’m resistant to the extreme of this idea that Derse and Prospit are purely logic versus emotion. But it does add some clarifying dimension to the observation that Derse dreamers often throw themselves into suicide missions knowing full well they’re going to die, but Prospit players will do the same without even the slightest consideration for the fact that’ll get fucking wrecked.

They have trouble thinking things through, and their feelings toward specific situations and decisions can change from day to day.

Don’t call me out like this, guys.

They solve problems with creativity rather than cold logic, often seeing multiple options with ease and clarity.

Though they are creative by nature, I feel this must be supplemented with the observation that Space players - who are Prospit dreamers by default - also tend to be straight-forward and more concerned with concrete rather than abstract matters, which trends more towards logic.

Because they generally take things as they come, Prospit Dreamers are less rebellious than they are adaptable-instead of struggling against authority, they will find a way to coexist with it.

Again, not untrue, but the contrarian in me worries about what broad application of this will do to my dear children.

Possibly because they are so instinctual and flexible, they like having a defined set of rules-a safety net for their passionate lives.

This makes sense and actually shines a pretty good light on our Prospit kiddos: now that I think about it, I can name some kind of guiding framework that all of them adhere to in order (at some point, since I’d argue Jade remakes hers when she casts her reminders off) to make their lives make sense - even Vriska, who lives her life like it’s one big FLARP session.

Naturally trusting, they have trouble with deception or hiding their true selves, and will often worry about what others think of them. The self they project into the world is often not under their control.

Ok, here’s the part I’d heard about and had a problem with. Did we learn NOTHING from Grimbark and Crockertier? Or John’s relentless projection? To say nothing of the argument that Jake’s obliviousness is on some level deliberate obfuscation. It may just be that this observation is written really vaguely in trying to encompass related ideas in a small space. The wording of this makes it sound like Prospit dreamers struggle with subterfuge or self-awareness and this is simply not the case? Especially once you get away from the humans. It might be saying they go one way or the other, that Prospit players either struggle with the concept of deceiving others (blatantly untrue of most of them) or often encounter difficulty because they feel compelled to hide their true self (which is FAR MORE applicable, but doesn’t seem to be the case when you preface that idea with “naturally trusting”).

You could make the argument that this is saying that Prospit dreamers often run into cases where they’re so willing to avoid dealing with their problems that they’ll even obfuscate from THEMSELVES unconsciously, but that... doesn’t seem to be the case because of the surrounding phrases. I get that this is supposed to be a broad generalization and that few people, if anyone, are going to perfectly embody all these traits, but!! Jumps up and down!! We don’t exactly need more reasons to overlook the Prospit kids’ less explored depths here.

I kinda went over Derse already when I liveblogged myself taking the test so I guess that ends that. Interesting little experiment, not as superficial as I feared it would be.

Nobody better be expecting my fantrolls to only use signs from this zodiac though, lol.

#homestuck

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little-narnian-notes · 7 years ago

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Promised Land

Request: if you're still taking Narnia requests, can I get an Edmund x reader where people call her "the best archer in Narnia" and Edmund realizes he has feelings for her and he tells Lucy "I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I'm in love with her" and it's just cute and fluffy haha I just love Edmund

This oneshot is so disgustingly late. I’m terrible.

Peter Pevensie liked Y/N. She was nearing twenty-one, so she wasn’t the same age as sixteen year old Lucy, but the two girls got along well. Y/N was the only one who would spar with Lucy during training, when Narnia wasn’t waging war with another country. She would make an effort to be friends with Susan, helped Peter with diplomatic papers, and would hunt with Edmund.

It really didn’t hurt that Y/N fit in well to the family dynamic the Pevensies had.

Susan Pevensie had never hated Y/N, but she’d never really liked her. Now that she’d had to replace archery with courtly matters, people stopped calling her the best archer of Narnia - apparently Y/N got that title now.

It was incredibly bad form to feel petty about this, but Susan was irritated. Her feathers were ruffled (as Peter would say). Sometimes being Queen didn’t matter. She wanted it all in a world where she could actually have everything she’d ever wanted.

Beyond that, though . . . Y/N was alright. She was nice. She had dazzling eyes, uniquely so, and she was all sharp angles and high cheekbones. Probably would have looked ugly if she was any other girl, but Y/N just elegant. At least Susan could discuss the latest fashions with her, so. That was something.

Lucy Pevensie really liked Y/N. She was the big sister that Lucy had always wanted. Susan was busy being a Queen. Apparently that entailed manipulating politics, maintaining foreign relations, and when the elder female Pevensie wasn’t doing that, she was going to balls and high tea with other court ladies. Y/N would spend time with Lucy, though, so Lucy liked her quite a lot.

They’d grown close in the years that the Pevensies had had to rule Narnia.

Edmund Pevensie was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, the best archer in Narnia.

“You’ll have to tell her at some point,” Susan grumped to Edmund. He was with Peter and Susan in a room (of sorts) they’d turned into their castle headquarters.

Edmund shook his head. “I don’t have feelings for her, Su.” That was a complete lie. But nobody needed to know that. “Aren’t we getting distracted, anyway? Telmar forces have been prodding at our border. We need to handle this before they decide to plan an invasion.”

Peter looked at him. “Even if you don’t have feelings for Y/N, I think she has feelings for you, Ed. Eventually it has to come up.”

There was a knock at the door - Lucy burst in seconds later. “I’ve got a letter from Calormen,” she announced. She waved the cream-colored, thick letter over her head. It had been opened, from what the other three could see. “King Doire and Queen Eara accepted our invitation for the masked ball next month. They want to bring their children with them. And half their court, practically.”

Susan and Peter simultaneously groaned. “I was rather hoping they wouldn’t be able to accept,” Peter murmured.

He gestured for Lucy to shut the door. Nobody was supposed to hear anything that was said in here, even if all they were discussing was a masquerade.

King Doire and Queen Eara had three children. Dafydd was the oldest at twenty-five, and the Crown Prince. Princess Maisie was nineteen and the kind of girl who talked a lot about politics and horse-riding. Prince Rhett was thirteen and the youngest. He was more reserved and inclined towards building things, from what the Pevensies had gleaned.

“Well, they’ve accepted,” Susan said with a resigned sigh. “We’ll need to alert the kitchens, and have the rest of the servants begin making preparations for our guests. Peter, have Tumnus see if a few druids can’t sculpt something nice in honor of Doire and Eara.”

In two weeks, Cair Paravel underwent a massive change. Armfuls of decorations were made every day: fairy-lights to string and wind down along the stone columns; drapery as light as feathers was made to be wound along the tables and looked like roses; paintings of nature and magical-realism were hung strategically around the castle.

The kitchen had been alerted of the other royal family’s dietary needs and were preparing a two-week menu catered to suit both their needs/wants and those of the Pevensies’. Some of the best musicians were being brought in a week early so that they could put together a long, soft musical background for the banquet and for post-dinner dancing. There were lute players, harp and cello players, a duduk musician - just about every instrument player imaginable was brought in to compose songs and practice old ones to put into the perfect arrangement.

Peter could think of nothing else. Half his attention went to preparing for the royal guests coming, and the other was spent dealing with skirmishes along Narnia’s borders, hearing complaints from peasant regions, and navigating politics (which were now mainly involved trying to form an alliance with Telmar, discussing environmental laws within the court, and being involved with representational duties).

Not to mention training every day, of course.

Lucy peered at Edmund. They were training in the courtyard - Lucy with her new sword-cane, Edmund with his sword. He’d named it Morgenstern (claiming that the name meant ‘Morning Star’, and it was personal choice, anyway).

“So when are you going to tell her?” Lucy asked. She’d named her sword-cane Onyx, and it was starting to become like an extension of her hand. The learning was slow-going. There was an opportunity to side-step and go in for a pulled stab. She took it.

“Tell who what?” Edmund asked guarded. He parried her attack and swung her arm up. “You’re not talking about Y/N again, are you?” The courtyard had people littered throughout it, practicing and talking and laughing. Edmund was careful to keep Lucy in their training circle. Morgenstern had been with him for a few years now, and sometimes it was like the sword was alive in his hand; automatically, habitually, he twisted around his arm so that Lucy’s sword-cane was behind her back. Morgenstern’s blade-tip was pointed at her throat. “I win, again. You’re slow, sister-mine.”

Lucy stuck out her tongue. “I was distracted.” Her hands went up to pull her ginger hair into a fresh bun. “And yes, I was. She’s here, too, you know. Getting in some archery practice.”

Edmund gave her a sharp look. “What do I care? I know she practices here every day. We’re friends.” Of course it mattered. Mainly because Y/N was his honest-to-Aslan best friend now, and he’d spent the entirety of their three year friendship wanting and obsessing over someone he couldn’t have.

Y/N was apparently too hung up on Eatymon Hunter to ever love Ed the way her loved her.

“Maybe you should go talk to her anyway. Looks like she could use help; she’s been looking over here for the past hour.” Lucy wasn’t actually sure if that was true, but she’d just caught Y/N looking over in Ed’s general direction, before realizing Lucy had seen her and turned away, blushing.

“Fine. Maybe I will.” But Edmund didn’t move, too busy drinking water now out of his water-skin.

There was an actual masked ball the night that the Calormen royalty came to Narnia. It was also the night that Crown Prince Dafydd decided to ask Y/N to a dance.

“My lady, they mentioned they had a family friend here, but the mentions in a letter from High Kind Peter did not do you justice,” he told you.

You could feel yourself flaring up. “I’m sure he was accurate, my prince,” you replied, curtesying.

 “No, indeed. You are fairer then starlight.” Dafydd offered his hand to you; you took it graciously. He was broad-shouldered with a square jaw and curling black hair. Not necessarily your type, but close enough.

“You flatter me, Prince Dafydd. Tell me, do you tell every pretty woman you see that very line?”

While he might not be your type, he was a very good substitute for someone like Edmund. At least Dafydd was more forward, and openly flattering.

He chuckled. “No, just once tonight. Are you from Narnia, Lady Y/N?”

While you weren’t technically a Lady, you decided not to correct Dafydd. For once it was kind of refreshing to experience the sort of attention that noble ladies received. You actually commanded part of the Narnian army. As a result, you were revered for your military prowess . . . and not much else. Being a rising commander so young meant you’d never really had the option - or the time - to find a suitor.  

“I consider myself a Narnian, though I am originally from Archenland; hence the slight accent. My father was a merchant who eventually decided to take up residency here. He and my mother travelled a lot, and this was the safest country to have a child in. They’ve stayed here every since.”

Dafydd seemed genuinely interested. “And what about your mother? What does she do?”

“She found work as a seamstress, and then as a clothes-maker. She’s employed constantly by noblemen and noble ladies.” You weren’t particularly embarrassed that your parents weren’t from the court, nor were they royal. They were good, honest people. Everybody and their profession was valued in Narnia since the Kings and Queens had been crowned.

“Yet here you are in the court . . .” Dafydd looked at you, his question hanging in the air and unasked.

“I command a fleet of Narnia’s army.” You smirked at the impressed look on his face, at the other cocktail of emotions he was hiding relatively well. It was always satisfying to brag subtly about your accomplishments to royalty, especially when you knew they doubted you some.

“I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I'm in love with her,” Edmund snapped to Peter. He'd been somewhat moody all day, and now he felt pushed over some arbitrary line having to see Y/N dancing with Prince Dafydd.

Peter laughed. They’d just finished dancing, and were now observing the ball near the refreshments table. There were fire-eaters outside, as well as little jousting rings, and darts and cards inside for those who were inclined towards sitting-down. “About time, brother. You’ve only been pining for, what, five years?”

Edmund scowled at his brother. “Have not. Only three - ” and then he watched Peter chortle.

“So you admit, finally, you’ve spent years with feelings for her. Good. I was about say that we should form a marriage alliance with Calormen.” By then, the song had ended, and Prince Dafydd had broken away from Y/N. It seemed as if he was going to fetch them both drinks. “Now’s your chance, Ed.” Peter wanted to be encouraging, but Aslan knew his younger brother would need a lot of prodding before he was actually emotionally vulnerable with someone.

As it turned out, the dark-haired Pevensie didn’t need to be told twice. Edmund strode off towards Y/N.

You were half-way to a chair - your feet were positively aching - when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Grinning, you turned around while saying, “That was quite fast, Prince Da - oh! Ed. Hello. Didn’t expect you to show up with a mask.” You were only joking. He took these events more seriously then you did.

“Listen, Y/N, I’ve got - I mean, well - could we go to a balcony for a moment? I’d like a moment alone with you.” Edmund ran a hand through his tousled hair. There was color in his pale face, and his lips seemed fuller, oddly enough, from having been worried. You hated yourself for noticing. He wasn’t yours to want or love, and that seemed like somebody who was in love with him would notice. And you weren’t in love with him (you were, actually, but that had to be ignored).

You nodded carefully, tugging absently on a string of your hair, curled to perfection. Ed’s eyes were dark, like the sky when it was plunged into nighttime. All the lights reflected there made his look like galaxies, and the emotion behind them was contained and emotional; it was a bit painful for you to behold. You took his hand and let him lead you out.

As far as you were concerned, Prince Dafydd had been completely forgotten.

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