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huihuiheart · 4 years ago

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Spiked - Minho

Part of @clandestine-lixie ‘s Smutmas Collab and a great excuse to get some more Minho on my page!

Summary: It��s pretty much tradition at this point that Changbin spikes the eggnog at the annual Christmas party. What happens though when secrets slip through drunk lips and aren’t forgotten the next morning? At least not forgotten by the very person you confessed to.

Pairing: Minho x F! Reader

Warnings: Drinking (not drunk when having sex), drunken confessions?, cursing, some angst in the beginning, smut, lovemaking, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving), lots of petnames, moments where Minho is kinda smug, lots of praise, it’s sugary sweet, mild sir kink for a moment, fingering, some playful teasing.

I sincerely apologize but I haven’t had time to edit this yet, so...please excuse any errors and stuff I’ll be getting to those when I have some time. I wrote over half of this today with a migraine so we’re working on fumes here. Also if something seems off I apologize, I’ve never celebrated the holidays before so I honestly don’t know what Christmas is like....sorry.

Word Count: 4,992

“Awe don’t tell me you’re already finished taking bets? I haven’t even got mine in on how long before Changbin tries to get us all drunk.” You tease the rambunctious group in the living room as you remove your shoes by the door. Christopher joining you a moment later to help you with your coat, hanging it up for you as he often did.

“Hey, don’t look so glum. Felix was just getting to the interesting wagers now anyways. Bets of any kind are in Minho’s care this evening. Gifts for tomorrow morning under the tree as always.” Chris caught you up with where the ever excitable boys had already impatiently gotten up to, before stepping away with your coat so you could join the others.

“So what did I just miss then? You know the topic that had you all in a giggle fit?” You raise a brow as you claim a spot in their circle, between Minho and Hyunjin.

“Oh we were just discussing the last bet. Not that you’d be able to participate anyways seeing how it was about you.” Jisung smirks wickedly until you match his gaze with your own that was just as devious, making him fold in an instant, or so you think, “Just betting on whether we thought you’d stay the night or not this year.”

“That’s not interesting though, I stay practically every year cause I’m too drunk to go home alone and none of you will take me.” You chuckle shaking you head, “ A better bet would be who will get drunk the fastest, my money’s on Hyunjin.”

Minho took your bet money counting it out before the other boys made their wagers too, writing them all down as more and more bets danced through your group. Both those typical for the Christmas party and those unique to this year for whatever reason. Debates starting up over a few of them as they always did.

“No I’m telling you Y/N will be the first one to admit it. She always gets loose lipped when she drinks.” Jisung teases despite the validity of his statement, something you’ve proven true to them at more than just the previous Christmas parties.

“Still who she likes is the secret she guards more than anything else, she’d have to be so shitfaced for that to come out it would be ridiculous!” Changbin counters, “ My money is on Felix, he was practically giving it away unprompted last year. It wouldn’t be too hard to get it out of him if we really tried.”

“Maybe that’s just cause Y/N doesn’t trust some of you to keep your mouths shut.” Christopher shrugs as he takes a seat, though all eyes are on him not because of the motion, but because of his words. Giving away that you had already confessed your crush to at least one person in the room.

“Wait. So you told him, but you didn’t tell me? What do we even gossip for? Let I’m lowkey offended right now.” Hyunjin whines used to being your partner in crime when it came to exchanging secrets about your group, even the things you’d never tell anyone else. Trusting the other to lock it down tighter than even their own secrets, even if you exploited that information at times. Like when Hyunjin conveniently ended up paired with his crush for every game of the spring break party.

“In my defense I was distraught and looking for you when it slipped. Chris was just the only one around, so he’s the one who got that information.” You counter knowing there wasn’t any taking it back at this point anyways, Hyunjin barely accepting your answer with a grumble. You were somewhat glad that it was the case though, he’d surely exploit the information tonight if he had it. In this case you should be safe, or so you thought before you noticed the subtle smirk on Christopher’s face before he glanced between you and the very crush you’d revealed to him....Minho.

“Hey, the boys sent me to see if you needed any help.” Minho steps into the kitchen watching as you moved to pull something out of the oven. Most of the food had already been prepped before you arrived so you offered to be the one to actually cook it. This being the fourth time in an hour and a half that Minho had been sent to check on you, each time he showed up besides you though he announced himself with those same words....the boys sent me. Them digging a little deeper into your heart whenever you’d hear them again. It implying that that he never actually chose to come to you of his own will, only coming to you since the boys told him to.

“I’m fine Minho. You can go back to the others.” Your words were sharper than you intended and it nearly made you wince, even if he didn’t return your feelings he was still your friend and you shouldn’t be so harsh to him. Sometimes your feelings managed to rear their ugly head before you could stop them though, something you’d feel regret for later

“Rose....your thorns are showing again.” Minho’s gentle voice says the familiar phrase as he moves to stand at your side. His nickname for you with a subtle announcement of the fact that your emotions were slipping out quicker than you often registered, something he always managed to stay calm through no matter how snappy you sometimes got, “I don’t know what riled you up, and I don’t have to. You should go take a minute to calm down though. I’ll watch the food.”

The way he spoke to you was enough to calm you down enough to regain your composure, but not wanting to be so close to him and unintentionally get worked up again you conceded. Slipping outside into the frigid air for a few moments to collect yourself before finding the others in the living room again, sitting besides Christopher now.

“The eggnog spiked yet?” You question with a soft sigh as you lean against his shoulder, causing him to chuckle and nod, “Good, cause I’m going to need a drink to make it through the night.”

“You drunk yet Y/N?” Changbin teases as he pours you another glass. Internally cursing him out, he knew damn well he put something stronger in the eggnog this year without any warning. Knowing that you and Felix at least would try to keep up with everyone else despite being two of the light weights of the group. The others in that category smart enough to stop before they could make a fool out of themselves, even accidentally.

“Not drunk enough to lose to Felix or spill any secrets yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” You call him out, brow quirking as if to challenge him to tease you again. The alcohol buzzing through your system making you more confident in challenging them, even if it slowed your wit slightly.

“Nah just wondering if you’re drunk enough to at least confess you’re spending the night? Well officially anyways. We thought of a way to determine who you’re going to stay with tonight.” Changbin brings his own glass to his lips, hiding his smirk knowing that Christopher had come to him and Hyunjin with a plan to rig it so that you’d end up with Minho.

“Fine, I’ll confess to that.” You chuckle not catching onto their schemes, “So how are we figuring it out then? What’s your big, genius plan?”

The sarcastic way you’re carrying yourself makes Hyunjin snicker, leaning towards Christopher, “Oh if only she knew...” He shakes his head slightly before shaping up, to hide any suspicious acts from you, “Simple, you’re just drawing the name out of a hat. You know the deal though, you only get to pick once and that’s who you’re stuck with.”

“Yeah, I know the deal.” You sit up further waiting for them to bring the hat over, the liquid courage running through you making you feel really good about your odds. It was only a 1 in 8 chance that you’d end up picking Minho, you were most likely safe from your crush. Well the possibility of embarrassing yourself while alone with him anyways. Or so you thought until you managed to pull his name out of the hat.

“Well.....I guess I’m rooming with Minho tonight....”

"Alright I think that's enough for one night." Minho takes the glass from you before you can get it refilled yet again. You'd lost count three drinks ago, hoping you'd get passed out drunk instead of having to face him. Luck wasn't on your side this evening though as Minho still had his wits about him and he refused to let you do something dangerous to your health.

"But Minho, if I'm not drinking what am I going to do?" Your whine is only added to by the small subconscious pout adorning your drunk face.

"We've both had enough and are going to bed now. It's 4 fucking 37 in the morning and you know someone's gonna be waking is up too goddamn early hangover or not. So if you wanna drink something it'll be water on the way to bed." Minho insists moving to help your inebriated form up from your seat on the floor and towards his upstairs bedroom.

"You can use the bathroom, I put some clothes in their for you so you can sleep comfortably." Minho sits on th edge of his bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through seeming almost entirely disinterested as you wobble off to the bathroom. Not getting far though before you have to pull the door open with a blush, your shirt wedged half on with only one arm successfully out.

"M-Minho I got stuck, c-can you help me?" Your words held no room for any hidden implications, especially not when panicked tears started to well in your eyes.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I'm gonna help you and you'll be just fine." Minho coos trying to reassure you, not knowing your panic was partly due to having to face him like this. His warm hands gently in the way they helped untangle you from the shirt you'd somehow managed to get trapped in.

"There you go, all better. Now go get those warm clothes on and get in bed before the cold settles in too much." He insists gently wiping away the last of your tears before you returned to the bathroom.

Silence filled the space when you returned, saying nothing as you switched places with Minho. Sliding into the bed while he was in the bathroom. It wasn't like you'd never slept there before, staying with the boys frequently meant that you'd slept in all their beds at some point but never since your feelings for Minho had developed so much had you stayed in his. Never after you'd felt like you'd embarrassed yourself beyond repair in one evening either. Not realizing you were sniffling with a fresh batch of tears until Minho returned.

"Hey what's wrong rose? You've been upset all day. Please talk to me, we don't like when you're upset." Minho's brow furrows as he uses the paw of his sweater to gently wipe away the tears again.

"I-It's just so hard Minho. I don't know if I keep doing this." You feel exhausted from the alcohol, the excitement throughout the evening, and now an emotional breakdown too and yet you needed to get this off your chest or even that might not be enough to let you get rest tonight.

"What is? What's hard? What can't you do?" Minho asks feeling his heart bleed at your distress even if he was able to stay as calm as he was.

"L-Loving you...."

You had passed out nearly the moment those words had left your lips, but Minho couldn’t, not after your confession. It had been the last thing he’d seen coming after trying not to look desperate to you all day. Yet you’d confessed to him of all people and it weighed too heavily on his mind for the next two hours to even consider getting any sleep. Only getting maybe two hours in before an excited Jeongin bound in to try and wake you both up so everyone could come downstairs for Christmas. Though Minho ensured he never got to you before he shoved him out with hushing sound. Slipping down behind him to grab some water, coffee, and pain meds for when you’d wake up. Telling the boys you’d had a rough night, probably drank too much, and should be left alone to sleep as long as you needed. Not expecting you to already be shifting awake when he returned to the room.

“Hey, you can sleep more if you want. It’s alright.” Minho gently brushes the hair out of your face as your eyes slowly blink open, leaning into the warmth of his touch without realizing, “I brought you meds and coffee if you’re felling hungover.”

You accept his help to sit up and take the meds, willing your fuzzy mind to clear enough to recall what happened the night before, “Minho...d-did I do anything last night? I-I can’t remember.”

Minho froze debating how he should answer that, he wanted to be honest with you, but after seeing how upset you were the night before he didn’t want to embarrass you at all, “W-Well, umm....”

“I-I said something didn’t I?” You could read his face for once, the calm demeanor gone and it telling you something had happened. The way his eyes widened at your question was enough to confirm what you thought as panic bubbled up and made your throat feel tight, “W-Whatever I said I didn’t-”

Minho cut you off by pressing his lips to yours quickly, feeling his own panic, “P-Please don’t say that you didn’t mean it. I think I would die if I lost the hope that you actually loved me back.”

The panic stopped almost instantly, feeling it dissipate as you processed his words, “L-Love you back?....Y-You mean you love me too? B-But you were acting like I was such a bother yesterday.”

Minho sits on the bed, pulling you into his arms before you could cry again, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I-I just didn’t want to look desperate when I couldn’t think of a reason for you to love me too.”

“You’re an idiot, I was literally like so obvious.” You whine softly and he chuckles though his focus seems to shift as his gaze falls to your lips, “You can kiss me again you know....a-after all we both just confessed so it would make sense to...”

Minho’s eyes flick back up to yours as a smirk forms on his face, but he makes no smart comment as he gives in to what both of you are wanting. Leaning in to kiss you again, less panicked this time as his lips softly meld with yours. Though the both of you were pouring too much emotion into it for it to become anything less than desperate. Now that you had each other you needed that more than air itself, it remaining sweet despite the way you both chased after each other as if afraid this would all disappear if you separated for any real stretch of time. You feel the faintest trail as Minho’s hands move from holding you against his chest to cradling your head as he lays you back onto the bed.

“If you want to take things slower then just say so. I-I just don’t want to let you go.” Minho’s voice comes out so light you wonder how you hear it over the beating of your own heart, especially with how it races when his lips press a fleeting trail down your jaw between his words.

“Y-You don’t ever have to slow down Minho, I’ve wanted this.....wanted you for too long to do that now.” You insist with a low moan as his lips press a little firmer against a sweet spot on your neck.

Minho hums against your skin too caught up in you to care about words when he could show you how he felt better anyways. His hands gripping at your sides, thumbs rubbing soft circles as if he’s afraid he’ll break you by being too firm. So you decide to make a larger move, reaching to grip the hem of his sweater and pull it off him, letting your hands and eyes roam his newly exposed skin. The feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips heating you up inside, the flame of desire flaring up faster than you would have thought possible if the person before you had been anyone other than Minho. Minho’s hands gripping yours before looking up at you for permission, hesitating even as you nod.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?” Minho’s fingers peak under the hem to rub gently at your skin beneath it.

“Well if I am then I guess you’ll just have to warm me up.” Your words seem to light the same fire in Minho as he doesn’t hesitate a second longer to his sweater off you. Hands running over your stomach to squeeze your breasts through the bra, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Guess I will.” Minho speaks against your lips, tone deepening as he lowers again moving to rid you of your bra as his lips trail towards your chest. You nipples pebbling slightly from the frigid air and his advances, but noticing the unpleasant chill that runs through you he presses against you more, letting his warmth radiate onto you. His warm mouth closing around your one nipple as his hand toys with and warms the other, switching between them with a new path of kisses to make sure they get equal attention. Until he gets impatient to show his affections elsewhere and his mouth lowers while adding soft nips between kisses to reach the hem of the sweatpants he gave you to wear. His fingers nimble as they work on the tie, though he doesn’t do more than that until he has permission from you to pull them down and leave you in only your panties.

“Oh the thoughts I had while helping you get untangled from your shirt last night my flower, and to think now a few of them are becoming reality.” Minho places a kiss to your hip, as his hands gently spread your legs, loving the way he’s able to fluster you so easily, “I’ve been dying for a taste and you’re not making it any easier for me. May I?”

The way he drags his thumb over the wet patch of your panties makes it hard to respond when you’re moaning and focused on that surge of pleasure, but the thought of getting something more urges you to form words, “Y-Yes please, I’ve been wanting to feel your mouth.”

“All you had to do was ask precious.” Minho gently blows against the wet patch making you squirm before kissing your thigh and slipping off your panties and lowering himself between your legs, placing the gentlest of kisses to your clit. The way you whine impatiently makes him chuckle against your core only making you squirm, his thumbs rubbing softly against your plush thighs as he grips them firmly to keep them open instead of impeding his work. He has no intent on tormenting you with teasing, not this morning anyways, but he still wants to savor the moment. The way he licks through your folds slow yet firm enough to spark delicious waves of pleasure through you, enough so that you can’t complain too much about his pace. Minho’s tongue and lips working everywhere to get every last drop of you that he can, while also focusing on your reactions to find what makes you feel the best. Knowing that his own patience will wear thin soon enough and he wants to know how to throw you over that sweet edge with more intensity than you thought possible, wanting to make all of you feel as amazing as his heart did upon hearing your confession.

“M-Minho please, I want to feel all of you.” Desperation bleeds into your words and actions as you squirm against his grip, hips trying to roll against his mouth and it has his eyes darkening with a new surge of lust. Nearly giving into you pleas, but you’re his first priority and it has him pulling away slightly making you whimper.

“Shh pretty girl, shh.” Minho coos softly, grip loosening as he runs his hands over your thighs and hips trying to get you to relax some, “Calm down, don’t get so worked up. I’ll give you what you want, I promise. You just need to calm down so that I can get you ready for me. We’ve waited a long time I know, but you can be good and wait just a little longer can’t you?”

This time a simple nod isn’t enough for him as he’s a little firmer with you in this moment, pinching your thigh lightly as he demands your words, “Y-Yes sir, I can be good for you.”

Minho has to take a deep, shuttering breath when he hears the word sir fall from your lips so perfectly, now was not the time to lose control, not when he wanted to show you every emotion he’d had trapped inside for so long. Not when he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. Yet, it does have him snap a little as he dives between your legs again with more purpose. Lips suckling and kissing your clit like his survival depended on it, eyes locked on your face as he feels your fingers weave into his hair. The soft tug you give has him moaning against your clit, only adding to that pleasure as he eases a finger in, though it’s not long before he’s able to add another. Curling them with each thrust in search of the spot that would have you trembling against him, thriving off the pleasure he’d able to feed you right now, nothing else in the world mattering more than your cries for him and the way you lose yourself to the sensations. He knows he’s found that spot, when you’re clenching around him, practically sucking his fingers in, thighs shaking as your edge hovers so close and yet just barely out of reach.

“Minho, please I’m close. Please make me cum or give me your cock, I-I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Your pleas sound magical to Minho, it being enough for him to give you what you want, speeding up his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit as he brings it between his lips again. Willing to throw your over the edge for the first time, so that he can have you losing his own patience as your nails drag lightly over his shoulders. The was you fall apart beneath him is like a work of art, the most beautiful Minho has ever seen as he slips his fingers from your spasming core to gently lick over you and ride you through the pleasure until you come back to him. Kissing you briefly before licking his fingers clean while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re sweeter than I ever could have imagined my flower.” Minho hums in approval, his smirk almost showing more in his eyes than on his lips. You’re quick to respond though not wanting him to drag it out any longer.

“I bet we’d taste sweeter together, but there’s only one way to find that out now isn’t there?” You purr back as your fingers work to untie his sweatpants, gripping both them and his undergarments to impatiently push both down at once. Freeing his beautiful, hardened length to you finally. Not giving him to to ask for your permission before you rub his tip through your folds, leg locking around his waist to urge his hips closer. Your actions seem to be enough as he places his hands on either side of you, slowly pushing in and leaning in as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

“You were awfully loud earlier flower, if you don’t quiet down then all the boys will know what we’ve been up to. Do you want that?” Minho’s question is somewhat serious, but it also holds a teasing to it as he’s proud of the fact that he can make you feel good enough to be so loud. You getting him back by rolling your hips against him and earning a groan from him. Hands slipping around his neck to tug him down and tease his lips with your own.

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” Your words are almost daring and they have him crashing his lips messily against yours as his own hips start to move against you. The patience between you both is gone as he finds a quick pace and yet he’s not manhandling or overly rough in his treatment, the erotic scene still one of passionate lovers. Baring their emotions to each other in the most desperate of ways despite not being able to handle a slow pace any longer. It being everything you could have asked for and more, right now you didn’t need the soft, slow lovemaking. You need this the desperate lovemaking, the kind that showed that Minho had been longing for you just as much as you’d been longing for him. The kind that showed that you were his now and that he would show you that in every way possible for as long as you would ask it of him. Where every move he made was to find what made you feel best, because you were what he most cared for in this world and where it was so much better than he could have imagined that he wasn’t sure if he could hold off. Though he was intent on your pleasure coming first as he angled himself to perfectly hit the spots he found brought you the most pleasure with each drag of his cock, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit as his other hand tangled into your hair to keep your lips pressed against his. Taking in all of your moans as your pleasure explodes once more, the feeling of you cumming on his cock enough to send him spiraling into his own high as he moans into your mouth in response. Slowing his thrusts as he rides you both through your highs. Hands gently tracing shapes over your heated flesh, finding you glowing in the aftermath of your climax.

“Come on my flower, I’ll help you shower before we join the others.” Minho kisses your forehead softly before scooping you up to take you to the bathroom. Getting you in the steaming shower as quickly as he can so that you won’t have to face the cold while bare for too long and so that you two can be quick enough to be able to get some food in before the others ate everything. Not that he wouldn’t cook you up a good breakfast if it came down to it. Willing to shower you in all affections imaginable after what you both had just done. Though before long Minho had you both cleaned up and in warm fresh clothes, going down the stairs to join the others.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?” Jisung questions Minho slyly as if they hadn’t all heard what you two had been up to earlier. Minho knew what he meant, but still didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah well I took a shower, so I put on something else.” Minho shrugs pulling out a seat for you, before taking his own so you two could eat breakfast as well.

“Oh did Y/N shower too? Her hair is all damp still.” Jisung innocently inquires taking a bite of his pancake trying to hide his smug expression. Minho gently moving your damp hair away from your bare skin so that it wouldn’t get too chilled.

“Well then you obviously know the answer.” Minho rolls his eyes adding his portion of whipped cream and other sweet toppings to your plate instead of his own.

“Hm I just find that interesting considering we only heard one shower running.” Jisung smirks at you both as the others snicker and chuckle, teasing you all through breakfast while exchanging knowing looks.

The teasing had died down some later as you all gathered around to exchange gifts. Feeling your heart stutter as you hold Minho’s in your hands, the man seeming flustered as you go to open it. Finding a small necklace inside one that looked like a lifeline with a heart at the end, flipping it over to find his initials on the back besides yours.

“So if things had been different this would have been when I confessed.” He admits in a soft whisper into your ear, a blush adorning his cheeks so beautifully as you laugh softly.

“It’s alright I liked the way things turned out much better anyways.” Minho admits before the guys pretend to gag and whine at all the pda they were witnessing.

“Alright enough of the mushy stuff, you have to open mine next.” Hyunjin dramatically insists shoving his gift in front of you, a pretty envelope sitting on top and beckoning you to open the card first. Your attention immediately drawn to a special little note at the bottom...

PS. Minho’s name was the only one in that hat.

“Well guess I ruined your little plan huh?” You tease, flustering along with him as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek in front of everyone.

#stray kids #stray kids smut #minho #minho smut #lee know #lee know smut #lee minho #lee minho smut #smutmas

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rosaliepostsstuff · 4 years ago

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Secret santa - F.W.

This is my fic for @thisismysecrethappyplace‘s writing challenge, using prompt #27 - "Today, it's like there's rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me."

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!reader (although the house is not mentioned much)

word count: 2070

a/n: I’m not one of the people who start celebrating Christmas on November 1st (but if you do - live your extra life, love) but the idea of secret santa game just popped into my head and I couldn’t think of any other story to work with the quote. Year is not specified.

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know!

December rolled around and the castle of Hogwarts has been covered in snow once again. The snow reflecting the little sunlight the area got this time of year, making the inside seem a bit brighter. It reminded you that in just a few weeks’ time it would be Christmas. Even though you were to stay at Hogwarts this year, you were looking forward to it.

During one of the study sessions in the Great Hall, you were sat next to your friends from Gryffindor. You were quietly chatting to Angelina and Katie. One word led to another and you learnt that the girls and a few more friends of yours would be staying for the Christmas break as well.

“Look, we’ll finally get to properly spend the holidays together-“ Katie started, but Angelina quickly joked, “oh, like the big, dysfunctional, happy family we are” and finished with a big grin that quickly fell when she caught Professor Vector’s eye and got back to her notebook. “Hey, that’s not a half-bad idea,” you put your quill down and looked between the girls, “how about we gather the rest and do a ‘secret Santa’ type of deal, huh?” you said enthusiastically. They studied you a bit sceptically, but you got them intrigued.

When you got them convinced, you talked to a few other people and decided to gather the next evening after dinner to draw the names so you’d still have almost three weeks to prepare the gifts.

That’s how you found yourself, all the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Lee, Angie and Katie gathered at one of the tables near a huge fireplace at the Great Hall. Being very excited about the idea, you prepped the pieces of parchment with the names beforehand and now everybody was to draw one from a hat passed around the group.

When it reached you, your heart started to beat slightly faster – you were quietly hoping to get Fred – you were friends, but you liked him slightly more and were hoping the act of kindness of a well thought out gift would get you some bonus points. It was now or never.

You reached in, stirred around with your hand a bit and picked one of the folded pieces, then passed the hat on. Carefully, so that no one would see it, you unfolded the parchment that read-

“Lee Jordan”

You tried not to show disappointment on your face. It was fine. You liked Lee and you planned to make the best gift you could think of. You’d still get to see Fred, even if you didn’t make the present for him.

You couldn’t help but wonder who did draw his name. Would they make a nice gift? Maybe a nicer one than you would’ve? Get his gratitude- oh, how you hoped it wasn’t any of the quidditch girls. What if it’s Angie? Oh, he must like her – she’s tall, pretty, and cool-

“Hey, Y/N?” Hermione’s voice snapped you out of your spiralling thoughts. “What’d you think? Do we exchange on Christmas eve? Christmas day, boxing..?” Asked Katie. “Uhm, the eve’s fine,” you mumbled and followed everyone, getting up and heading out.

You said your goodbyes and separated from the group – you were the only one headed to the dungeons. As you were about to go through the door you saw a piece of parchment someone must’ve dropped. Before you got to it, you saw Harry notice it and pick it up.

Passing by, you involuntarily looked at the parchment-

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Dammit, you thought and went on. That was about it for your surprise, or at least half of it.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

Days had passed, then weeks, and you found yourself with just a few days left in this term before the winter break would start.

You woke up late, with weird neck pain – you had slept in a funny position. Throwing on your robes you kicked your shin by accident and took a moment to shout out a few indecent words to help ease the pain and then you pushed through, determined to reach potions on time.

During the break, before your second period, you figured you would stop by the library to pick up a book you were going to need for an assignment you planned to start that evening.

Walking through the aisles with your destination well known, you looked out the large windows at the snow – and with the remnants of any positive attitude you had in you, you smiled to yourself.

“Have you done yours already..?” you suddenly heard Ron’s ineffectual whisper from behind a bookcase. It made you stop in your tracks and against your better judgement, you listened in. “Yeah, I got her a book…” Harry’s voice whispered back. ‘please, don’t say what book’ you repeated in your mind. “… something about the history of wizarding settlements in Britain..? I can’t remember the title, but she’ll like it.”

You grimaced to yourself at the thought – he couldn’t be more wrong. And then to top it, he added some sweets you absolutely loathed.

With heavy steps and a heavy heart, you headed to charms.

You liked charms, and you loved professor Flitwick. He was one of the decent teachers in this school, kind and sometimes even funny.

Today was one of those lessons, this time of year, that he gave up on starting a new topic and decided you were to do some revisions. Your mood slightly lifted, you were practising the banishing charm.

As the end of the lesson was drawing close you got comfortable and your mind started to wander. Thinking about the earlier events, you lost your focus and accidentally knocked over the pile od books Flitwick was standing on, sending the professor flying face down.

He was nice enough to understand your mistake and you were not punished in any way, but it didn’t change how bad you felt about it.

As you headed to lunch, cursing the universe, Merlin, and everything around, you thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

And then you tripped on one of the stone floor slabs.

You heard Fred and George’s booming laughs, lying on the floor and debating whether life was worth getting up. When the twins saw you not getting up, they stopped laughing.

Fred walked up and looked at you a bit confused – the fall wasn’t all that bad and you didn’t look hurt. “You alright there, sunshine?” he said leaning over you. You groaned in response and rolled over, then reluctantly got up from the cold floor with Fred’s help. “Peachy,” you replied, dusting off your robes and Fred snorted, then studied your expression.

He signalled for George to go without him and patted your shoulder lightly. “Today, it's like there's rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me.” You gestured wildly. “Alright then, papa Fred’s got you. What’s troubling you?” he asked, slightly amused, yet genuinely as you began strolling in the direction of the great hall. You took a deep breath, wondering where to start. “I slept in, was almost late to potions which we know would leave me with trauma, I knocked Flitwick to the ground by accident when we practised Depulso - and now this,” you kicked the cousin slab of the one that made you trip and Fred chuckled at your pout, “Oh and I almost forgot – my Christmas present’s gonna be rubbish,” you exaggerated. “How so?” he asked, confused. “Well, I know who’s my secret Santa already. Found out by accident. Then I overheard what I’m gonna get… I mean, it’s okay, but I guess I was just hoping for something nice…” you rambled looking down to the ground. “Oh. Okay then… you know what? I actually promised Lee I’d pick something up for him before lunch, so – I- I’ll see you later?..” It was your turn to be confused. You looked up at him but before you raised your hand with a little wave and mumbled small “bye”, he walked off.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

You haven’t seen Fred all that much since that weird encounter – you didn’t have any classes together and you were in different houses so it was just a coincidence to you.

The Christmas Eve came around and you were playing wizards’ chess with Ron in the great hall to pass time before the rest of the group gathered. People were slowly pouring in, each of them adding to the small pile on the wooden table, a box enchanted with a concealing spell, so that each gift looked the same – and the secret Santa remained secret. Among the last few was Fred, looking slightly sheepish for himself.

“So are doing it, lads and lassies?” exclaimed Lee rubbing his palms together, making everyone chuckle. You all sat down close in what resembled a circle, making sure no one was left out.

Hermione pointed her wand at the pile of boxes, “Revelio” and they all appeared in different forms, with various name tags attached.

You decided to open the gifts one by one going clockwise, starting with all-too-eager Lee. You couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared on your face when you saw his child-like joy after opening the gift from you. Then it was Angelina’s turn, then yours.

You reached for the package with your name on it, trying to appear enthusiastic and not-at-all like you already knew what was inside. You unwrapped the paper with a mix of shock and confusion on your face.

Inside the paper was a box of your favourite chocolates and underneath a plain-looking book. You opened it and it turned out to be a photo album filled with photographs of you with your friends, along with some captions and thematic drawings on the white-ish pages around them.

With mouth slightly open you flicked through a few pages and ran your hand over the doodles. You looked up at Harry, who had the same expression as anyone in this circle – except for one person who studied your reaction and tried to hide the satisfied smile on his face.

The gift opening continued. It was when Hermione opened hers and you saw what you had thought you’d get that it dawned on you. It started with the assumption that when Harry picked up the note with your name it meant he was your secret Santa, which (obvious for you now) didn’t have to be the case and it wasn’t. Then with your mind set in stone, you just kept assuming things.

“Did you like your gift?” with newfound courage thanks to the good mood, you nudged Fred on the way out. He slowed down to walk beside you and separate from his mates. “Why, were you my Santa?” he asked cheekily. “No, not this year. Just curious.” you shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, it was nice.” he stated simply, and after a bit of silence added, “d’you like yours?” “Why, were you my Santa?” you giggled. He put his hands in his pockets and avoided your gaze as a smile started creeping upon his face. “Merlin’s beard, you were..?” you cursed yourself for saying that out loud as your heart started thudding. “Maybe.” He looked at you with a mischievous smile and you melted. “Freddie, I loved it. It was really… sweet,” you said, shyly. “Good then, glad it wasn’t rubbish.” he snorted lightly and you wanted to bury yourself right then and there. “I’m soo sorry about that, it was a misunderstanding. I was in a bad mood, I thought somebody else was making a gift for me, I- I didn’t… I’m sorry Freddie.” You smiled awkwardly at him and he chuckled, ruffling your hair. “It’s alright, sunshine. I’m happy you don’t resent me” “I could never.” “Oh?” he stopped and looked you straight in the eye, smirking. “Uh, I mean…” your mind went blank. “You see, I was really happy when I drew your name.” he looked up above the two of you and your eyes remained on him. “It just so happens that I really like you so you must agree it would be convenient if you liked me back.”

You gulped. He looked back down at you, then gestured with his eyes for you to look up.

There it was, hovering above you, in all its glory – the magical mistletoe.

“So?” He leaned down a bit, turned his head to the side and tapped his finger on his cheek, “make it up to me?”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #hp imagine

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childrenofthenightt · 3 years ago

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That’s The Way (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): mentions of cheating, cursing

Author’s notes: Hey y’all, welcome to Chapter 2! Thank you so much for all your positive feedback and responses. A little heads up: Jimmy is not in this chapter...since this is a slow burn, he’ll be introduced in Chapter 4, but it won’t be long, I promise. Just sit tight! As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapter 1

---------

Evening of 4 May 1965

Walking into the kitchen, Y/N slid into a seat between her brothers, Tommy and Charlie, just as her mum was placing platters of that night’s dinner on the table. A sinking feeling in her stomach plagued her all day, as she knew that she would be interrogated intensely by her family about the previous night. More importantly, she knew that if they felt that any of the musicians had viewed her as a possible love interest, she’d be in big, big trouble.

“Dad, can you pass me the vegetables, please?” Y/N asked her father, sitting a few seats down from her. If the girl hadn’t been glancing down at her plate to avoid eye contact, fighting the gut feeling that the inevitable would soon occur, she would have seen him glance at her from over the frames of his glasses.

“Sure, dear,” he replied, briefly looking up from the newspaper he was reading as he gave Y/N the dish. The clanking of utensils on plates was all that could be heard until Charlie broke the seal by asking the dreaded question.

“So Y/N, how was the concert last night?” he asked, raising the glass of water in his hand to his lips. Y/N couldn’t blame Charlie for asking, because he had no idea what had happened, but she knew that this conversation could go south fast. Tommy’s hums of laughter quietly escaped his lips, and Y/N nudged his arm from under the table, giving him a glaring look that sent daggers from her eyes. It screamed, “Shut up!”, and another bout of giggles was the only response.

Tommy knew the outcome of last night because of what Carolyn had babbled to him on the car ride home, and was doing everything in his power to tease his sister.

“Why are you laughing, Tommy?” Y/N’s mum asked, finally taking a seat between Charlie and Lillian. Silence settled over the table as all eyes locked on to the oldest daughter, and Tommy evilly smiled at Y/N, who only glared at him again. “No reason. Actually, I think Y/N should tell you instead.”

Y/N huffed as she put the dish of roasted chicken, generously seasoned and herbed, back in the middle of the table. She painted on a smile before answering, “It went pretty well. Brilliant show.”

“That’s it?” her dad asked, folding up the newspaper, knowing his daughter was downplaying it.

“Yeah, Y/N, that’s it?” Tommy added. Y/N knew he was taunting her, but the rest of the table did not pick up on it. From under the table, Y/N’s leg begins to bob up and down, and she bites her lip, debating whether or not to tell the whole story. It’s obvious they’re not going to be happy…

“My God, Tommy,” With an exasperated sigh, Y/N, very annoyed at her brother’s pushing, throws her hands up in unwilling acceptance. “Fine, Carolyn and I were invited backstage, and we met the band.”

The table audibly gasped, the loudest of course being Lillian, who looked disappointed, almost devastated at the revelation. Her lips turn down in a sulk, and she rests her cheek, almost permanently flushed with youth, on a fist. “You promised me you wouldn’t let any boys mess with you, Y/N!”

Y/N reached her hand across the table to hold her sister’s in an attempt to coax her. “They didn’t, Lil. We just talked for a while. I just made some new friends last night, that’s all.”

Lillian’s frown turned upside down, content that her sister was safe, a naïve smile that Y/N felt a little guilty about. She, along with Charlie and their parents, didn’t know that most members of the band had shamelessly flirted with her and invited her back to see them again. Tommy was the only one aware, and Y/N made him promise to keep the whole rendezvous a secret. Carolyn had brought the flirting to Y/N’s attention on the car ride home, because in the moment, she didn’t think much of it.

“If they’re mean to you, I’ll be mean to them, just for you!” Lillian exclaims through a mouthful of mush, and the table burst into laughter, shaking their heads in amusement.

“How did it go?” Y/N’s mum asked, cutting into her chicken with a knife and fork. For the first time over the course of the whole dinner, Y/N broke into an unadulterated smile at the memory. “It was really nice, genuinely. They were all so sweet to us, and we just bonded over music and stuff.”

Y/N’s mother quirked her brow. “No ‘you know what’?”

“No Mum, nothing explicit. It was good, clean fun. Seriously.”

“Alright, I hope you’re telling the truth… I’m happy you had a great time.”

“She is telling the truth, Mum,” Tommy quipped through bites of roasted potatoes, “I can attest to that.”

Y/N’s mum smiled, but her dad piped up with some two-cents of his own. “Musicians are a tough crowd, Y/N. Very fickle blokes, their attractions change all the time. You can’t get too attached to them, dear, you’re just a small fish in a very big sea.”

“I know, Dad,” Y/N replied, trying to sound understanding. She couldn’t lie to herself, though. The Yardbirds made her feel very special last night, and disappointment was lurching in her stomach at the comment. As much as her father’s words stung, she harbored a small feeling of hope that they truly enjoyed her company and meant what they said.

After everyone finished dinner, and Charlie and Lillian left the table to go play in another room, Tommy, wallet in hand, walked over to his mum, who was washing the dishes with the help of her husband.

“Hey Mum, I’m gonna take Y/N for ice cream,” he whispered, glancing at Y/N who was sitting in a chair in the living room, almost unconsciously playing with her fingers and staring out the window with a pensive countenance.

“Okay, love. Just bring something home for Charlie and Lillian,” she replied. Tommy walked over to Y/N, tapping her shoulder. The girl looked up at him, confused.

“I’m taking you for ice cream. Let’s go,” he said, already walking towards the door. Y/N grinned, then chased after her brother to the car.

~~~~~~~~

27 June 1965

Y/N and Carolyn weren’t able to attend as many Yardbirds gigs as they would’ve liked in the end of May and beginning of June, as they had exams at school. Now that they were over, Y/N could be fully immersed in the travelling British rock and roll circus for the greater part of the summer.

The girls agreed to make a venue change tonight: instead of going to the Marquee, as they usually did, they decided to go to the Crawdaddy Club. Y/N hoped Jeff, Chris, Paul, Jim, and Keith would remember them by their faces instead of just their clothes, because there was no need to wear school uniforms anymore.

Carolyn decided to drive to this particular gig, probably because she was expecting the two of them to go backstage again, as having her own car would grant them more time with the band then that first night at the Marquee.

The Crawdaddy Club was architecturally and aesthetically different from the Marquee; there were no chairs or booths, so standing was the only option, and the boundary between the stage and the audience was virtually nonexistent. The ceilings were low and beamed, and the stage backdrop had a painting of a measure of music. Y/N thought that particular touch was a bit cheesy.

Carolyn and Y/N walked in together, squeezing past the army of fans already hoarding the front of the stage. They managed to find a spot by Jeff’s side of the stage, his amps towering a few feet from where they stood. Thankfully, they were able to see most of the stage, including Jim’s drum riser in the back. The conversations among all the audience members were deafening, but Y/N heard a loud whisper within her periphery that she could just make out.

“Pssst! Y/N!” a familiar voice whisper-shouted, which was followed by a wave.

It was Jeff, widely smiling with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He was walking out the backstage door, meticulously making sure the door wouldn’t harm his guitar in any way. He then waited near the stage steps to go on, which the girls discerned could be any minute now.

“Oh my God, Jeff!” Y/N replied excitedly as she walked over to the steps. She made her way through the crowd, a lot more ungracefully than she would’ve hoped.

“It’s so cool to see you at some place other than the Marquee,” Jeff said. He looked genuinely happy that she was there. Maybe Y/N’s dad was wrong about these “fickle musicians”.

“We’re happy to be here! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make any more since the last time… exams and school and all.”

“Oh, that’s where you were! I hope you got good marks,” Jeff playfully grinned, “because you ought to mind your studies, Miss Y/N. Sam was starting to think he scared you off and that you didn’t want to come back.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in a confused way, as if to say “who?”, which resulted in a soft chuckle from Jeff.

“‘Sam’ is Paul’s nickname.”

Y/N nodded in understanding with an endearing smile. “Oh, okay. That’s definitely not it, then. I was just stuck with exams and graduation, that's all. Be sure to tell him that.” A wink punctuates the end of her sentence, and, gearing up to respond, Jeff is interrupted by a sharp noise next to him. Mere seconds later, another familiar face entered the scene, walking out of the door. Chris Dreja, also with his guitar slung over his shoulder, warmly smiled at Y/N as he closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s so lovely to see you again,” he greeted. She noticed that he had a substantially deeper voice than the other four, something she hadn’t the last time they met since he was talking with Carolyn and Keith.

“Hi Chris! Same to you,” Y/N grinned.

“No uniforms this time I see,” he teased, discreetly scanning how stunning he thought she looked.

Y/N laughed. “Yeah, I’m off from school for the summer so there’s no need anymore, thank God. Now I can attend your shows more frequently, and wear a decent outfit too!”

“That’s great to hear. We do love your company.” Y/N beamed at his comment, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Chris’ eyes track the movement, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He thought Y/N was beautiful, but he had a wife and a child on the way. He also felt a little jealous that Paul and Jim had their eyes on her, but there was not much he could do about it. If he was cunning and quick enough to steal Y/N before they had the chance, though, and if his wife never found out…

Quickly regaining his wits, he remembered why he was sent out. “Jeff, Keith needs you backstage again.”

Jeff groaned. “What? I thought we were starting, like right now!”

“I know, I know. We were supposed to, but he wants everyone backstage again for some reason.”

“Ugh, this is why he can’t fucking be in charge,” Jeff replied, clearly annoyed. Then, as Chris was heading backstage once again, Jeff pulled something out of his pocket, a knowing smile on his face.

“Here, love, have this. You’ll be needing it after the show,” he said, placing a card with a lanyard attached to it into Y/N’s hands. Y/N smiled giddily.

“Thank you. Good luck with that meeting, and good luck in the show, even though you don’t really need it,” Y/N replied playfully.

“Oh, I think I need it more than you think I do,” Jeff smirked, disappearing behind the door.

~~~~~~~~

Just minutes later, The Yardbirds came out and played their set, which lasted a couple hours, and didn't fail to stun the crowd. Y/N and Carolyn received a lot more smiles of recognition than the last time at the Marquee, since the boys knew who they were now. The only similarity to last time was the electrified fans who were completely immersed in the music.

Jim McCarty, in particular, looked at Y/N a lot more often throughout the show than he did last time. She caught him a couple times, which was really embarrassing on his part, but not the entire time, much to his pleasure. He didn’t think it was possible, but it seemed that she had grown even more beautiful than last time.

Was it absence that made his heart grow fonder? Possibly. Was he in love? Yet another possibility. Did he know for certain? Perhaps, but he wasn’t exactly sure yet.

Besides focusing on the music, Paul’s mind was elsewhere. He was planning on asking Y/N out on a date with him sometime this coming week. He hoped she’d accept, since she did an awful lot of blushing and giggling around him when they met in May, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Paul was concocting the perfect formulation of words so that she couldn’t refuse the offer. She looked like the type of girl who would enjoy a nice dinner date, and he would do anything to make that a reality for her.

Chris’s mind was the opposite of Paul’s: he didn’t want to think about Y/N because in the event he did, he knew he would mess up a chord or two on the guitar.

God, he thought, she was perfect. Purely enchanting.

Jeff was just happy, almost giddy, that he’d found a new friend in Y/N. He knew she was special, and he hoped she trusted him, because some people in this business could be very sleazy. She was different from all the girls a lonely musician would find on the road. Y/N was the type of girl that Jeff wanted to see after a thousand and one nights touring, catching up and sharing stories over a pint. Sure, he had a steady girlfriend, but something about Y/N was comforting, friendly, and trustworthy. Just what he needed in a friend.

The set was similar to the one at the Marquee, but with little variations here and there, still holding the audience under a trance. After the performance’s conclusion, Y/N rummaged through her pocket and showed Carolyn the backstage pass given to her by Jeff, to which Carolyn squealed with delight. Y/N took Carolyn’s hand and walked with her to the door, showing the security man her prized relic. At once, they were granted access, and they skipped and trotted and leapt down the hall in excitement.

When the pair got to the correct door, Y/N took a deep breath and knocked a couple times; momentarily, they were greeted by a smiling, but sweaty, Jeff Beck.

Y/N didn’t care. “Brilliant show, my friend,” she gushed, giving Jeff a congratulatory hug.

“Thank you,” he replied gratefully, reciprocating it with a beaming smile, “security didn’t give you trouble I hope?”

“No, we were fine, thankfully.”

“Good to hear, good to hear. Well, come on in!” Jeff exclaimed, getting out of the way of the doorframe, “do you fancy yourselves a drink?”

Y/N and Carolyn walked into the room, starstruck once again by all five of The Yardbirds being in one place. This time, some members of the road crew, management, and lighting company were there as well, chatting and planning among themselves. They all greeted the girls amicably, and grabbed some chairs and arranged them in a similar formation to the Marquee.

“Um, yeah, sure, if you don’t mind,” Y/N accepted as she sat down, throwing a kind “thank you” over her shoulder at the roadie that had brought her chair over, voice a little lost in amazement at the current happening.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Jim said with a smile, “you stay put.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet,” Y/N grinned appreciatively. She could feel herself warming up to these guys, as she didn’t feel as nervous as the last time. But a little twinge of it was still there, rippling through her stomach.

Jim was turned away from Y/N getting the drinks, so she wasn’t able to see him blush. He found it unbelievable, the effect she had on him.

The whole group was sharing conversation and laughs over drinks for almost three hours, but it was almost as if time did not pass. They talked about music, books they liked, restaurants they recommended, places they’ve travelled to, philosophy, history, the environment, conspiracy theories...you name it.

Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seats, as a cue to the party that they had to leave soon. Paul, who again was sitting next to Y/N, tapped her shoulder. Turning to face him, Y/N could see the flush on his cheeks, and the way he was almost curled into himself.

“Hey Y/N, can I ask you a question really quick?” he asked, much more nervous than he sounded a few seconds ago.

“Yeah, sure,” she smiled. Y/N, taking his outstretched hand, found herself being whisked away by Paul to a corner of the room, near a row of vanities attached to the wall. She hoped that the others were all too distracted talking, so that no one would notice her and Paul’s absence.

Looking at each other, face to face, the two smiled happily, as though there wasn't a care in the world.

Paul then took a deep breath, his expression turning more anxious. “Okay…” he exhaled, “here goes.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Y/N chuckled, “it’s just me.”

Paul’s face softened a little, gazing down at her. “But you see, that’s the whole point. It’s you. I have every reason to be nervous.”

Y/N’s face cascaded into a red flush, her lip quivering in the hopes of concealing a foolish grin. Paul reached down and grabbed Y/N’s hands, holding them in his own as Y/N’s heart started racing at what felt like two thousand miles a minute.

“I just wanted to preface this by saying that I, uh… I have been absolutely bewitched by you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night at the Marquee,” he began. Y/N melted with every word, but at the same time, she felt as if she had been electrically shocked. When she looked into the twinkling depths of his eyes, she couldn't help but swoon.

“So,” he continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. If you’ll let me, of course.”

Y/N was at a loss for words, composure, and any sort of rationality. She never thought, in her wildest dreams, that a musician in a world-renowned band would fancy her. Just able to restrain an awestruck grin, she finally gave in.

“Yes,” she replied, happily breathless and dazed, “I would love to go out with you.”

Paul, ecstatic with her answer, beams down at her as she launches into his arms in a sweet embrace. He asked for her phone number and address, and, spotting a nearby miniature legal pad, she wrote everything down, signing it with a cartoonish smiling face and a heart.

~~~~~~~~

After Y/N and Carolyn had said their goodbyes and left the Crawdaddy Club, the five musicians were left alone in the backstage area, to relax after such an electric show. Jeff and Keith approached Paul, who was collecting his belongings in the corner of the room.

“Did you do it?” Jeff asked, face a picture of feigned nonchalance as he took a sip of his beer.

“Yes, I did it,” Paul grinned, bending down to grab something of his that had fallen on the floor.

“I guess she accepted by the look on your face,” Keith observed, a sardonic smirk on his handsome features.

“You’d be correct,” Paul replied.

“You wanker,” Jeff shook his head disapprovingly, “why would you bloody do that? You’re gonna break her heart!”

Paul’s expression quickly turned unimpressed. “Because if nobody here tells her, she’ll never know.”

What Paul had failed to tell Y/N was that he had a wife, with whom he shared a home. He felt bored, with all the travelling and the touring and the nonsense, so he wanted a lovely, intelligent young woman like Y/N to “keep him company”.

He knew he wasn’t in love with Y/N. Sure, he fancied her immensely, thought she was ethereal, but his heart truly belonged to his wife.

“Congratulations, Sam,” Keith said sarcastically, “you just potentially ruined a friendship with a very pretty bird.” It was clear that Jeff and Keith cared very deeply about Y/N and her happiness, because she was a great girl.

Paul rolled his eyes, annoyed. “You lot have to do me this solid and don’t say anything to her. It’ll work out fine. Oh, and spread the message to Chris and Jim so they don’t spill the beans either.”

“You fuckin’ owe me, Sam,” Jeff warned, already walking backwards towards Chris and Jim, “you owe me big time.”

---------

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

#that's the way #jimmy page #the yardbirds #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

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mahounomanga · 3 years ago

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Super Rose

Definitively stating that something is the first of its kind can be tricky. To say it is the first is to say that nothing like it came before, and proving a negative is notoriously difficult. Case in point: 1962's Himitsu no Akko-chan is widely regarded as the first magical girl manga. And yet, Super Rose predates it by a good three years, and I would argue that Super Rose is indeed a magical girl manga. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it was the first; it's very possible an earlier one exists that I just haven't heard of, but for now it is the oldest magical girl manga I know about, and so the timeline starts here.

Super Rose is a manga by Kyuuta Ishikawa that ran from 1959 to 1961. The story revolves around a girl named Mayumi Makimura, the daughter of a renowned scientist. One day, Mayumi is hit by a meteor, after which she develops a secret alter ego as the superpowered heroine of justice, Super Rose. With powers such as flight and x-ray vision, and gadgets like a bulletproof cape and a ring that fires an electric attack, Super Rose thwarts the dastardly plans of a range of distinctive villains while protecting innocent civilians.

As a magical girl series, Super Rose has an interesting place in the history of the genre. In a post-Sailor Moon world, we tend to think of fighting evil (by moonlight or otherwise) as the main thing magical girls do, but in the genre's early years, that was fairly uncommon. The fact that this manga's central focus is on a conflict of good vs. evil makes it stand out when compared to much of the magical girl manga and anime of the following years. It focuses on sleuthing as much as combat, if not moreso, but it's still noteworthy that Mayumi has a fighting alter-ego at all. We don't see another magical girl with one of those until the early 70s with the one-two punch of 1971's Suki! Suki!! Majo-sensei and 1973's Cutie Honey. (Which is not to discredit female fighters in anime and manga who have secret identities and fight bad guys but do not use magic, such as Princess Sapphire from Princess Knight or Simone from La Seine no Hoshi.)

Of course there is a debate that can be had about whether Super Rose is a magical girl in the first place. After all, her powers aren't explicitly magical and she's really more of a superhero. The thing is, superheroes and magical girls are not mutually exclusive. Furthermore, as I mentioned in my post outlining the parameters of this project, magic doesn't always have to be magical. Super Rose's powers function in much the same way magic does in other series, and that's close enough for me. She slots right in alongside the likes of Miracle Girl Limit-chan and Saint Tail.

The writing in this manga is a mixed bag. A lot of it feels very off-the-cuff. In particular, the scene that serves as Super Rose's origin story borders on incomprehensible. Even so, there are a lot of fun character interactions and some genuinely interesting and well thought out scenes. Mayumi herself is a compelling (if underdeveloped) protagonist. She's tenacious, self-confident, and resourceful and I found myself rooting for her.

Not everything about the series has aged well though. (Par for the course with media more than half a century old.) My biggest gripe is that Mayumi has a plus-sized friend named Chizu whose weight is made fun of an uncomfortable amount. As well, for a story that feels very female empowerment-y, there are a disconcerting number of scenes that play into the damsel in distress trope. Still, if you can set all that aside, this manga has more working for it than against it, and I would highly recommend seeking it out, for the historical value if nothing else.

The series was created by Kyuuta Ishikawa, who mostly worked in shounen manga, and all his work seems quite obscure. None of it has ever been adapted into anime. The most recent title listed on his Baka-Updates Manga page is his 1975 manga Uru.

Super Rose was originally serialized in the short-lived shoujo manga magazine Hitomi, where it ran from the April 1959 issue (published March 9, 1959) until 1961, the same year Hitomi ceased publication. Chapters were collected in four tankobon volumes published by Apple BOX Create starting in 1993, the last of which was published on September 25, 1998.

No official English release exists; however, an unofficial translation of the first volume was uploaded to the Internet Archive in 2019, making this the most accessible title I'll be covering on the blog for a while. (We won't be having English translations again until we reach the 1980s.)

If there's anything I missed, feel free to add on. Thank you for reading, and I'll see you next time.

#my posts #Super Rose #Kyuuta Ishikawa #スーパーローズ #石川球太 #Hitomi #50s #long post #shoujo

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. a bit of jhs x named f!reader (but not really)?

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). general flangst? anguf? a blend of angst and fluff, tbh. mainly angst tho.

tags / warnings. sibling dynamics, introspective sadness, talk about not-so-healthy relationships (obviously), dumbass!jk, asshole!jk, jealous!jk, how many more jk tags can i add?, a silly reference to scott pilgrim. nothing serious.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif aka the loml!!!

wc. 3.1k

chapter four.

You and Yoongi don’t fight. It’s always been a point of pride - something to look at and smile on.

That must be why it feels so terrible now, with his knuckles blown white and enough rage to start a war simmering within his veins. You’ve never seen him like this: a world away from your soft Yoon, your best friend, your beloved brother.

“Yoongi, really--”

“No. Stop saying that.” Despite the fact that you know his anger isn’t directed at you - that you’re the farthest target in his mind - it still hurts, like getting caught in friendly fire. Pinpricks of guilt spill across your skin, nerve endings shot to hell by the way his mouth curls and tears, venom laced between his teeth and draped across his tongue. “He came here and you didn’t tell me? I told you - I’ll kill him.”

Hyperbole, you’re sure, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters. A little oh no for a boy who doesn’t deserve it - whose silhouette still carves a spectacularly painful hole in your chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry--” It’s not an excuse. It’s not meant to be. You never lie to Yoongi. Frankly, you don’t think you could.

“You’re my sister.”

It’s enough of a rebuttal that you’re reduced to silence. He’s right. You’re family; family don’t keep secrets.

“I’m sorry,” you try again, feeble and emphatic.

There’s an unbearable distance between you - a sea’s worth of sadness that rocks the rickety boat you’ve built. You can practically see it stretching on and on, sweeping you further and further from his safe shores. It’s an awful feeling.

“You’re my sister,” he repeats, suddenly so tired you worry for him. For once, he looks that much older than you, as if five years have forced passages of experience within his pages. “You can’t hide things from me. Who’s going to be there for you if not me?”

You want to rebuff him - insist that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for - but you know it’s not what he means. More than anyone, Yoongi believes in you. He sees your strength even when you can’t see your own; he’s been that strength more times than you can count.

The reality of your situation isn’t lost on you.

He’s the only one who knows everything you’ve been through. A diary in living breathing form, full of your most shameless secrets, your deepest worries, your worst heartbreaks.

“I know.” Apology threads each syllable, stitches them neatly to each other. The sincerity is blinding, bright white and earnest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The smile he offers is rueful, twisting the edge of his mouth in a manner you’ve adopted over the years. You return it without thought and then, all at once, the expanse is closed. He’s laughing - a sound that doesn’t ring true in the way you know it should - but it’s a laugh and you know everything is okay.

“Still worried,” he returns with a quiet sigh and flick of his wrist.

You’re with him in a breath, curled against his side on the couch you’d cried yourself to sleep on just days ago. While you’re both far closer in size than you’ve ever been - you were always a tiny kid growing up, even against Yoongi’s own slim frame - it’s reminiscent of your childhood and being caught beneath haphazardly strewn sheets and disorganised chaos in the form of blanket forts.

Dry lips find a home against the side of your head, his arm dragging you to warmth. “You’re an idiot, you know.” He says it in the way only an older brother can - with all the frustration and love in the world.

You do know, intimately well, how idiotic you are. Have been. Seemingly always will be.

“I know,” you mumble, sad into the raised hood of your sweater. “But I made him leave.” It sounds like a child begging for praise - to be told they’ve done well. You won’t deny you need it now.

Good is the first thing Yoongi says, a little flippant and with a hard set of his jaw. More comes when he catches your expression and the way the dent forms between your brows, the tiny pout of your lips. It’s the same face you’ve made all your life - one that hits him right behind the ribs like a Whack-A-Mole game at the carnival.

“You did good, Vivi. I’m proud of you.” They’re bandages, sticky and adhesive on the stitches Jungkook’s visit had torn open. “You’re great and he’s…” There are words he’d like to use - a million scathing adjectives to paint the asshole in technicolour - but he knows better. Knows you can’t take it, at least not right now. “He doesn’t deserve you. You get that, right? You’re better off without him.”

You nod against his side but offer nothing further. The silence speaks worrying volumes.

“You’re not going to answer him again, right?”

Some half-mumbled non-committal response comes. Yoongi wants to tear his own hair out. Better yet, he wants to tear yours out. Instead, he blows a long exhale through his nose, free hand coming to scrub across his face. When will you learn?

“I’m scared.”

It’s so quiet even you hardly hear it, ear tucked against the cotton of Yoongi’s flannel. You think, for a moment, maybe he’s missed it too. Then he squeezes you a little tighter: a silent reassurance.

“Seeing him again just brings back so many memories.” Every other word is muffled but it’s the most you can do. Courage is carried quietly - too loud and you’ll shatter it. “I thought three years would be enough. It should be, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question; Yoongi still debates answering it, just for his own sake.

“Maybe he’s changed. Or maybe I’ve changed. It could be different.” It’s a clandestine belief and one you shouldn’t speak to life - especially to your brother. It spills forth of its own accord, wrong for so many reasons but begging to be asked. You have no control over it and the hope it sows somewhere within your chest.

“You can’t actually believe that.”

It’s infinitely more scathing than Hoseok’s reaction, tearing out of Yoongi’s mouth like a bullet. You can’t help the way you frown, brows drawn and lips pursed. You’ve known Yoongi your whole life. Reading between the lines feels like you’re fucking stupid but you know it’s not quite so harsh. A frustrated you dumb idiot, maybe.

“Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making any face.”

“Yes, you are. It’s the same one you made when I embarrassed you on your first date. Also the one you made after you threw up all over Hoseok’s shoes the first night you met him.” The recollection doesn’t help your cause - you’re grimacing even more deeply, chagrin spilling into misery in the form of red hot heat over your cheeks. “Don’t resent me for being realistic, Vivi. You know he hasn’t changed.”

The silence is childish. You know that.

“You can’t fix people.”

He arrives with flowers. Two full bunches of your favourite blooms - pretty peonies in shades of coral and lavender. They’re heavy in his arms, held so gingerly it’s almost comical as he extracts himself from the vehicle he most definitely should not be driving. He wonders whether you’ll be home - if he’ll get to see your expression when he presents them to you. He hopes you’ll light up, brighter than the sun in the sky and better than any nightlight.

What he doesn’t expect is someone walking up the sidewalk, gym bag slung across his shoulder like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long night. Short - atleast a few inches shorter than himself - with a stupid face that makes Jungkook want to punch it. Dumb shoes, too. Who the fuck wears Off-White Jordan 1s in that colourway?

There’s a permanent scowl etched across his face as he watches from behind the tinted comfort of his car, single hand caught around the edge of the door. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s perhaps crushing the stems cradled in his arms, inked knuckles blown white around quickly crumpling brown paper.

Maybe he’s your neighbour. Or maybe he’s going to the other house or maybe—

No, he’s definitely walking right up the front path.

The words are out before Jungkook can stop them, shouted into the quiet afternoon more loudly than he anticipates. “Hey!”

Dumbass with the face turns, full of surprise and wandering eyes. He hesitates halfway up your stoop, looking stupider than ever as he looks around for the source of the voice.

Then his stare falls on the brunet with his hands full and it’s like a flip has switched - mouth hardening into a line that raises the hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck. He’s glaring at him (or something close to it).

Seriously - who is this fucker?

“Can I help you?” Hoseok speaks far more reasonably, at an octave that doesn’t shatter the peace of the residential neighbourhood. He’s still caught on the steps, fist tight around the strap of his bag as he studies the man - no, boy - that jogs up to meet him, two rungs the only thing separating the two of them.

“Do you know Vira?”

A part of Hoseok flinches at Jungkook’s casual use of your name - like he knows you or deserves to address you like an old friend. This kid really was clueless.

When he speaks, he’s perfectly composed, tension held tight behind his teeth. “I said, can I help you?”

Jungkook bristles at the response, some snarky comment threatening to knock the other off his apparent high horse. He barely catches it, grinding it down into a fine powder beneath his molars. He has to tread lightly here.

“I’m a friend of hers.” Not a lie, per se. You two were friends; after all, you’d come when he’d called. That meant something, right? Had to.

“A friend?” Disbelief slips into place, evident in the tone of Hoseok’s voice, how his brows shift beneath his chestnut fringe. He knows better than to believe Jungkook - has heard all the heartbreaking stories - but he can’t quite keep the worry from worming it’s way into his thoughts. They settle uncomfortably, just beneath the surface. “Is she expecting you?”

Everything about Hoseok makes Jungkook hate him. From the sneakers he wears to the watch on his wrist - understated, all gold, more expensive than a nerd like him should have - there’s something undoubtedly punchable about him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s seemingly close with you. Definitely not.

“I was going to surprise her.” The flowers are held aloft, gesticulated in the best manner Jungkook can manage with his arms so full. “I didn’t know she was expecting you.” It’s a cheap tactic - recycling words - but he can’t think of much else beyond fitting his foot into this guy’s mouth.

“She’s not.” Sharp, sparse, with no hint of indulgence. Hoseok’s not about to get into a verbal sparring match with Jungkook. It’s not worth his time.

He is, however, going to put him in his place - and easily at that.

“She’s still at work.” Slim bundle of keys rise - two unassuming and one for an Audi. Perhaps unnecessary but Hoseok takes great pleasure in the other’s expression.

Tch is Jungkook’s first thought before the second smacks him straight in the face. He has a key to your place? The fact rubs him all the wrong ways despite the fact that he has no right to be bothered; it isn’t his home any more - hasn’t been in years. It still hurts, though, right behind his ribs and all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Is this how you felt all those times?

Something like nausea builds in Jungkook’s stomach, throwing acid up the walls of his throat. It burns and strings, licking painfully all the way into his mouth. His teeth ache - buzz uncomfortably - and his tongue feels suddenly far too heavy. He wonders if he might choke on it.

Then, slowly, in a voice he doesn’t recognise. Too soft, years younger, uncertain. “Can you give these to her?” He hates it.

He hates even more the way Hosoek looks at him, with such pity Jungkook wants to curl it around his fist and break the older man’s teeth with it. It’s something he’s seen a handful of times - from you, from your brother, from his worried mother when she thinks he doesn’t notice. It never gets easier.

It forces him into a position he hasn’t been in in years: weak.

“I don’t think so.” By how calmly Hoseok speaks, it’s almost as if he’s commenting on the weather or passing along a banal bit of information. It’s far too nonchalant to be breaking Jungkook’s heart, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Why not?” Jungkook’s petulant, a child denied his favourite toy, forced into time-out.

That’s not for you screams Hoseok’s expression. She’s not for you. “I’m not comfortable with doing so.”

The sinking feeling hasn’t stopped for Jungkook. It goes and goes until he wishes he were six feet under, buried under ground as low as he feels. He should leave. He knows he should leave - if only to stop the discomfort that’s gripping every nerve, twisting them like an elbow about to snap.

“Anyway.” There’s boredom working its way into Hoseok’s stare, relaxing the shape of his mouth until it falls wide around a short, terse sigh. “If you’re friends, you can get in touch and drop them off later.”

He’s done playing gatekeeper - can feel his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he’s not about to entertain. He nods once, dismissive, before turning away from the so-called rockstar that seems terribly small and the farthest thing from it.

“Goodbye.” Then he’s disappearing into your home, leaving Jungkook on the steps with his tail between his legs.

You return home three hours later - blissfully unaware of what’s transpired.

You set your dinner on the kitchen island, deftly unpacking takeout boxes as Hoseok hurries to your side to help. You don’t mind when he bumps into you, knocking his hip against yours with a heart-shaped smile.

It burns a little brighter than usual. “Good day?”

He hums in response, sneaking a yellow tomato from the salad box he’s just popped open. “Something like that.”

“Something like that?” You can’t help but echo him, a pretty parrot with shining eyes and a silk bow in your hair. “Don’t play coy, Jung Hoseok.” A digit closes the minimal distance between you, finding purchase against his side - right where he’s most ticklish.

He shrieks, nearly upending the fries he’s tried to dump onto a ceramic plate.

“Hey!” Hands swat, then fold, catching your fingers between his in an awkward hand-hold. “Keep your hands to yourself, Vi.”

“You don’t complain normally,” you retort. You’re not wrong. Skinship with you is one of his favourite things, fourth only to his dog, dancing, and a certain green-labelled soda.

“Well, today’s a special day.”

Hoseok really doesn’t know where he’s going with his words - only hoping that he’ll find their destination somewhere along the way. He doesn’t want to tell you too soon, all too aware of how the mention of your ex will bring this perfect moment crumbling down. He wants to hold it, perhaps a little too tightly, for as long as he can. He thinks he’s doing you a service, giving you these few extra minutes.

“Oh yeah?” You’re twinkling eyes and pealing laughter, so far removed from the bag of bones and sadness of only days prior. It’s hard to believe there’s something broken inside of there - tucked right behind your breastplate and out of sight.

“Yeah.”

You wait for him to continue, opting instead to fill the silence with mouth noises. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. He always does.

“Jungkook came by.” It comes halfway through a bite of a french fry, the carb nearly bringing you to an early death when you choke on it. All at once, everything spins, as if just the name is enough to upend your entire world. Hoseok’s clapping your back, rubbing soothing circles over the cotton of your shirt, and you’re struggling to find words or breath - heaving around the sudden heaviness.

“What?” So small, it’s hardly a word.

“He was here when I got here.” You’re not oblivious to the careful way he speaks, choosing his words with utmost care. You don’t miss his grip either, gentle and unyielding at your side - as if he might steady you beneath the sudden tidal wave of emotion.

You do well, keeping your voice level once you’ve found it again. “And? What did he want?”

Hoseok does you the great service of pretending as if he doesn’t hear the hope in your voice. You’re grateful for that.

“He came with flowers.” Not quite a laugh comes - more unimpressed and derisive than amused. “Two bouquets, actually.” You can feel him studying you from your periphery, his careful stare trained on your face and the dozen emotions that run rampant through it. “Your favourite flowers too.”

Your laugh matches his own, though far heavier, as if the sound won’t form without immense effort. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” It’s a word you’ve heard a lot tonight. It feels right. One syllable to encompass every feeling you can’t properly articulate. “He asked me to give them to you.”

It should surprise you but it doesn’t. Jungkook’s never been one to ask - instead taking what he wants - but it’s still funny. Of course he’d ask that of Hoseok, as if the act itself weren’t terribly strange, the flowers an unwelcome, begging apology. Jeon Jungkook only did what he wanted - etiquette be damned.

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable doing it.” There’s a touch of pride, glimmering gold painted over consonants and vowels. It’s understated in the way that Hoseok always is - not how he looks, but is; you’re drawn to it nonetheless, squeezing your fingers around his own in a silent thank you.

“I hope it wasn’t weird.” It must have been. It’s still the thought that counts.

Hoseok hams it up, scoffing like it’s just been another day. “Weird? Of course not. I have to deal with my friend’s horrible exes all the time. I’m practically Scott Pilgrim.”

“Does that make me Ramona Flowers?”

“No - but you’re my flower.” He says it in jest, only to make you smile, because he knows you need it right now.

You try not to think of how you prefer Pumpkin, instead.

tag list. @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain @neverthefirstchoice @snackhobi

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years ago

Text

15.12, le tits now, trent baretta

Title: le tits now ( let it snow wrapping paper used wrongly, ftw.)

Theme: Wrapping paper

Fandom / Character(s):Trent Baretta, AEW

Warnings: It’s flirtatious and a little comedy. Oh and definitely over the top fluffy. That’s p. much it.

Word Count: uhhh... roughly 2k.

This is my entry to @champbucks 12 Days Of Christmas Challenge for the day.Listen.. I was shown a picture by my bb @schizoauthoress that I immediately took and ran with. So.. thank them for the inspo. The wrapping paper is supposed to say let it snow, but instead, it’s wrapped horribly enough that it reads le tits now. Annnyway. I went full on sexy rom com funny with this, so I really hope ya’ll like it? I had way too much fun writing it.

BTW>. i made the banner thing. No stealing.

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif

@sassymox

@champbucks

@hungmanhorsecarriage

@wardl0w

@ryantaylorgirl

@dilfmoxley

@hotyeehawman

@gabbynorth98

@bec0m

@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

@daddyslittlevillain

[ about page | masterlist | tag list ]

The baseball cap was being passed around Catering and for the most part, I ignored it. Only vaguely noticed it. Hell, if I’m being honest, I was only halfway listening to Brandi Rhodes as she explained the ‘rules’ that went along with Secret Santa.

Kris leaned in and elbowed me, whispering with a soft laugh, “I hope I get OC.”

“I don’t care who I get as long as it’s not Hager. Because I can’t punch him in the dick and call it a present to humanity.” I mumbled, shrugging lazily as I scrolled Twitter.

More to the point, I may or may not have been scrolling Trent’s Twitter… For the fourth time that day. As soon as Kris caught onto it, she smiled and teased quietly, “But you’d really like it if you got Trent’s name.. Right?”

“I mean.. I wouldn’t exactly complain.” I answered Kris, putting down my phone and looking up at her, laughing softly. I could feel someone staring at me but I didn’t bother turning around. It was probably Hager again, being gross.. Again.

The baseball cap made it’s way to our table. Kris went first, pulling out a slip of paper.

“Ooh.”

“What’s ooh? Did you get OC?” I asked, teasing a little.

“No, actually.” Kris was giving me this smug little smirk. I pretty well knew she wasn’t going to tell me just yet. And it didn’t really bother me.

I eyed the baseball cap. “Well, here goes nothing. Please baby Jesus in the manger, don’t be Hager. Don’t be Hager..” I reached in and grabbed at two slips, letting the first one settle back in the hat and pulling out the second. I opened it, eyes scrolling over the writing on the page.

“Oh thank god. It’s not Hager.” I may or may not have said it a little too loud, because at the table behind us, I heard Chuck Taylor start snickering, immediately launching into an impersonation of Hager that prompted me to turn and laugh as I nodded and gave him the thumbs up.

“You have to sound dumb as a brick next time though, Chuckie.. Man’s as dumb as a brick.”

“Noted, darlin. Who did you two get, huh?” Chuck asked Kris and I.

“We’re not supposed to tell! That ruins the whole surprise!” Kris’ eyes went wide. I laughed and shook my head. I nodded my head subtly towards Kris when she was preoccupied and Chuck smirked, leaning in to whisper, “Just shove her in a room with Orange. Pretty sure it’ll make both their Christmas real jolly.”

“Noted, Chucky boy.”

Knowing that Chuck was one of exactly 3 people who kind of knew about my little crush on Trent, I leaned in a second later and whispered, “Any idea who got Trent’s name?”

Chuck shrugged but he waited and leaned across the aisle when everybody else was occupied or talking and muttered quietly, “If I find out, I’ll send ‘em your way.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I got Kris, but I’ve already got her a present or two.” I explained. And honestly, after that I totally forgot about the whole thing.

XXX

“Who did you get, man?” Chuck asked the question because Trent was.. In deep thought mode and hadn’t been listening to at least the last ten minutes of the conversation currently going on around him. The question was enough to pull Trent out of his deep thought and Trent chuckled, raising his hips so that he could dig around in the pockets of his jeans to find the slip of paper he’d drawn earlier that night in Catering when they all drew names.

Chuck took the slip and looked at it, promptly chuckling.

“So you’re going for it, huh?”

“Mhm. Was there any doubt though, Chuckie?”

“Good. Good, man.”

Orange spoke up from the back. “I got Trent.”

Trent chuckled.

“Thinkin about tradin though. Found something I wanted to get Kris.”

Chuck rubbed his chin thoughtfully and filed away what Orange revealed for later. Maybe he’d run into his friend again later, when he didn’t have Trent and Orange hanging around.

Orange eyed Chuck and asked, “Who’d you get?”

“Stunt. I’ll get the kid some guitar strings and a few picks or something. That’ll be a damn breeze.”

“Excuse me, did you say you were trading my name, Orange? I thought we were buds.” Trent pretended to pout and Orange rubbed his chin, smirking as he shrugged. He sank back against the backseat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “We are. Just thought it was time I did something.”

“Yeah, same thing with me. I get it, man.” Trent explained. And he smirked to himself, because he had more than a few ideas just how he could go about what he had in mind.

XXX

I’d just stepped into the hotel lobby when an arm shot out from behind the christmas tree tucked away in the corner. I’d been just about to start swinging when I realized it was Chuckie.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“I have news.”

“Yeah?” I eyed him, wondering what the hell was up. When he explained that he knew who’d gotten Trent’s name and that this person might be willing to trade, especially if I had Kris’ name… I nodded, smirking and giving Chuck a high five. “Take me to this person. Let’s do this. I’m ready for things to… Finally come out.”

Chuck gave me this smirk that gave me the distinct feeling that there was more that he wasn’t saying, but instead of pressing him for it, I chose to follow along. We wound up by the vending machines and while I waited and Chuck texted whoever he was telling me about just a second or two ago, I got myself some junk food and a few sodas for the night, promptly popping the top on a wild cherry Pepsi and taking myself a seat on the floor, my back to the machine.

About a minute later, Orange Cassidy appeared, leaning lazily in the doorway, smirking as he rubbed his chin. “She’s the one, huh?” and he went quiet again, as if he were in thought. “You have Kris’ name?”

“I do, yeah. I already got her presents that I want to give her… Hey, wait… Are you looking for her name specifically?” I flashed Orange a teasing grin and he shrugged, answering with a quiet “Maybe.”

I dug around, producing the slip of paper, holding it out. Orange dug the slip of paper with Trent’s name on it out of his jacket pocket, but before he handed it over, he gave a teasing smirk. “At least you’re cool.”

“I,uh.. Thanks I think?” I dragged my hand through my hair and gave a soft laugh and as we switched names, I asked, “This stays between us… Right?”

“Definitely. See ya around. Chuck, Trent’s looking for you.” Orange nodded towards the check in desk. After another second or two of Chuck teasing me and saying that he should have known I had a thing for Trent because apparently I wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought I was, Chuck and Orange left, leaving me sitting there to finish off my Pepsi in silence as I waited on the line at the check in desk to die down just a little.

And as I did that, I scoured a few shopping sites, trying to settle on what exactly I wanted to get Trent for Christmas, while mumbling to myself audibly, “I should just show up on the night we’re to meet up face to face in a big red bow…”

From behind me, I heard Kris giggle.

“So you did get Trent…” Kris mused, flopping down to sit beside me. I smiled and nodded. There was absolutely no way I was going to ruin the whole surprise where Orange willingly trading around til he wound up with her name was concerned, so for now, I saw no need in mentioning that I’d traded.

“It might be a little cold for your idea just now.” Kris cautioned and I gave a laugh, shrugging it off. “It was just a thought. I think I’m gonna get him a gag gift the first night.. Something that’ll make him blush.. Oooooh.. Hey.. do you feel like going to that adult store in town with me in the morning before we hit the gym?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Massage oils. And a new neck pillow for flights. He gets the worst tension in his neck I’ve noticed..”

“Flavored massage oils?” Kris taunted, poking her tongue out at me.

I pretended to be shocked and gaped at her. “I.. Never said that… I mean, not exactly...”

“I know how your mind works, A.” Kris teased me gently and I gulped, blushing a little over how well she managed to call me out just now. “That is an idea to file away for the future… I mean.. If this all doesn’t backfire in my face.” I pulled myself off of the floor that I’d been sitting inappropriately on, and I reached out, grabbing for the heels I’d pretty much abandoned upon entering the building.

“Still think those new stilettos were good for tonight?” Kris was teasing me again and I laughed it off as I debated on whether I actually wanted to put them back on and have my feet screaming at me in sheer agony.

I quickly decided that no, no I did not feel up to that tonight.

“They made my ass in these jeans look amazing, so yeah. Yeah I do, Kris.” I taunted, making her laugh and shake her head as she remarked, “Opposites attract is definitely true in your case, huh?”

“God, yes.. And speaking of opposites, there he is now..”

I stared like a helpless idiot as Trent walked past with Orange and Chuck flanking him. Chuck managed to look back and catch me staring, holding up two fingers. To anybody else that would’ve been a peace sign. But to me, that was a reminder.

I had two nights until I was face to face with Trent, revealing myself and probably, everything I felt for the guy.

XXX

“You’re actually giving her the present.. Wrapped like that.” Chuck was trying his best to hold in laughter. Almost failing miserably, but he was trying. Trent eyed the box he held in his hand and smirked at Chuck, nodding. “I am, why? What the hell is wrong with my mom’s leftover wrapping paper, huh?”

,, for starters you wrapped it so bad it reads le tits now, but hey.. You do you, buddy.” Chuck could’ve said it, but what Trent was doing was a huge deal. It was something Trent probably should’ve done a while ago, as opposed to just keeping his feelings to himself and going above and beyond to kind of keep his distance from the girl in question unless they had to interact.

Because yeah.. While all the quiet staring and the pining going on was cute as hell between the two, it was getting to a point where the sexual tension was so heavy that literally everyone around them was suffering for it also.

“Tonights night one, man.”

“That it is, Chuck.” Trent took a long and deep breath, almost as if he were centering himself. He waited until no one was looking and made his way into Catering, over to the decorated tree that sat on top of a table in the back already loaded down with presents.

And when he knew the coast was clear, he stuck the box on the nearest pile and quickly, he walked out of catering.

XXX

Everybody was already crowded into Catering when Kris and I made our way into the room and found a seat close to the door. I let the stilettos on my feet hit the floor with a soft thud and tugged my hair free. The blazer I’d been wearing that evening to conduct my two backstage interviews was sitting on the tabletop in front of me, right next to my travel bag.

Britt named herself Santa for the night, so she was calling out names. I was talking quietly to Kris, only half listening for my own to be called.

We were trying to anticipate who we might have gotten. I was trying to resist the urge to tell Kris that Orange had gotten her name. I was more than a little excited for her because just the sheer joy that she had over having managed to get his name was enough to make me truly happy.

I wasn’t terribly worried about who might have gotten my name, because the important thing here was that I’d taken steps to make sure I wound up with Trent’s name. That I was finally doing something I should’ve done months ago.

Britt must have called my name more than a time or two, because I looked up to find Brandi standing over me, trying not to double over laughing as she held out a hastily wrapped gift.

The wrapping paper caught my eye immediately. Whoever wrapped it had chosen wrapping paper that was pretty.. Shiny and sparkly, with silver snowflakes and pale blue lettering. The bow tied on the package somehow did not fit the packaging itself, but honestly, I just couldn’t stop staring at the way Let It Snow was turned into Le TitS now because of the way my Secret Santa had hastily wrapped the box.

I swallowed hard, getting a bit of a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach because at this point, I was at least 90 percent sure that the wrapping paper itself was a clue of some sort.

“Le TitS now, huh? Hager, are you the secret santa? Because if you’re behind this, man.. I can personally assure you, you dumb fucking Okie, you are.. Not even on the bottom of the very short list of men I’d willingly show my tits to.” I mumbled aloud.

“Well? Are you at least going to open it?” Kris asked from beside me. Brandi was watching expectantly too and under the pressure, I tore into the gift after neatly removing the way the bow had been tied so pretty and so carefully.

I wanted to keep that.

“Ooh, you’re gonna keep the bow, right?”

“It’s beautiful, Fuck yes.” I answered Kris as I gaped at the black velvet box in my hand. The other hand raised, catching in dark waves and tousling as my mouth opened and closed. “This is.. Okay.. Let me breathe here, I…”

I was at a complete and total loss for words suddenly.

And when I opened the box and spied the silver necklace with a shooting star pendant that I’d probably made 3 trips past a certain jewelry store in the mall in town just to stare at it…

Jake Hager spoke up from behind me.

“If you want, darlin. I can fasten it.”

“Ew, no! Fuck right off, you dumb Okie. Oh and if you’re the one who got me this, thanks but… This is as far as it goes, Hager. You’re not, nor will you ever be… Seeing any tits.”

Jake gave me a blank look and shrugged, wandering off. Kris was trying not to die laughing from beside me, as were Chuck,Trent and Orange from the table across from ours. I turned to Kris and held it out carefully. “Will you put it on? You’re probably the one other person I trust to do it without trying to cop a feel at this rate.”

“Except the guy you wish would cop a feel.” Kris muttered, making me gaze briefly at Trent, watching as he opened the tiffany blue and white wrapped gift box that contained what I’d gotten him.

When I saw the way his eyes lit up, I let out a ragged breath. Somehow, I got the feeling that he’d enjoy the controller. And the neck massager pillow that he was putting around his neck already, a goofy grin playing at his lips as he sank back against the booth and muttered aloud, “Nobody talk to me. I’m takin a nap.”

I couldn’t resist saying something.

“It’s.. heated, I think? There’s a little button on the back to turn on the heat. I..”

,, you absolute goof, what the fuck are you doing, A?” my mind shrieked as soon as the words left my mouth. I covered quickly, the words tumbling out of my mouth almost breathlessly as Trent’s eyes fluttered open and locked on me intently. When he licked his lips while still staring, I had to cross my legs under the table.

“It does, huh? Awesome.” Trent flashed me that cocky grin and I wanted to melt. If I thought forming words was a bit of a struggle before, compared to now, it seemed so much easier.

“Yeah.. I uhh.. I have a pink one.” I finally managed to stammer, going back to my own conversation and gushing over the necklace sitting around my neck out loud and excitedly with Kris.

I mean, it wasn’t a lie. I did have a pink one exactly like it. And a red one. And I’d actually said a lot more than usual to him tonight. Without stammering or saying the wrong thing entirely like I tended to on occasion.

XXX

“Did you see her face light up?” Trent was still on cloud 9 after watching her open the secret Santa gift earlier in the night. Now he was texting his mother to see if the gift he’d gotten her for the last night of the gift exchange had shown up yet.

Chuck spoke up, chuckling. “Was funny as hell when she told Hager he didn’t stand a chance in hell, man. And then when he tried to sneak up on her under that mistletoe that Brandi put up earlier, her threatening him with her shoe.”

Trent chuckled, even though his jaw set firmly and he grumbled. Right after Jake had tried pulling that stunt, he’d gotten the guy off to himself and quickly told him if he caught him attempting it again, he was going to take him outside.

Lucky for Jake, Chuck and Orange managed to get between the two. Because Trent was personally beyond fed up of the disgusting way that Jake behaved around her all the time. She shouldn’t have to threaten the guy with mase or a knee to the nuts to make him leave her alone.

No woman should.

“You know.. You could’ve done it, man. You could’ve snuck up on her.” Chuck teased his best friend as he glanced over at him.

“I’m saving that for tomorrow, Chuck. I have a plan, remember?”

“Says the man who wrapped the gift so that it read ‘le tits now’.” Orange chuckled from the backseat.

Chuck and Orange burst into laughter and Trent grumbled, smiling and laughing as he flipped them both off. “Yeah, well neither of you saw to point it out either.”

“I assumed you could read the damn packaging? My bad, Trenty.”

“I was just too caught up in getting to the arena and giving it to her, man. You know I’ve been waiting to do this a while!” Trent groaned as he let his head fall back against the headrest behind it and laughed.

“Maybe you should just let Sue wrap it this time, huh?”

“That’s not entirely a bad idea.” Trent chuckled as he said it, texting his mom to ask if she’d mind wrapping the present for him when it finally got to her place the next morning.

“She knew it said that too?” he grumbled aloud a few seconds later when his eyes scanned his mother’s response text.

[ mama bear ] I wanted to tell you before you left but you were so excited…

[ mama bear ] Did she like the necklace, son? I thought it was beautiful…

[ trentylocks] She loved it, mom. Was excited, doing that cute thing where she talks loud and giggles a lot, talking with her hands. Just wish me luck for tomorrow, please? I’m gonna need it.

[ trentylocks ] She loved the bow you tied just as much, by the way. ;) She kept it. When I saw her leaving the arena, she had it tied around her wrist.

[ trentylocks] Did you still want me to invite her over for dinner?

[ mama bear] You talk so much about her, of course! I have to meet her. Make sure she’s sweet enough for my baby.

[ mama bear ] I see you, trying to get her brownie points. But I’m glad she liked the bow. Says a lot about her that she kept it.

Trent slipped his phone back into his pocket and started to nod off, awakening when Chuck cleared his throat and asked aloud, “So what did you get her for tomorrow night?”

Trent smirked. “For the actual present, I got her a photo album. Because remember that time we were in the airport and her luggage burst? And the pictures inside it went everywhere?”

“Awww, for a cranky jerk, you can be sweet sometimes, Trenty.”

“Look who’s talkin, bigger cranky jerk. I also got her an actual warm blanket. Because she’s always walking around with that fuzzy pink thin one draped around her like she’s cold as hell. And roses. But I’m not givin’ her those until we’re face to face.”

“You giant sap.” Chuck teased his best friend as he grinned. “If it helps, man.. I don’t think you have to worry about tomorrow night going south. I think things might surprise you with how they turn out.”

“Oh you do, huh? What are you now, a psychic, Taylor?” Trent asked, giving Chuck a raised brow, wondering why he got the feeling that Chuck definitely knew more than he was saying.

“No, I just know how to read that particular girl, Beretta.” Chuck smirked, not even having to look over to know that Trent was giving him a dirty look at the reminder that Chuck had become friends with her first.

XXX

[ dad] Well, how did the secret santa go, sweetpea?

[dad] did this Trent like his present?

I smiled as I read the texts from my dad while standing in line to check into the hotel. After a second or two, I answered.

[sweetpea] He did! I’m glad I took your advice and didn’t try to go overboard. Now it leaves the romantic part for tomorrow night. Thank you, sir!

[sweet pea] remember that necklace I told you I was thinking about getting myself? The one like mama’s? I don’t have to… apparently, my secret santa knew somehow that I liked it and got it for me?

[ sweet pea ] But the way they wrapped the present, oh my god. I nearly died laughing.

[dad] you should call around. Find a restaurant. Your mama.. She liked cozy candlelit dinners. Just a thought.

[ dad] they did, huh? That’s good! Be careful driving to the hotel, sweetpea. The news said snow for your area tonight.

[sweetpea] Night, daddy. Don’t stay up all night watching the news or Blue Bloods. Go to bed, sir.

I put my phone away and at the tap on my shoulder, I turned. I found myself body to body with Jake Hager. I raised a brow and bit my lip, stepping away from him as quickly as possible. “What’s up?”

His eyes settled on the necklace and he chuckled. “Do you really think I’d have bought you that cheap lookin crap if I were the guy, princess?”

I glared and started to turn around, rolling my eyes. But Jake produced roses from behind his back. I eyed the roses and him and laughed as I shook my head no. “Life pro tip, Jacob.. Save the flowers for your actual girlfriend? Stop wasting your time with me. I have an ideal man and you sir, are not it. And you never will be.”

“Yeah? How about given a guy a chance?”

A throat cleared from behind us and a look around Jake revealed Trent standing there, muscular arms folded over his chest as he smirked at Jake.

“Do you have a fucking hearing problem, Hager? Or are you really that damn dense? She’s told you a thousand times to get bent by now.”

Somehow, in the midst of all this, I wound up right between Trent and Jake.. with my back pressed right against Trent’s chest. I gulped and tried like hell to hold myself together, but it just wasn’t working.

“Hey, whoa.. Can we just not, boys? Please?” I knew Jake would ignore me because he always does, so when I asked the question, I chose to turn.. Body to body with Trent.. And lock eyes with him, biting my lip and giving him my best pleading look.

Because holy hell, is it awkward when people make a scene like this.

Trent was glaring, tensing up all over. But at my question, he seemed to un-tense just slightly, tearing his eyes off of Jake to gaze down at me. “Yeah. He’s not fucking worth it anyway.”

“Exactly, Trent.” I muttered quietly, swallowing hard because I was lost in deep brown eyes and I knew it. And I couldn’t pull myself away from him, either.

The clerk’s throat cleared and gingerly, I managed to finally break gazes with him and stepped back, pouting before I turned to face the front and check into the hotel.

XXX

“You ready for this, man? Tonight is the big night.”

Trent chuckled, nodding. “It is. My mom came by earlier and dropped this off. Already wrapped.”

“You got the roses right, buddy?”

“Mhm. Over there.” Trent nodded to a dozen long stemmed red roses. Almost the same vibrant red as the lipstick she always wore.

He smoothed a hand over his hair and eyed the stupid jacket he was wearing. “This is a bit much.”

“It kind of is, man. A isn’t.. She’s not into male model types, man. Just dress comfortable.” Chuck shrugged as he chuckled. Trent took off the jacket and tossed it lazily at the second bed in the room and after he grabbed his key, he started out the door.

“I won’t wait up for you, man.”

Trent paused and gave him a laugh and shrug as he stepped out and into the hallway.

On the surface, he seemed calm, but on the inside?

An actual nervous wreck.

He knew she liked the presents she’d unwrapped in Catering earlier in the night, she hadn’t been without the blanket that he’d gotten her to unwrap there for the duration of the show. And as soon as she’d opened the photo album, she got the softest smile on her face, trailing her fingers over the cover.

She’d looked around the room and then gone back to whispering to Kris. But he’d managed to over hear her say that she knew it wasn’t Hager, because Hager had the emotional depth of a teaspoon and never would’ve thought to get her something as thoughtful as an actual photo album as opposed to her just tossing her photos in her luggage every time she went on the road.

Trent took a deep breath and made himself focus as he stood waiting on the elevator, goofy grin on his face.

He was meeting her at the town square because there was this huge christmas tree there and he liked the way her eyes lit up every time she saw it. It felt like time dragged at a hellish and slow pace from the time he was out in the parking lot, waiting on the Uber he’d called, to the time that Uber was pulling to a stop at the little park.

When he got out, he caught sight of her, approaching from the opposite direction. So he hung back, watched her walking past as he worked on getting himself reasonably pulled together and mentally prepared to reveal himself to her.

He let her settle in on the bench closest to the lit up tree and after a few deep breaths, he stepped out, roses in hand, clearing his throat.

XXX

[galaxybae] well? Is anyone there?

[galaxybae] are you sure this dress I borrowed was a good idea for tonight, A? I feel so damn naked right now…

[galaxybae] answer your texts woman.

[brunettebarbiedoll] not yet.. What about on your end? See anybody familiar?

I typed in the response to her first text and briefly, because i felt the sensation of being stared at intently, almost to the point of literal eye-fucking… It had my thighs clenching. It had me sitting up, alert and looking around, then pouting when I didn’t see anyone right away. I wandered over to the lit Christmas tree, a soft smile coming as the warm twinkle of soft white lights shined on me.

I felt good about tonight. Tonight’s secret santa gifts had pretty much blown my fear and theory that Hager was my secret Santa out of the water because Hager lacked the emotional depth and the practicality to pick out the gifts that my secret Santa had chosen for me.

At the thought, I snuggled tighter into my jacket, wishing I’d lugged the oversized plush winter white throw blanket along with me for both warmth and the comfort it made me feel.. As if I were being wrapped in a warm embrace whenever I had it wrapped around me.

And it didn’t go amiss by me that it smelled familiar somehow. Like a cologne I’d smelled somewhere, on more than one occasion.

And that thought further had me giving a soft and sappy smile over the thought of the gift. My fingers drifted upward, lingering at the shooting star charm that hung from the necklace that had been my gift the night before.

And I realized that I still hadn’t answered Kris’ two other texts. I sighed and looked around again, still seeing nobody around and yet, still feeling as if I were being visually fucked somehow.

Not in bad way though. Just… hungry, maybe.

,, it’s just the frenzy you’ve got yourself worked up into.”

I eyed my watch. I hoped my secret Santa showed themselves soon, because I still had to get through revealing myself to Trent.

And boy, was I ever a bundle of raw nerves over it.

[brunettebarbiedoll] Still nobody. I guess my secret Santa is gonna remain a secret? Either way, I’m kind of starting to get really nervous because I still have to wait on Trent to get here and reveal myself.

[galaxybae] Don’t you dare leave!

[galaxybae] Oh.. Oh.. i.. I think my person is here. Gotta go, bye!

I smiled to myself and put the phone away just as I felt my eyes being covered with something and then felt myself being turned around, what felt like flower stems being placed into my hands. I caught a whiff of the same cologne that I’d smelled on the blanket earlier and I swallowed hard. “Hey, no fair. You’re supposed to reveal yourself, sir.” I managed to get the words out as my body brushed against hardened muscle when I was pulled closer. So much closer. And arms wrapped around my waist.

I gaped as the fabric that had been placed over my eyes was lowered and it gave way to me standing body to body with Trent. Who was staring down at me intently, this soft smirk playing at his lips.

“Trent?”

“Mhm.” he chuckled quietly, a hand moving from it’s resting spot across my lower back to drag through thick dark hair.

I couldn’t help the fit of giggles that came. He eyed me with a brow raised and when my giggle fit finally died away, I explained with a teasing smile, “I was supposed to be meeting you here to reveal myself to you.”

His eyes widened and he chuckled. “Vanilla massage oil, hm?”

“In my defense, you always seem tense?” I bit my lip as I laughed softly. I was melting into him, awestruck at the realization that my forehead hit almost perfectly at the center of his chest. He used his grip on my body to pull me up a little and I wrapped my legs around his waist, making him laugh as our mouths brushed against each other clumsily.

“Was it an offer though, hmm?” Trent questioned, licking his lips as his eyes locked on my mouth.

“Possibly. I mean, I am pretty good at massages...” I teased, daring to trace the outline of his mouth with my tongue. Which only had him tangling a hand in the hair at the back of my hair and pulling my mouth against his completely.

The kiss broke and we pulled apart. I climbed out of his arms and leaned against him, raising to tiptoe to press another kiss against his lips as I muttered, “Are you hungry, Trent?”

“I could eat, yeah.. Why?”

“Well, there’s this cozy little place about a block away, I.. Kind of thought that maybe if things went okay when I had to meet you here, I’d ask you if you wanted to go with me?”

He grinned and slipped an arm around me, pulling me into his side as we made our way down the sidewalk.

“Did you wrap the first present the way you did intentionally?”

“No, I didn’t actually.” Trent answered, giving a sheepish laugh. “Did you think I did?”

“Well, when I thought was Hager, I didn’t think it was a stretch to imagine that yeah, he’d purposely done it. For the record.. If you wanted to see my tits, all you had to do was ask.” I teased, not stopping to think how suggestive what I said actually sounded until it left my mouth and I saw Trent’s jaw drop, and a flash of hunger flash in his eyes as he leaned down and muttered against the shell of my ear, “Ya know… I might actually take you up on that, doll.”

#12daysofchristmas #12 days of christmas #trent beretta imagine #trent beretta fanfiction #trent beretta fanfic #trent beretta imagines #trent beretta one shot #my writing; trent beretta #my fics; trent beretta #my oneshots; trent beretta

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angelofrainfrogs · 4 years ago

Text

A Recollection

Fandoms: The Bartimaeus Trilogy

Description: Upon finding a book about unexplained events in human history, Bartimaeus recalls one of the many times he and Faquarl were forced to work together towards a common goal.

Rating: K+

Genre: General/Humor

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322109

Note: This fic is dedicated to rat man and was written for the 2020 Holiday Secret Santa in the Bartimaeus discord server. The request was to write something including Faquarl and as I was thinking of historical events to write about, the one included in this fic came to mind and wouldn't leave and, well... here's the result! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

A Recollection

“So, Nat… any pressing tasks I need to take care of?” I asked, leaning on the corner of the boy’s desk and resting my chin on my palms, staring up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Would you like a cup of tea? A shoulder massage, perhaps?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only response I got, Nathaniel’s eyes glued to the stack of papers in front of him.

“Maybe you’d like me to go fetch some fresh water from the Thames? I’m sure it only has a few hundred toxins that could kill you.”

Another grunt, this time accompanied with a vague hand gesture to go away. I sighed, annoyed.

“Or maybe, you’d like a kick in the—”

“Bartimaeus, will you shut up?!” Nathaniel snapped, finally acknowledging my existence for the first time that afternoon. “I don’t need anything right now; just go read a book or something and stop bothering me. I have a lot of paperwork to review about these recent Resistance attacks.”

“You know, you could always dismiss me if you have no need of me…,” I suggested, a hint of false hopefulness in my tone. I knew full well the boy would do no such thing, and the withering look he gave me proved as such.

“Ugh, just…” He paused, then pointed to a bookcase on the other side of his fairly large office. “I charge you to go read a book from that shelf over there.”

“Doesn’t work if I’m not in a pentacle,” I said smartly, but he merely rolled his eyes and went back to his work.

I sighed again, deciding to it not worth the effort of my waning essence to harass him anymore[1]. Instead, I walked to the other side of the room and looked at the decently-sized bookshelf, wondering what sort of texts a young member of the British government read in his nonexistent free time.

I pulled one out at random; the title read “Unexplained Phenomenon of the Americas” and had a grainy black and white picture of a forest with some unidentifiable, luminescent creature on the front cover. I opened it to a random page, curious to see what sort of things were in here that could easily be explained by magic. My eyes widened as they scanned the page.

“Unbelievable,” I murmured, reading the heading and date of the event. Instantly, my mind drifted back a few decades, remembering a time I’d been working with an all-too-familiar djinni…

***

“So… where exactly are we meant to be dropping this stuff off?” I asked, one beady vulture’s eye trained on my companion.

“We weren’t given a specific place; it’s up to us to make sure that whatever we do with this, it’s ��untraceable.’” The other, slightly bulkier vulture[2] said, metaphorically rolling his black eyes. “Weren’t you listening to the instructions?”

“Eh… not really.” I attempted a shrug, a difficult gesture to do with wings, let alone ones that were currently being used to fly. “I was more interested in trying to figure out what in the world this stuff is…”

“It’s none of our concern, is it?” My cohort let out annoyed sigh. “Let’s just find a place to dump this and get back; the sooner we can be rid of this charge, the better. My essence is starting to ache.”

I hummed in affirmation and focused forward, scouring the ground for a perfect spot to release our mysterious packages.

As most would surely have guessed, we only appeared as vultures on the first plane. The packages we were carrying were a bit too bulky to conceal with magic without some complex maneuvers that, frankly, neither of us had the strength for.

Faquarl and I had been summoned together a few months ago, an unexpected surprise[3]. The magician was some shady man living in rural America during the 1870’s. He seemed a bit mad, honestly, but to our dismay had at least enough wits about him to perform a summons with all the correct seals to keep us from escaping our bonds. Thus, we were once again forced into servitude by the will of a human.

He had some sort of nasty hobby that I tried not to speculate about, but I never actually got to learn what it was[4]. Our main assignment was to constantly transfer mysterious packages to and from the man’s farmhouse in rural Kentucky. I hadn’t spent much time in the Americas and was curious to explore, but the constant travel was exhausting… not to mention the company I was forced to keep.

Faquarl and I had never gotten along at the best of times, but being the only two spirits around for miles and connected by the same magician forced us to spend much more time together than either of us would like.

“Can’t we just drop this and be done with it?” I asked, debating whether to just go ahead and let the mysterious package fall to the ground. I didn’t need Faquarl’s permission to do anything, of course, but our mutual charge meant it was best to be on at least somewhat of the same page[5].

“Just wait, Bartimaeus,” Faquarl snapped, and I could hear the snarl in his voice. I glared at him as best I could.

“I’m trying to suggest an easy solution, but you just don’t care what I think, do you?”

“No, not really.”

I gasped dramatically, affronted. “Well! Excuse me for trying to make our lives a little less difficult. You’ve always been so stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?!” Faquarl barked a laugh. “Remember that time in Indonesia when you had to-”

“Hey, hey, we agreed never to bring that up again!”

“You agreed with yourself; I made no such promise.” The vulture’s face remained passive as stone, but I caught a glimpse of Faquarl’s snide grin on the 7th plane[6]. I grumbled something under my breath, and then a brilliant idea occurred to me. If Faquarl wouldn’t go along with my plan willingly, maybe there was a way to make him follow along unintentionally.

Still keeping partial focus on my wings to assure I stayed in flight, I skillfully reached into the sack hanging from my claws with a talon, took out a chunk of undistinguishable meat, and hurled it directly at the djinni beside me. It missed him by a mile[7], but the gesture had certainly been noticed.

“Oh, really? Now you’re going to throw a fit?” Again, Faquarl rolled his eyes on a higher plane. “How childish.”

“I’m not ‘throwing a fit,’” I retorted. “I’m trying to add some entertainment to this incredibly dull task.” I quickly grabbed another piece of meat and threw it, this time hitting Faquarl in the side. He squawked indignantly as I let out a gleeful laugh.

“Alright, two can play at this game!” he responded, and I managed to dodge as Faquarl lobbed a chunk of meat at me. It broke into two pieces as it fell to earth, and I jerked my beak towards them in a huff.

“No fair!” I exclaimed. “You can’t throw two at once!”

“I don’t recall there being any rules to this challenge.” I could hear the grin in his voice and suddenly a soft, wet sensation hit my right wing. I nearly lost my balance in the sky but managed to right myself just in time.

“Alright, that’s it!” I yelled, and thus the battle commenced.

I’d like to say it was a brilliant affair, full of wild tricks and subterfuge, but it was hard to do much when your only weapon was various chunks of mystery meat[8]. The fight lasted only a few minutes, stopping when we both realized that our sacks were empty. We glanced at the ground far below to see it littered with pinkish-grey dots. Some pieces had landed on and around a little house, outside of which a woman was currently standing with her husband and looking quite frazzled.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done…,” Faquarl groaned, surveying the damage. “Now we have to go clean all this up!”

“Do we?” I asked, and he trained a questioning beady eye upon me. “I mean, our charge was to dispose of the contents in the sacks, correct?”

“In an untraceable way, yes.”

“We’re miles away from our master; I doubt the humans would be able to trace this back to him. Besides-” Faquarl looked about to speak again, but I continued. “Have you been able to tell what this stuff actually is?”

“Well… no,” the djinni admitted reluctantly. I knew he always hated when I was right[9].

“Then do you really think mere humans will be able to distinguish it?”

“…Probably not.”

“Exactly!” I did a summersault in the air, one of the only flashy gestures I could make in my avian form. “So, technically, our charge has been complete.”

Faquarl remained silent for a few moments, desperately trying to think of how to prove me wrong. I did realize that my logic regarding the situation wasn’t rock-solid; I knew a particularly clever human could probably figure out the type of meat, and maybe enough investigation would eventually trace it back to the magician. Faquarl could easily bring these things up, but I knew he was just as tired as I was and presumably wanted go back to the Other Place equally as bad.

“…Fine,” he relented with a sigh. “We’ll go back and tell our master that our charge is complete. But if this comes back to bite us, you’re taking all the blame.”

I made an astonished noise as we simultaneously turned around and began flying back towards the magician’s house. “Now, now, you were a big part of that fight; you can’t go blaming me! I thought we were in an equal partnership here!”

“Only in your dreams are you in any way equivalent to me, Bartimaeus.” I heard the sneer in Faquarl’s voice and wished I’d saved one last piece of mystery meat for a surprise attack. As it was, I merely grumbled back something that I shall not be repeating here, then quickly sped up as my fellow djinni let out a screech of rage and dashed towards me.

A few days after we returned to our master’s house, we were dismissed. I bid Faquarl a not-so-friendly farewell and blissfully returned to the Other Place, not knowing when I’d see my unwilling compatriot again.

***

“What in the world are you smirking at over there?!” Nathaniel’s shrill voice cut violently into my reminiscing. I glanced at the boy to see him staring at me with a pinched expression on his face.

“Oh, just remembering the old days,” I said, sighing wistfully. “The days when I had masters who knew how to buy clothes that fit properly, and to wash their hair more than twice a year—you really ought to take a shower, though, Nat—and who—”

“Be silent, demon!” the boy hissed at me, and I placed a hand to my heart in mock horror.

“Goodness, someone’s in a bad mood today!”

“I’m trying to work and you’re over in the corner giggling and grinning like a maniac. If you can’t be silent, I’ll send you out on your rounds earlier than usual tonight.”

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, not in the mood to go out into the dreary streets of London any sooner than was necessary. “For the next few hours, you won’t even know I’m here.”

“See to it that I don’t.”

I rolled my eyes as Nathaniel focused back on his papers. I closed the book in my hands, lingering over the cover for a few seconds before slipping it neatly back into its place on the shelf. Then, I flopped down on the rather uncomfortable couch and waited for night to fall, casting my mind back to my most recent encounter with Faquarl a few years prior and wondering what, if anything, the djinni was up to now.

***

[1] At the current moment, that is. I’d be back at it again by suppertime.[Return to text]

[2] Though he would never admit it, I knew the slightly more formidable appearance was an unnecessary but very deliberate attempt to ruffle my feathers. It didn’t work, of course.[Return to text]

[3] Yet surprisingly not unwelcome. Though we considered each other nemeses by this point in time, it had been so long since I’d seen a familiar face during a summons that it was a welcome relief to be around someone I knew, even if we did hate each other’s guts.[Return to text]

[4] I was quite happy about this, mind you; most humans are weird, but some are just plain depraved. I had a feeling this man fell squarely into the latter category.[Return to text]

[5] I don’t need permission from anyone to do as I please, but the threat of a magician’s crippling fire can be quite convincing at times.[Return to text]

[6] Though it was hard to tell exactly what expression his true form was wearing, what with all the writhing tentacles and other assorted bits.[Return to text]

[7] What can I say, I was out of practice. I hadn’t tried to physically fight Faquarl for decades, since the last time nearly ended with my ear being sliced off by a wayward kitchen knife.[Return to text]

[8] Although I did perform some particularly stellar acrobatics in midair in my attempts to dodge.[Return to text]

[9] I, however, rather enjoyed watching Faquarl fume when he was proven wrong.[Return to text]

Notes: The Kentucky meat shower was a real event that happened in on March 3, 1876. For a few minutes between the hours of 11 and 12 in the morning, what appeared to be chunks of red meat fell from the sky in a 100x50 yard (91x46 m) area near the settlement of Rankin in Bath County, Kentucky. There are several explanations as to how this occurred and what the "meat" was, the most popular being the vulture theory, in which a group of vultures regurgitated their meals; and the pieces fell to earth from a reasonable height. The exact type of meat was never identified, although various reports suggested it was beef, lamb, deer, bear, horse, or even human.

#fanfic #fanfiction #bartimaeus #the bartimaeus trilogy #the bartimaeus sequence #faquarl #nathaniel #the golemn's eye #flashbacks #based on real events #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r

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sagehaleyofficial · 5 years ago

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HERE’S WHAT YOU MISSED THIS WEEK (1.15-1.21.20):

NEW MUSIC:

· Vic Fuentes of Pierce the Veil teased new music in a number of Instagram stories, where the singer showed how he uses software to layer vocals. The frontman ended the videos by saying he can’t wait until we hear the song.

· Four Year Strong took to social media to announce they will be releasing their new album, Brain Pain, on February 28 via Pure Noise Records. The band also released two new songs, “Talking Myself in Circles” and the title track “Brain Pain.”

· Blink-182’s Travis Barker and Machine Gun Kelly participated in an interview at the Beats 1 studio, where they announced to host Zane Lowe the title of MGK’s upcoming pop-punk album, Tickets to My Downfall. The album will also feature Escape the Fate’s Kevin Gruft.

· Paramore frontwoman Hayley Williams teased more from her Petals for Armor project, posting another black box with the caption “Nothing cuts like a mother.” The Instagram page also posted screenshots from multiple movies including Bird Box and Kidnap.

· Green Day dropped their newest single off their upcoming album Father of All…, titled “Oh Yeah!”. The accompanying music video pokes fun at modern interactions due to the influence of technology.

· Derek Sanders of Mayday Parade announced that he will be releasing a solo record in 2020, a five-song EP titled My Rock and Roll Heart. The EP is scheduled to drop on Valentine’s Day and will feature a cover of Jimmy Eat World’s “A Praise Chorus.”

· Anti-Flag released a live, in-studio, full-length album playthrough of their newest record, 20/20 Vision. The multi-cam video gives us a look at what everyone is doing to create such a killer album.

· Grayscale dropped a live music video for “Tommy’s Song,” a tribute to lead singer Collin Walsh’s late cousin, and are raising money for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The band revealed that they have raised close to $2,500 in donations.

· Creeper dropped the second single off their upcoming album titled “Annabelle,” which premiered on BBC Radio 1. Soon after, the band dropped a second tweet linking fans to the official lyric video.

· Halsey announced that she is releasing an extremely limited version of her new album Manic. The album is now available with its alternate album art and will be signed by the singer, but under her birth name Ashley.

· Australian act Trophy Eyes and WWE star Seth Rollins joined forces for the band’s new music video for the song “Figure Eight.” The music video, or “lyric visual” as they’re calling it, features Rollins lip-syncing to the song as he prepares to fight.

TOUR ANNOUNCEMENTS:

· Jeffree Star recently spoke out to fans regarding the cancellation of his European makeup masterclass tour, due in part to his breakup from longtime boyfriend Nathan Schwandt. Star went on to discuss the complications in his life and that it was more than just the breakup.

· Angels and Airwaves postponed their remaining shows for this month as frontman Tom DeLonge has fallen ill. The band took to social media to tell fans that DeLonge “has come down with a nasty upper respiratory infection.”

· Citizen announced a new tour with support coming from Wicca Phase Springs Eternal, Fury, Snarls and Rosie Tucker. The 19-date tour will begin in Detroit on March 20 and finish off its rounds in Indianapolis on April 24.

· Scary Kids Scaring Kids kicked off their reunion run with Secrets and Push Over, the latter of which features Kurt Travis and Thomas Erak (The Fall of Troy). The band hit the stage for the first time since disbanding following a final tour in 2010.

· Sum 41 canceled the second night of their Paris stop for the No Personal Space tour after an explosive device was detonated outside of the venue’s door. After playing Zénith Paris Friday, the band were set to play a sold-out show at the Les Étoiles Saturday.

· My Chemical Romance unveiled details for their much-teased UK show, taking to YouTube to share a video titled “An Offering…” on their channel before adding the same to social media. The band revealed they will be playing in Milton Keynes at Stadium MK on June 20.

OTHER NEWS:

· Panic! at the Disco’s “High Hopes” has officially held the number one spot on Billboard‘s Hot Rock Songs Chart for 52 straight weeks. The song first hit number one on the chart in November 2018.

· Another defendant in the ongoing Juice WRLD case filed for an extension to February 4. BMG Rights Management requested on January 13 that they have until the new date to respond to the initial complaint filed by Yellowcard.

· My Chemical Romance’s Frank Iero announced that he will be making an appearance in a new movie to premiere at SXSW called Drunk Bus. Iero announced the name of the film through an Instagram post.

· Woes announced their breakup on social media, stating that they are prioritizing their own well-being, but will finish out their journey with a tour in the UK. The group dropped their first and only full-length, Awful Things, last year on June 28.

· Fall Out Boy was the topic of heavy debate in Comedy Central’s new satire video. In the video, which includes former Smosh co-founder Anthony Padilla, we see the panelists engaged in hot debate about whether or not the band’s music is considered emo.

· Panic! at the Disco frontman, Brendon Urie, opened Notes for Notes, a new music studio aimed to help young people create music, at the Boys and Girls Club in Henderson, Nevada. The studio was also made possible by a $500,000 donation from State Farm.

· Post Malone announced he would be making his film debut on TV screens everywhere, starring with Mark Wahlberg in a new Netflix action movie Spenser Confidential. The film was first announced in 2018 and originally titled Wonderland.

· Former Black Veil Brides bassist Ashley Purdy revealed in a new interview that he didn’t choose to depart from the band back in November. In an interview with Sonic Perspectives, he said “Technically, I didn’t leave; I’m just not in the band anymore.”

· Funko unleashed plans for their newest Pop! vinyl figures including ones for bands like Slipknot, Weezer, Ghost and more, plus movies like The Craft and Creepshow. The company has many more figures they will be revealing at the 2020 London Toy Fair.

___

Check in next Tuesday for more “Posi Talk with Sage Haley,” only at @sagehaleyofficial!

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catgirlxox · 5 years ago

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Ben Tennyson′s Best Traits

Just to preface, I think a lot of us in this fandom can agree that when a character acts or is written in a displeasing manner, we tend to dislike them. We may even go so far as to say that we hate these kinds of characters. We end up holding grudges against those who have done us wrong or caused harm to someone we love. Arguably, that is just human nature, even if these grudges can often be considered petty. I will be the first to admit that I am guilty of this.

This is why I find it interesting that the character which has had these unfair circumstances be written into his story or has been bullied by the largely disliked characters in the series does not even do this himself. Quite the opposite, he seems to be much more cooperative, forgiving, and understanding in many cases where I, personally, know that I would not be same way.

It is even credited by the writers that one of Ben’s best traits is his “good heart.”

(Source: Ben 10 Alien Force: The Complete Guide by Tracey West and Katherine Noll)

I’d like to take a moment to commemorate Ben’s best traits, because, as you may know, his “flaws” are a hot debate in this fandom.

Perhaps this is because flaws are something each of us have and therefore we can relate to imperfections and shortcomings.

However, if that is the case, what is the point of criminalizing someone for minor imperfections when the things he is praised for greatly outshine those subjective “flaws”?

These traits are actually argued by some to be inconsistent throughout the series run, typically by those who have a distaste for Omniverse, and interestingly even by some who actually enjoy Omniverse. However, going through the following examples taken from each series in order, it seems that these traits actually are consistent and allow for continuity and even visible character development.

One of the most obvious examples where we can see these traits is Ben’s friendship with Kevin. From the beginning, in the original series episode “Kevin 11″, even after Kevin had betrayed him for the first time, Ben is still shown to be willing to give him another chance.

Kevin : “I guess I went too wild with power. I don’t have anyone else like you to help me.”

Ben: “We can still be partners. We’d just be kicking butts for good instead of for ourselves. You could hang with us.”

According to this episode, Kevin had been abandoned by his parents and he clearly had some untreated mental conditions which clouded his judgement. However, he was still capable of understanding other people’s intentions and, probably due to the life he was living at the time, had still chosen to turn to violence. He disregarded the safety of others as a cause of a petty grudge on those who had apparently done him wrong, or caused him harm, and this only dug him an even deeper grave.

As Kevin said, at the time, there wasn't anyone besides Ben who was willing to try to look past his destructive and damaged way of being in the interest of helping him heal. In spite of this, some have argued that because the Tennysons allowed Kevin to just get away at the end, it makes them responsible for the way Kevin’s life had turned out throughout the next five years.

However, if Ben was to be seen as responsible for getting them kicked out of the hotel for the stunt he pulled in the beginning of the episode, should Kevin not be seen as responsible for his own actions here as well?

Ben had clearly stated that he was willing to help him, and Kevin did not take that chance. He chose to run away instead, perhaps because that was all he knew how to do at that point in his life.

The Omniverse flashbacks which took place between the original series and Alien Force revealed that Kevin was willing to trust others if they had some common ground, namely Proctor Servantis.

The only difference is that Ben was genuine while Servantis was manipulative.

Servantis made Kevin believe that the destruction he could cause would serve a greater purpose, making him part of something bigger than himself. He was no longer alone, and no longer fighting for just himself because he was made to believe that Ben was the problem, and he was the solution.

“Crazy?! I got friends in high places now, brat! I'm the hero, you’re the problem! And all this time you let me think I was the problem, when it’s you! All of you! You’re the problem! And I'm the solution!” - Hybrid Kevin, Omniverse: “Weapon XI: Part 2″

In spite of all of this, come “Ben 10 returns”, Ben puts all of their past differences aside and offers another chance at redemption. Which, as we all know, Kevin takes for real this time.

Prior to “Alone Together”, Ben and his team had been fighting the Highbreed and DNAliens, trying to put an end to their operation.

The Highbreed were literally the cause of so much trauma that the team endured within the first two seasons. The Highbreed are the reason Max had “sacrificed” himself back in “Max Out”, and because “Alone Together” happens before “Voided”, where Max is revealed to still be alive, Ben is still under the impression that Max is gone and he is still grieving.

In spite of this, “Alone Together” shows Ben trying to cooperate with a Highbreed, and even helping him survive, rather than being vengeful and holding a grudge against one of those who had arguably contributed to his own suffering.

The following page (from the Ben 10 Alien Force: The Complete Guide book) credits him for this as well:

If Ben had not taken the initiative to try to find a common ground with Reiny so that they could survive their temporary stay on Turrawuste, and continued to attempt to persuade him to change his ideology, do you really think that Reiny would have done so on his own?

All of Ben’s efforts shown here are the reason the Highbreed war could be stopped in “War of the Worlds.”

Imagine what would have happened if the Omnitrix reconstructed the DNA of all Highbreeds, and Reiny didn’t show up to show them that they can still live, even without the “genetic consistency that had been a pillar of their cultural identity for so long.” They seemed to whole-heartedly believe that immediately committing mass suicide would be their only remaining “honorable�� move.

The War would have ended with mass suicide of an entire species had Ben’s kindness and cooperation not impacted Reiny’s world view.

Reinrassig III: “No. There is another way. This human once cured an ailment of mine by changing my DNA. At first, I thought the impurity a curse, but I have since learned otherwise. Fellow Highbreed, we can live.”

The Highbreed were very stuck in their ways due to the beliefs that were deeply ingrained in their culture and mentality. As we know from the real world, societal values change over time as we progress and learn from our history. Because of Ben’s willingness to communicate and cooperate with Reiny in “Alone Together”, everyone was able to move forward in harmony with a new positive outlook on their place in the universe, promoting positive change in societies - something that fighting to the death in search of revenge would not achieve.

Speaking of people who are stuck in their ways, “Reflected Glory” brings back Cash and JT, Ben’s childhood bullies.

“Fame” seemed to attempt to redeem them somewhat, however, their actions in this episode take away from that significantly.

If you take into account all the events that make up Ben’s life throughout Alien Force, and all the burdens he had to carry at the age of fifteen in secret, perhaps you’ll realize that having his identity revealed in Ultimate Alien culminating in what is seemingly a loss of trust by those who he was trying so hard to protect in the first place can be quite damaging.

Where all his efforts for nothing?

Had he risked his life all this time only for members of his own species to disown him?

It wasn't even only immature kids at school, it was grown adults like Will Harangue who publicly spoke ill of a teenage boy they didn't even know personally. And, as you may know, there are some people in this world who will blindly agree with everything they hear, so it wouldn't be surprising if there were other adult viewers of the Harangue Nation who agreed with Harangue’s views.

“Ben Tennyson: threat or menace? Call in with your vote.”

And, if they agree with his hypocritical views, who’s to say they wouldn't also agree with his rather destructive, threatening, and menacing actions?

Attempting to kill a teenager, for instance, as shown in Ultimate Alien’s “Video Games”, and, not taking into account the fact that, if Ben was really a threat, actual law enforcement would get involved rather than working alongside him.

The scene where Ben walks into the school hallway, with all these judging gazes turned his way is very powerful because, knowing Cash and JT, they absolutely could have taken the chance to humiliate him again since Ben had put them in their place in Alien Force’s “The Gauntlet.”

Instead, he got a much deserved round of applause from everyone, including and initiated by Cash and JT.

The only thing that strikes me as problematic about this is the implication that all these immature teenagers have the power to criticise him and make him feel inadequate. They get to choose whether he deserves to be praised or vilified without truly knowing what he had just gone through.

Why should the opinions of people like Cash, JT, or Harangue even matter?

Does Ben not deserve to feel proud of himself regardless of what they think of him?

Do they realize that they are all even still there to make him feel inadequate only because he had saved everyone from being destroyed by the Highbreed through all his work and dedication throughout the first two seasons of Alien Force?

Do they realize the severity of what could have happened?

The DNA aliens were actually innocent people who were abducted. It could have been any of the kids in that hallway. It may be less likely, but it could have even been Harangue himself.

Imagine the mass hysteria of so many missing persons cases across the US, and then realizing it had all been due to aliens that Ben had, not only stopped, but managed to make peace with in the end.

That is why, in “Reflected Glory”, Cash and JT taking advantage of Ben’s fame and wanting to be seen as equal to him, without doing any of the work or enduring practically none of what he has, is disgusting.

It is disgusting because they don’t seem to realize why Ben is famous.

The events that I have just outlined unfold in a sort of butterfly effect. Ben’s actions in the events of one episode have a significant impact on the outcome of a later part of the story.

For example, Ben consistently giving Kevin another chance to redeem himself eventually leads into Kevin actually taking him up on the offer and developing a healthy, productive relationship with Ben and Gwen where he can heal. Or, Ben’s small acts of kindness impacting one Highbreed’s ideology so much that it literally saved the world and changed the values of the entire Highbreed population.

Cash and JT’s excuse is that they feel like “nobodies” due to their own bad choices. I can understand wanting to do good due to being “inspired” by Ben’s heroic deeds, but that is another thing entirely that isn’t even at play in their thought process here.

They thought that Ben owed them for their little round of applause.

Can you really equate Cash and JT swallowing their pride to give Ben the credit he deserved, and Ben risking his life in secret for the majority of Alien Force in order to make sure the entire universe is saved, including people he might not like, such as Cash and JT?

They have the audacity to want to be called heroes, and think that capitalizing on someone else’s past trauma will grant them that title. Cash even partially lied about the “real” reason he needed the money this production will bring in, claiming it was for mother’s operation, rather than just a nose job, knowingly taking advantage of Ben’s good heart and cooperative nature.

As Max put it, “being a hero isn’t about other people knowing you did something good, it’s about you knowing you did something good.”

Because they didn't seem to gain anything from taking Ben’s side at school, it wasn't enough for them to just know they've done something good. Instead, they've chosen to pretend they've done something good by pretending to be the “brains behind Ben 10.” And that in itself would be considered doing something bad instead.

Realistically, Ben didn't have any obligation to allow them to pull him into a gigantic lie for no one’s benefit but their own, but, as shown in the previous examples, Ben’s empathy for those who have taken the wrong path in life seems to be the reason for him allowing them to continue doing this.

However, Cash, JT, and their camera man sticking around, unarmed, while Ben, Gwen, and Kevin are dealing with dangerous criminals just goes to show how negligent Cash and JT are about the safety of others. It can make it harder for Ben to do his job properly if they get in the way, making them a liability. This is exactly what happens once the fight with Psyphon begins. Which, by the way, was actually caused by Psyphon having caught wind of them claiming be the “brains behind Ben 10″ anyway.

A similar thing occurs in Omniverse’s “Collect This”, where others, namely Professor Hokestar, Simian, and Deefus Veeblepister, are trying to capitalize on, what is not only Ben’s achievements, but his entire life at this point.

Can you imagine being a sixteen year old superhero, technically, a full time space cop, your work comparable to that of a soldier, who we know serve their country and risk their life protecting others everyday...and without your knowledge, there are others out there who are just using the concept of your everyday wins and loses to make a profit off of?

Ben is practically dealing with a case of identity theft.

He had every right to be bothered by the idea of someone else taking advantage of his name again. Not only because this has happened to him before, specifically in Ultimate Alien’s “Double or Nothing”, but because along with his name comes all that he has accomplished and endured in order to make that name so famous. To make a profit of it, and possibly make him look bad in the process, without his consent, is an issue.

Instead of focusing on how much this probably aggravated him, he handled the situation in the episode in a reasonable, intelligent, and mature way, showing his character development and how reliable he is. The Earth was about to be “collected”, and Ben put aside all the things that bothered him personally about the situation to prioritize saving the world again, and on a time limit too!

Deefus Veeblepister: “Look kid, I know who you are. I didn’t make ‘Ben 10′ a household name just so your little ‘hero thing’ can steal my thunder.”

“I suggest you make a new name for yourself. It’s confusing!”

Deefus had claimed to have made “Ben 10″ a household name. Meaning, the name is apparently only as famous as it is now due to the TV show produced by Hokestar. However, this is blatantly false, unfair, and offensive.

Just to reiterate what we should all know by now, “Ben 10″ technically became a household name after Ben made peace with the Highbreed in Alien Force’s “War of the Worlds”, news of this success spreading throughout the galaxy, and inspiring beings from other planets to contact Ben personally and award him a medal or ask for help with their own planetary crisis, such as in the Alien Force episodes “Vengeance of Vilgax” and “Simple”, respectively. And, it goes without saying that Ben’s fame spread to Earth come Ultimate Alien.

But, let’s not forget this is all because of what he did. It is as a cause of all the battles he fought and all the pain, loss, fear, and criticism he suffered throughout Alien Force and Ultimate Alien that made him, and his name, so well known. That should not be undermined and reduced to just an insignificant “little hero thing.”

Please realize that this isn’t even something Ben himself ever brings up in the actual episode either. I have no doubt that it bothers him to some extent, but he surprisingly lets them off the hook as long as they don’t cause any more real danger to real people during the process of making their show, and subsequently, stop giving him a bad name.

The, so-called, “real” Ben 10 (Deefus) was supposedly based on the hero Ben 10 (the Ben we know), and that in and of itself implies that he is a representation of the hero Ben 10. But, aside from some similar catchphrases and a colour-scheme accurate costume...the most important part of Ben’s character, the parts that make him a hero, all the good traits I keep outlining, which are derived from his humanity, were lacking. In fact, while pretending to be a hero, this guy actually caused a traffic accident!

It goes without saying that Ben obviously fixed this mess as cleanly and quickly as he could. He absolutely could have taken this chance to be what the fandom deems “immature” and gloat about how he is a much better superhero because he’s the real hero here! Did you see how effortlessly he just saved that guy?!

But he doesn’t do that at all. His actions and words here should clearly point to where his priorities are.

“You put real people in real danger. I’m putting a stop to it.”

Lastly, as shown in this popular Tumblr post, the fandom was very proud of him in the ending scene especially. First of all, he never got an apology for all the trouble they've caused him. Hardly anyone showed Ben the respect he deserved for literally giving them something to capitalize on. But, as soon as Deefus finds something “offensive”, Ben has enough decency to be the better person, apologize, correct himself, and use Deefus’ preferred terminology instead of continuing to be “offensive”, which is very telling considering Ben has probably been offended the entire episode up until now.

Ben: “This guy’s just a Sludgepuppy who turns into pretend aliens.”

Deefus: “Hey! That term is derogatory!”

Ben: “What’s the big deal with the word “Sludgepuppy”l? I’ve got cousins who are Sludgepuppies.”

Deefus: “I’ll have you know it’s a very offensive slur.”

Ben: “Really? Wow. Sorry. Okay, a few Lenopan cousins.”

Even Deefus was taken aback by Ben’s maturity here. And where does that come from, might you ask?

Character development and continuity.

All of these circumstances showcase scenarios that are greatly unfair in Ben’s favour. In spite of this, he is continuously cooperative, understanding, forgiving, and reliable.

Throughout all four series.

#did I just write him a love letter #lowkey #and I regret nothing #anyway I still see people claiming that he's all these bad things #whatever the case may be #but they never use examples like I do #that's what I hate the most #like...explain #plz #writing all this takes time and effort #I should know #but it actually gets your point across #ben 10 #ben tennyson #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #essay files

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itsblissfuloblivion · 5 years ago

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Torch - Chapter 2: October

A/N: YES we have gotten this here AND early!! Enjoy October, HBP style.

Love,

@fightfortherightsofhouseelves

@gryffindormischief

Also on FF and Ao3

Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.

______

The Prince’s book has become something of a bed companion to Harry by now, perusing it at length again and again in his free time. The tips of his fingers lightly trace each scribbled note for the hundredth time, his lips whisper spells he’s never heard of.

It’s how Ron finds himself dangling up in the air from a freckly ankle and how, not much later, Harry lets himself be dragged into an ardent debate with Hermione on whether Levicorpus is or isn’t a jinx.

“Of course it’s a jinx,” Hermione scowls as the trio trots through the autumn wind to Hogsmeade, “Nothing benign would serve to levitate people and expose them like that.”

Harry knows she’s vividly reliving that night at the Quidditch World Cup, when Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends had a laugh levitating Muggles in a disgusting demonstration of soft torture. If he’s honest, he’s also thinking about it and it’s vexing enough that he’d simply like to scratch at the back of his head, where those irksome little thoughts like to hide and play, scratch until they bleed away from him.

Yet more dreary musings come to bother him when the three of them happen upon the unlikely duo of Horace Slughorn and Mundungus Fletcher, and the annoying buzz turns into true Harpies’ screeches as Katie Bell is nearly murdered.

Harry doesn’t much remember a day when he felt he needed some peace of mind more than he does now as everything inside him cries and bawls that it has to do with Malfoy . That the Prince is somehow connected to this and not at all evil. That innocent lives are at risk if nobody’ll take him seriously when he says that Draco Malfoy is plotting something sleazy. Because he is and today is nothing but proof.

Unfortunately, nobody does, not even Professor McGonagall. Not like this, not without concrete evidence and Harry knows deep inside that he won’t rest until he finds some. He only hopes it won’t be too late.

______

After Hogsmeade, Katie’s continuing stay in the Hospital Wing, and yet another unsuccessful attempt to convince anyone that Malfoy is plotting something, Harry somewhat glumly seeks solace in his studies - per Hermione’s advice. Which, in reality was more a long rant detailing exactly where he would end up should he forgo his schoolwork in favor of ‘cockeyed notions’ about admittedly morally grey classmates. For someone who punched said ‘morally grey’ classmate not three years ago, she can be a bit high and mighty at times.

So far though, burying himself in schoolwork has succeeded in keeping his mind occupied, at least in part. Besides, who knew if the secret to finally catching Malfoy in the act was - his eyes skimmed the page again - a perfectly executed Orchideous incantation? Perhaps the slimy git’s true weakness is hay-fever.

Harry’s considering whether Skeeter is right and he has gone ‘round the bend when Ron’s patience with studying silently seems to waver.

“What is it about girls anyway?” Ron huffs between the pages of his Transfiguration copy, his mind clearly not anywhere near the subject of their homework.

“What are you going on about?” Harry asks bemused. “Hope it’s not McGonagall prompting those shower thoughts,” he grins from behind his own textbook as Ron grimaces and closes the tome with a loud bang.

“I mean everyone’s a girl or talking about girls,” Ron carries on and sighs. “It’s absolutely mad, I’m telling you.”

Harry laughs wholeheartedly, following Ron’s example and putting a well deserved pause on his study. Well, not that well deserved since they’ve only been studying for about twenty minutes, but it’s late and they had Quidditch practice all day so who can really blame them.

“No, mate, you’re absolutely mad. Now care to offer some context?”

Ron frowns, draws a breath, then takes a moment as if to ruminate on what he wants to say next.

“That git, Dean, he’s dating my sister,” he winces.

It’s Harry’s turn to scowl. “Yeah, noticed that much.”

“And Hermione looks - erm, so much like a girl now, you know? And less like our friend,” Ron elaborates, completely amiss of Harry’s snide remark. Which is all the better for Harry, really. Ron seems to have too much on his emotional plate anyway.

“You understand what I’m trying to say, right?” Ron hurries to add when Harry doesn’t say anything, his cheeks coloring faintly.

“Hmm,” Harry mumbles the best response he can come up with. It’d be rather awkward to admit that Hermione’s mostly the same to him, their best friend and somewhat sister to Harry. As opposed to other sisters he happens to know.

“It’s odd, ‘s all I’m saying. And my baby sister going on dates, probably snogging blokes -”

“Plural?” Harry blurts out before he realises what he’s doing.

Ron throws him an exasperated look. “Dunno, mate. She keeps everything very private but I don’t understand what’s all this sudden fuss ‘bout her. I mean why’s she so popular? Dean seemed alright, what does he see in her?” He shrugs.

“What does she see in him ?” Harry sneers, his lips morphing into a small pout.

“Dean’s a good bloke, I guess,” Ron shrugs again, scratches the back of his head.

“I guess,” replies Harry, rather reluctant.

“And he’s pretty smart, I guess?”

“I guess.”

“And I reckon he draws really well.”

“He does?”

“That’s what I remember. Girls like paintings and stuff. Mum has lots of them hanging on the walls,” Ron’s face lights up as if it all finally makes sense.

But not to Harry. Not if he takes into account the way his insides churn and boil or the way he simply feels a sudden need to shout at his best friend and maybe tell him that somebody else ought to bring Hermione a bloody drawing and then see how he likes it.

But right afterwards Harry feels petty, mumbles something about abandoning homework and sets off to bed, leaving a befuddled Ron behind wondering what he could’ve said wrong.

And by some odd twist of fate - or maybe some divine entity’s really prone on showing Harry that the worst is yet to come - the conversation he walks in on is no better than the one he’s rudely ended. In fact, on a scale from one to detention with Snape, what he’s currently witnessing ranks closer to the latter rather than the former.

Dean discussing his blooming relationship with Ginny.

Dean describing to Seamus the progress he’s making with Ginny.

Dean about to be pushed out the Gryffindor Tower window. By mistake, of course.

Sometimes, Harry muses, there are things he misses about living under the stairs. Well. Not exactly. His bedroom is loads better. But there are benefits to having your own room rather than a dorm full of loud mouthed complaining gits.

The real question is when exactly Dean became so irritating. Harry’s not incapable of tuning out irksome housemates - a certain ickle Diddikins and co. serve as ample evidence - so Dean must really be laying it on thick.

Recently, it seems that if he’s not outlining his ‘ intensive ’ physical fitness routine, he’s giving Seamus advice on the best way to ask out ‘birds’ and extolling the virtues of a certain shoulder slipping move that gets you ‘up close and personal’ with said bird.

Harry does his best to avoid the dorm when awake but it begins to feel like they’re waiting for him to arrive and saving the most obnoxious bits for his personal enjoyment.

It’s rather gross, to be honest, and he feels indignant - in a brotherly way obviously - to hear the highly questionable strategies Dean plans to use to further acquaint himself with Ginny.

Who knew two teenage boys could cluck like gossiping hens this long after lights out? Or talk so loud despite the whisper-like quality of their conversation. Harry sticks his arm out through a split in the curtains and brushes a few Droobles wrappings aside, well past eleven. Plain rude.

With a huff, he shoves the covers back, grabs his dressing gown, blanket, and wand, before storming toward the door. “You two are bloody lucky Ron sleeps like the dead.”

As if confirming, Ron - who’s also given up on studying and fainted rather than fell asleep within less than two seconds since closing the distance between his person and his bed, lets out a loud snore and sighs in his sleep.

Dean and Seamus blink at Harry, the former’s eyes narrowing and mouth opening as if he’s about to toss back some indignant response but Harry’s in no mood. He leaves the dorm with a dramatic swoosh of his blanket and stumbles his way down the staircase, only forgoing a very satisfying door slam in the name of inter-house courtesy. Unlike some people.

The last few steps meet with the unhappy, teen-angst thuds of his feet. All the while, he grumbles to himself in an almost unintelligible but heart-lightening manner so he’s feeling a bit less like dumping a shaker of salt in Dean’s porridge in the morning.

Still, that doesn’t make him any more eager to return to the gossiping hens upstairs and the fire does look rather inviting. Perhaps Dobby anticipated Harry’s midnight flight to the common room.

Or perhaps Harry’s off his rocker and somehow deluded himself into believing this picture perfect, cozy room isn’t quite as abandoned as he first assumed. Instead, a certain red-haired Chaser is tucked up in one of the armchairs closest to the fire, forehead drooping toward the crinkled notes in her lap, socked toes warming in the blaze’s orange glow.

“You’re up late,” Harry tries, testing the responsiveness of his hallucination.

Groaning, Ginny drops her head back on the cushioned chair. “Hermione made me a timetable.”

Harry laughs, claiming the couch closest to Ginny with a dramatic sprawl of his occasionally gangly limbs.

“And presented said timetable to me in front of mum , who thought it was the greatest idea in the history of ideas.”

Ginny twists her neck and stares at him expectantly, which Harry assumes is an indication she wants a response other than gawking at her helplessly. “So now you’re stuck, eh?”

She hums and scrapes her hair up into a messy bun. “Theoretically tonight’s study session should have been through,” she looks at her watch, “yesterday afternoon.”

The words have barely left her lips before laughter bubbles out of both of them, loud and surprising until they muffle their chuckles. Which, of course, only makes things funnier and the stopping that much harder. Ginny’s cheeks are rosy with happiness as Harry pushes his glasses up messily and swipes the tears from his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve been studying for,” he pauses to do the math, “Twenty seven hours.”

“No - yesterday was so lovely - that sunshine on my face,” she sighs, “How could I do anything but go for a fly?”

Harry grins, dragging one foot up underneath him, “True enough - I had a good kip over by that tree. You know the one close enough to the water the firsties are too afraid to go near?”

She nods in recognition and tosses one leg over the side of the armchair, looking as if she’ll melt into oblivion right then and there. “Then I met up with Dean before dinner.”

Unable to bite back the grimace at the mention of his sleep stealing dorm-mate - not that he feels much like sleeping at the moment - Harry delivers some sort of non commital grunt that Ginny pounces on like a starved puma. Her dark eyes consider him from head to toe in a way that makes his cheeks heat. “How are things with Dumbledore, then?”

Harry shrugs, fiddling with the knobby blanket on his lap and feeling like a bit of a ponce for worrying about his loud-mouthed roommate when lives hang in the balance. Then he really does scowl as thoughts of Dumbledore, Death Eaters, Draco and his cronies, and about a thousand other dark things swirl through his mind. “No - no he hasn’t called me for another lesson yet.”

Ginny eyes him for another moment, lips twisted in a thoughtful frown before they quirk in a teasing grin. “Well he’d better get on it if you’re going to be the new Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump. Lest we forget your need for a long, luxurious white beard.”

“I would look damn foxy with a beard and you know it.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it - can you even grow facial hair baby Potter?”

Crossing his arms, Harry puffs out his chest in a show of manliness and narrows his eyes. A show which is slightly lessened by the smile that tickles his lips. “I will have you know I shave every morning.”

“With a big boy razor?” Ginny teases, but she nudges him with her toes, “All seriousness, I’m not sure the Hogwarts student body could handle ruggedly handsome Harry James Potter.”

“Mass hysteria, eh?” Harry laughs, though it’s a bit strangled in the wake of Ginny’s half admission that he could be considered handsome. Even in an entirely hypothetical situation.

Perhaps a beard wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Aye - Dad read all about Beatlemania. Like that, but with magic.”

“I’ll need a bodyguard or two.”

“Not to worry - we’ve got you covered,” Ginny assures him as she collects her things and rises tiredly. “I can’t study anymore. My brain’s turned to mush,” she pauses, “You never said why you’re up.”

“Eh - Dean’s a snorer.”

Ginny’s brows rise, “ Really .”

And Harry can’t seem to drum up a bit of guilt as he frowns darkly and nods.

______

As October progresses, Scotland turns crisp, the air whips at bare cheeks turning them rosy and leaving Harry free to wander the grounds with few interruptions. Between Voldemort’s official return and everything that happened at the Department of Mysteries last year, Harry’s ability to skulk about unnoticed has been lessened somewhat.

It’s not adoring fans begging for autographs like Krum had during the Triwizard - more like quiet stares on some weird spectrum between mute terror and judgmental mutterings.

He is slightly more adept at tuning such things out than during the ‘Potter Stinks’ era, but it’s still nice to escape it and reserve the energy used for ignoring annoyances. Mostly he uses those reserves for lots of internal angst about feelings he definitely doesn’t have.

Nothing clears his head like a nice fly though and a quick check of the pitch schedule reveals an open afternoon. So his daily constitutional turns into a quick jog over to the empty pitch to take to the sky.

Truth be told, he desperately needs a place to simply forget about the current state of events, the feelings of uncertainty, the doubts he’s having as he wonders if the troubles and efforts they put into recreating Riddle’s pre-Voldemort life aren’t wasted.

His second lesson with Dumbledore, recently ended, didn’t do much to alleviate any of those feelings. Back through the Pensieve, to a twelve year old Tom Riddle this time, with a personality grim enough to signal chaos about to come. Can understanding your enemy truly bring you one step closer to defeating him? Harry closes his eyes, one palm lightly passing over the lightning shaped scar slashed across his forehead.

Wind chaps his face, makes his eyes teary as he increases his speed and clears the towers that surround the stadium. Clouds drift by overhead, a slow drag against brilliant blue compared to the streaking of his slim broom.

Clutching the handle tightly with his legs, Harry releases one hand, then the other and twists into a spiral. Once he’s right side up, Harry slows and swirls in lazy circuits until he’s back hovering over the pitch, descending to the sound of a slow clap.

“Nice moves, Potter.”

So much for clearing my head.

“Captain’s got to keep up his skills,” Harry says, easy.

“Didn’t know keeping them up involved so much showing off,” Ginny answers with a smirk, tossing a practice Quaffle high overhead and catching it deftly.

Harry’s feet find the fresh cut grass as he ruffles his hair in a nervous gesture that must be hereditary. “Is it really showing off if nobody’s around?”

“Am I nobody?”

“You weren’t expected.”

She tosses the quaffle again, higher, and catches it without a second glance. “I could just take my Quaffle and go home,” Ginny quirks her brow, “But since this is the Quidditch Pitch and I am looking to actually play Quidditch …”

“Excuse me - are you attempting to argue that flying isn’t a legitimate element of Quidditch?”

“Without balls it’s just a bunch of jocks performing high-flying acrobatics,” Ginny counters, another toss, this time over her shoulder. She catches it with a quick twist that sends her hair fanning behind her.

“And tricks like that aren’t showboating at all,” Harry drawls, “Is this some chaser superiority complex?”

“S’not a complex if it’s true - besides I can play all positions,” Ginny says simply as she drops to the ground, ankles crossed in front of her.

It’s really difficult being around someone so tempting. Since, he has to worry about her all the time, of course. Not because he is tempted in any way, despite what his dreams might indicate.

Blissfully unaware of Harry’s internal monologue, Ginny slides her palms out sideways until she’s fully reclined in the grass. “Speaking of - we are defending Quidditch Cup winners and the fecking Ravenclaw team have their sights set on taking it back.”

“I’m not planning on captaining the team to ruin,” Harry shoots back with a roll of his eyes.

“Have a seat Captain - let’s get strategizing,” Ginny says patting the ground by her side, “Got to protect my interests - Harpies like winners .”

Nudging her ankle with his toe, Harry does as instructed and tosses his broom aside. “That your plan? Go professional?”

Ginny glances up at him. “Oh yeah - though I don’t think I’ve said it to anyone aloud before.”

“That sounds brilliant - you’re uh,” Harry ruffles his hair, “You’re really brilliant.”

She kicks his shoulder. “Thanks.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment until she finally adds, “And as brilliant as it is to be successful as both a Chaser and a Seeker, maybe strategy number one could be you not getting kicked off the team again this year?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Secondarily - we really need a replacement for Katie,” Ginny says, “Not that - well Quidditch isn’t the biggest issue with all this - ”

Harry sighs, flops backward, and tilts his head upward so he can meet her gaze. “Gin - you don’t have to explain - ”

“Thanks,” Ginny tosses her arms overhead and lets her feet slide straight out, “I’d never - well. Anyway. We’re down a Chaser.”

Taking a fortifying breath, Harry reaches across the space between them and brushes the back of her hand with his fingertips. “What about Trenton?”

Ginny snorts. “Nah - have you seen his ‘fake out’ swerve. We’re never going to win with a lazy maneuver like that and I’ll be damned if Malfoy beats us this year.”

“Too bad Hermione can’t fly to save her life,” Harry muses, brain filtering through the rest of their housemates, “We’d have the most organized tactics and training schedule ever.”

“Nope - she’d spend the whole time telling us we should be studying,” Ginny answers as she pushes to her feet with a sigh, “Which reminds me, I’ve got to be off.”

“Timetable?”

“Nah - meeting Dean,” Ginny says easily as she brushes a few blades of grass from her clothes, “Though I’d never have made plans if I knew I’d have to ditch a good ol’ strategy session.”

Harry stands too, feeling as though a fist has clenched around his heart in a strange, painful way. “We - uh. Raincheck?”

“‘Course,” Ginny says with a crooked smile, “See you when I see you?”

He agrees with a quiet nod and mounts his broom, skating across the sky as the sun dips toward the horizon.

______

It’s Monday and there’s less than a week till Saturday, November 2nd. Less than a week until they’re up against Ravenclaw on the pitch. And somehow, Harry doesn’t know why or how, but they’re still one player short.

(Technically, he does know but there’s a long way between knowing and admitting it, isn’t it?)

Now it’s Tuesday and, while Monday was spent focusing more on the greater good of the team and less on his inner turmoil, Harry still hasn’t managed to summon all his remaining will power (that’s not wasted on either Snape or homework or helping Ron and Hermione remain civil in the face of Slug Club party invites) and ask Dean to join the team as a third Chaser.

It’s pretty clear that Katie won’t make an overnight recovery.

It’s common sense to offer the role to someone who’s a decent flyer and is well acquainted with the game.

It’s unreasonable to prolong the task of asking Dean much longer. All things considered.

So Harry spots him enjoying a bite of morning toast with pumpkin juice and perhaps a plate of hot gossip on the side, as Dean’s sat next to Seamus, who Harry has determined are attached at the hip. Sighing long and painful, Harry straightens his posture and prepares for whatever this is, a mantra of “I’m doing this for the team” on a loop at the back of his mind.

“Mornin’, Harry,” Dean greets cheerfully in between two swigs of fresh pumpkin juice. Of course, Seamus’ enthusiasm level lowers as soon as his eyes lock with Harry’s, but he’s starting to get used to it by now.

“Alright, mate? You look troubled,” Dean observes.

Harry waves him off and plows right in with another sigh, “Listen, we’re one Chaser too few on the team -”

“Yeah, I heard Katie’s still in the hospital -”

“Would you like to join?” Harry cuts him off before he can change his mind.

A pause and then both Dean and Seamus blink, confused.

“What?”

“I asked if you’d like to join the team as Chaser? Until Katie recovers, you know,” Harry hurries to add.

It’s Seamus who speaks first, elbow almost sending the porridge rolling off the table.

“Sounds mental to me, you and Ginny on the same team.”

Harry’s senses fire up and he holds his breath, silently urging Seamus to keep talking.

“‘S alright,” Dean shrugs, visibly bothered by his friend’s comment.

“Oh come on, mate,” Seamus grins, “it’s just Harry here. Last night you were going on and on about how she’s always so cheesed off ‘bout everything it makes you feel like you’ve botched every wee thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees weakly as just Harry experiences a violent urge to hurt both of his ‘mates.’ Maybe hit their heads together until they cry or kindly ask Dobby to wet their beds as they sleep.

Unfortunately, he has to shake it all off and attempt to bleach his brain later before he breaks and tells Ron. And the rest of the Weasley clan. Though telling Ginny might solve a good number of his problems - and make him something of a wanker.

“So?” He asks again. “If you agree, you’ll have to clear your schedule anyway. We have practice this evening, all evening,” Harry underlines through gritted teeth.

Dean scratches at the back of his head, muses a bit and then gives his final answer, “Yeah, alright. Can’t let Ravenclaw walk all over us,” he grins and claps Harry on the shoulder.

Harry can’t decide if he’s in a mood to shout at everyone who speaks to him because of Dean’s insolent comments and confidences about his relationship with Ginny or because of his implication that they won’t stand a chance against Ravenclaw if he doesn’t join the team. Either way, Harry takes it personally enough to grunt and snap at people all day.

And Quidditch practice doesn’t make it any better. He’d hoped that it’d offer the right outlet to clear the angst clouding his mind. But of course, he should’ve known by now that counting his chickens before they are hatched is completely useless.

In reality, Harry agrees that this practice session has been the worst so far, so much so that even Ginny looks forlorn and Demelza’s eyes water constantly.

Cursing under his breath, Harry shivers in the cold, biting October air and checks the time. It’s well past ten in the evening and there’s nothing more he can do for this lot than send them inside to a hot shower and a cuppa (or a long sleepless night sprinkled with self-loathing in his case).

He drags his feet next to Ron, uncertain if he’d rather smack him over the head to stop his complaining or to do it to himself. If Harry thinks about it, Ron’s performance seems to depend on his mood and Harry reckons he’s not quite yet recovered from their little Slug Club themed conversation from Herbology class last week. Hermione’d almost managed to invite Ron to join her at the Christmas party when Ron’s fragile ego got in the way.

Harry sighs for the millionth time, rubs at the prickling in his scar.

Perhaps cracking his own skull would represent the desirable option right now, between a best mate whose spirits are below sea level, conflicting feelings for a certain redhead and a probable defeat in the first match he’s ever captained his team to.

And speaking of redheads, there’s Ginny on her way to the castle, hand in hand with Dean. Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting exactly. That Ginny would hang back with him after practice, as she’s done till now? That she won’t talk to Dean or hug him or even kiss him during practice breaks? And why wouldn’t she? He is her boyfriend, even though Harry wouldn’t hurry to crown him boyfriend of the year anytime soon.

And who’s Harry to her? A mate. Her older brother’s best mate. That’s it, yeah. Just a mate. Just Harry.

He’s about to make peace with those thoughts when Ron’s face blanches and he stops dead in his tracks.

Harry has to squint to understand what’s prompted Ron’s reaction and for a moment he fears Viktor Krum’s back to kiss Hermione, tired of waiting for Ron to finally gather his courage and do it. But then the torch hanging over a small annex in the middle of the deserted corridor casts its gentle, quivering light over two people, tightly glued against each other, kissing fervently.

His heart sinks so low the Giant Squid might stumble across it when his eyes adjust to realise they’ve walked in on Ginny and Dean.

Ginny and Dean kissing like he’s never seen someone kiss, their hands in each other’s hair and their bodies pressed hard together. He’d probably blush if not for the growling beast in his chest, demanding that Harry do something fast.

Still Ron reacts faster and him and Ginny are in each other’s faces in less than a heartbeat. Weasley tempers are terrible on a good day and grisly on shite days like this. Harry’s confident they’d start hexing and kicking each other if not for his jumping between them.

It’s ugly and petty on both sides, both siblings pouring salt over open wounds, and Harry’s left to awkwardly say goodbye to Dean like nothing’s happened.

Later, alone in his bed, covers pulled up over his head, he’d have time to think about how he’d tear Dean limb from limb for kissing Ginny like that - or for kissing her at all. Yeah, later he’d have time to plan and imagine and probably work himself into a fit over the image of them tattooed on his brain. Indeed, there’ll be enough time to thoroughly hate himself and the world later.

#itsblissfuloblivion writes #itsblissfuloblivion #torch chapter 2 #harry X ginny #harry potter x ginny weasley #ron weasley x hermione granger #hinny fic #hbp fic

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racefortheironthrone · 5 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Powers of X #6

It’s Not A Dream If It’s Real:

We start with an extended return to Powers of X #1, which might come off as somewhat self-indulgent if so much of the issue didn’t come down to an exploration of how this encounter between Charles Xavier and Moira X radically transformed Xavier’s life. We need a full page of Xavier walking happily through the forest, in other words, because we are seeing the last truly innocent moment in his life.

One thing that I find more than a little frustrating is that, given their prominence in the circular framing device that Hickman uses, we’ve seen remarkably little of Rasputin, the Tower, and Cardinal. I’m really hoping they show up again in Dawn of X, although I recognize that it’s early days yet, because I feel like there’s a lot of unexplored potential there.

One thing that really changes on this read is how we read Moira’s expressions in light of what the current and previous issue/s reveal about her motivations. You can really see that Moira feels way more ambivalent and regretful about what she’s about to do.

What Happens When Humanity Stops Being Beholden To Its Environment?

But before we get to any of that, it’s time to close the books on our X^3 timeline. And while I’ve been rather critical of the pacing and characterization of this timeline in previous PoX issues, this is a significant improvement.

It begins with the Librarian going off to “feed the animals at the zoo,” confident that he’ll be unharmed because “my augmented brain is far more advenced than yours.” The Librarian’s intellectual arrogance and superiority complex - which (spoilers) will be his ultimate undoing, and quite possibly that of the Phalanx as well - is a running theme throughout this section.

Speaking of which, we get something of a debate where the Libratrian conintues to think of mutants as essentially mindless animals acting in “their nature,” whereas Logan insists on a language of resistance against slavery. Not surprisingly, the Librarian doesn’t have much have time for that kind of debate and instead wants to talk to Moira.

As befits both of their scientific natures, the two of them discuss the tension between “preservation” and “observation” in “controlled habitats” - and I’ll freely admit that I don’t know enough about zoology to have much of an opinion here.

However, the Librarian really changes tack from the scientific to the reliigous when he lets them know that “the Phalanx will descend and absorb the entirety of our post-human society...what was once our post-human society will exist forever as part of that godhead.” Again, I think it’s majorly counting your chickens to assume you’ll be part of the godhead rather than food for the godhead, but that’s what happens when you really go in for Pascal’s wager in a serious way.

In a surprise no doubt built on eavesdropping on Moira to understand her mutant powers, the Librarian doesn’t want Moira to die before the translation, because he needs to make sure that “if you live past my becoming god, then -- existing beyond space and time -- we will know you, forever. And I think it very likely we would not tolerate something like you having any power over something like us.” Here is the first real threat to Moira since Destiny in Life 3, that for the second time there would be a hostile force that would know about Moira’s past lives who could act against her before she has a chance to prevent it. And the Phalanx/Dominion are way more powerful than just Destiny, which suggests that Moira’s motivations may be driven now by her perception of the ultimate threats to herself and mutantkind.

In a fitting end that pays more than a little homage to the philosophy of identity, the Librarian is undone by his doubts over whether "the universal machine state” is “a fake existence,” because his post-human abilities allow him to perceive material reality on a deeeeeper level, maaaan, so would he be as happy as just an uploaded consciousness, even one that he sees as godlike?

And here we get the link between the transhumanism/singularity stuff and Moira/Krakoa’s mission of preserving mutantkind: can mutants prevent post-humanity from arising, and escape the cage into which science has placed them? I think a lot of Krakoan policy, from the offer of Krakoan pharmaceuticals on down, is aimed at keeping humanity happy in its cage.

At the same time, we shouldn’t feel too bad about the Librarian’s burgeoning existential crisis, because he is still a pseudo-intellectual racial supremacist who’s just as convinced that technology makes him superior to the racial minority he’s holding subordinate as an Victorian or Enlightenment-era phrenologist.

Let’s start with his argument that “mutants are an evolutionary response to an environment. You are...naturally occurring.” This is only kind of true, depending on which version of mutantcy’s origins one subscribes to. Even still, a reverse naturalistic fallacy is still a fallacy.

The more interesting idea, and it’s one I didn’t quite see coming is that post-humanity won when it used genetic engineering to make themselves superhuman, and used merely mechanical transhumanism - the Sentinels and Nimrods - to give themselves enough of a lead in the race against mutants that they could never catch up. Notably, this is not the scenario that took place in Life 9 - Nimrod the Lesser clearly didn’t have human afvancement in mind - so perhaps this is why humans need to be so careful about the Heller/Faust line.

Another important question that makes me question the rationality of post-humanity - if you have access to widespread genetic engineering, why not end the human/mutant conflict by switching everyone’s X-gene to positive? I feel like with the spread of CRISPR and similar technologies, this is a question that is going to have to be answered. (The answer is that bigotry is irrational by its very nature, but still.)

Proving once again that Monologuing Kills, Logan nails the Librarian to a tree with his claws - which prevents the Librarian’s knowledge from being incorporated into the Phalanx, and then kills Moira, which insures that the timeline reboots then and there, with the Phalanx getting none of post-humanity’s secrets.

Thus ends Moira’s Life 6...and I have to say I’m not really keen on the misdirect. Yes, it was likely that X^3 would be Life 6, since it was the one timeline we haven’t seen yet, but the misdirect requires you to believe that two Nimrods would capture Cylobel in the same way across the two timelines. The only thing that makes it feel less of a cheat is that apparently all the Cylobels look the same (which is something we saw more of in Life 9, so I guess), but that’s still a bit too close to feel satisfying.

Branching Humanity Infographic:

Speaking of infographics definitely written from a mutant perspective, this document really makes its perspective clear when it refers to humanity as an evolutionary dead end. (Which I’m not so sure about from a genetics perspective - we’ve seen before that humans can be carriers without expressing the x-gene, that the X-gene can spontaneously activate without parents who are carriers, that mutants and children can have children without difficulty, and that sometimes mutant-mutant pairings can result in non-mutant offspring, that doesn’t read like speciation to me.

Homo novissima -is described as a “manufactured branch of humanity not restricted by normal evolutionary constraints,” which really plays into the naturalistic fallacy something hard. Arguably anyone who’s not lactose intolerant can be described as homo novissima under those standards.

The idea that really blew my mind is the idea that there is a “paradigm loop between organic and technological constructs,” such that advances in the one give rise to the other in a leap-frogging way. This is really different from Hickman’s Transhuman and how HoxPoX has depicted the stark divides between Krakoan and ORCHIS technologies. I wonder where Hickman’s new synthesis will lead us?

It’s Not a Complement:

At long last, we actually get to see what it was like for Charles Xavier to “read” not just a thousand plus years of memories, but a thousand years plus years of memories that are devastating to his entire worldview. Given how much this issue talks about Xavier being “broken,” I would count this as the first time.

Moira, who has thrown her “pragmatic” switch all the way into the red to have this conversation,” barely bats an eye at Charles’ existential crisis and instead pivots to her larger message that “hard truths are what’s called for when dealing with radical realignments to old ways of thinking.”

The exchange that follows is extremely characteristic on both their parts: Moira is deeply pessimistic, stating that it’s not just that “we lose” but that “we always lose” (much more on this later); Charles, despite his initial shock is still a relentless optimist, thinking through scenarios that would allow him to continue his technocratic assimilationist vision of mutant rights.

In a very bittersweet move, Moira lays one on Xavier and lets him know that amidst all the complicated emotions she’s had towards him, “not once in all my lives have you changed...its not a compliment.” It is one of his most frustrating characteristics that Charles Xavier believes that, because he believes himself to be in the right even when he’s not, he’s incredibly resistant to change his mind.

Hence why Moira believes “I have to break that part of you,” the part that believes “in the goodness of others.” This is a really significant point - Moira identifies Charles’ compassion, not his pride and intellectual arrogance, as his weak point that she will have to go all Ivan Drago on. This is kind of a problem, because Charles’ compassion has always been fighting a pitched battle with his utilitarianism, so stripping that away produces a man who will do anything for the greater good.

The chief irony - and it’s one I’ve been surprised more people haven’t commented on - is that Moira’s decision here will directly result in what happens at the end of this book, because once you train someone like Charles to be paranoid and suspicious and even more of a utilitarian, he’s absolutely going to apply his new worldview on you. More on this in a bit.

A couple important things that are really worth keeping in the forefront of your mind when we get to the final confrontation:

First, Moira is dead-on when she describes Erik Lensherr as “your shade,” because the two of them are mirror images and have been for a long, long time.

Second, Moira’s plan includes Xavier and Erik fighting her.

Moira’s Journal Infographic:

Here we get an fascinating and frustrating infographic, as we get several pages from “Moira’s journal,” although to be honest it’s much more a Jane Goodall-style field notes on her attempts to influence the future by influencing the development of three men. (Which itself is a whole gendered thing, but also very much tied in to her observation and experimentation methodology in her earlier lives.)

Entry 5: “unlike myself, observation has not granted himself perfect recall of my past lives, and as I wil not permit him to read me a second time, he is now dependent on my interpretation of past-life events.”

As with his mind-reading of Krakoa, despite Xavier being an Alpha-level telepath, he doesn’t quite get the whole of the picture when he reads (unusual?) minds. This is crucial in understanding the power dynamic between them - the only thing that allows Moira to keep the upper hand is that Xavier is temporarily “dependent” on her, and that he hasn’t yet decided to violate her personal boundaries.

Also, the fact that Moira describes these psychic impressions - so key to Xavier and Magneto’s conversion to the cause - as “my interpretation” really raises the question of whether Moira is an unreliable narrator of her past lives...which is really quite scary given how much the whole enterprise rests on her being right about how things will go. More on that later.

But as I was saying above, one of the downsides of making Xavier even more of a morally grey actor is that it makes it way more likely that “he will even act against type” (and boy is Moira’s understanding of Xavier shown to be flawed by her belief that this would be against type as opposed to absolutely his M.O) by reading her mind without her permission.

All that Moira can hope for is that because she knows that “all he will be looking for is confirmation of suspicions he might already harbor,” she will be able to steer his inquiry away from things she doesn’t want him to know, although she does have a Plan B of coming totally clean.

Finally, as with the redactions, there is very much a running theme here (and throughout HoxPoX) of struggling over control of (imperfect) information at the heart of all conflicts.

Entry 14: “while we have become romantic, it is becoming clear to me that I am breaking Charles Xavier. And if I do break him, how will he become the man I need him to be in the coming days.”

Here Moira gets a little bit self-reflective, realizing that one of the downsides of her master plan is that you can’t “manipulate these men into doing what I needed them to do without any repercussions to myself.” Breaking Charles of his hope and idealism doesn’t, it turns out, make him any more controllable, because he’s going to act on his new nature, and Moira can’t guarantee that she won’t be the object of that action.

One interesting question that I’ve seen raised is whether Moira is referring to Onslaught here. How much of his (to be honest, really quite banal and skippable) turn to the dark side was due to repression and how much due to cultivating his worser nature?

Entry 17: “he had the most marvellous idea regarding the potential tandem of several mutants and what they could accomplish if they worked in harmony.”

I find this one particularly fascinating, because it gets at how the collaborative process of creating Krakoa came together. Charles is able to build on “the potential windfall of knowledge I represent regarding mutandom” to get the idea for the Resurrection system and the broader mutant power synergy approach to Krakoan technology; Moira then “used my experience in genetic modification” to figure out how to make the mutants the system required.

At the same time, my god does this entry make Moira and Xavier seem even more cold-blooded and unethical with regards to Proteus and Legion, because rather than those relationships coming as a “moment of weakness” (in Xavier’s case) they were pre-meditated. The only thing that makes this even slightly better is that, according to the timeline docs, Moira didn’t have a relationship with Joseph MacTaggart in her previous lives, so that she didn’t knowingly walk into an abusive relationship to birth a super-mutant.

Entry 22: “Magneto...with him, loyalty is something that must be constantly earned. He allows for no deviation of intent -- no wavering of belief. The idea that there will not be setbacks, and that his constant anger will remained tamped down, is a fool’s dream.”

Speaking of unethical actions...Moira trying to mess with Magneto’s mind, given what she undertands as his character, strikes me as pretty damn “casual[ly] arrogan[t].”

Likewise, Moira sees it as a “positive thing of note” that she’s managed to “imprin[t] the idea of stronghold in his mind.” While she notes that “it has always been there” - and she’s not wrong that Magneto has a thing for island, asteroid, and other separated bases. At the same time, it does help to explain why Magneto is so particularly gung-ho on the idea of Krakoa, which makes him their biological last line of defense.

Entry 29: “Apocalypse has made himself known to the world. Knowing him the way I do, and having aligned myself already with Xavier and Magneto, recruitment will not be an option until a much later date.”

Moira’s attitude to her ex suggests that the big blue-lipped boy’s Social Darwinist rage is basically the result of him being “in his raw, primal state,” and that he’ll mellow out once he has “f[ou]nd something to build on.”

We also get confirmation that the conflicts between various X-teams and [A] were quite real - although intended more at “the avoidance of an apocalypse event” than his destruction. More of a managed conflict, if you will.

Given [A]’s interest in recreating his Four Horsemen, I wonder who the Omega-level mutants he might have been looking for instead of the ones he ended up with.

Entry 48: “I have underestimated Xavier’s infatuation with the possibilities of what can be accomplished with mutant genetic material. Without my knowledge -- and against my advice -- both Charles and Magneto have traveled to Bar Sinister and recruited Sinister to our cause.”

This is the crux of the matter when it comes to the double-edged nature of breaking Xavier of his better nature; the more you do this, the more he’s likely to do underhanded stuff like this.

The central irony is that Moira’s complaint (as much as it resonates with women in the fandom as representing their own life experiences) that “what is this thing that men do, where they think they can shape the world to their liking - and bend others to whatever they will” absolutely describes Moira herself as well as Xavier and Magneto.

One ominous note, re the ongoing theme about timetables and schedules, is that Sinister is already producing chimerae, so merely leaving him alone might not change the outcome.

Entry 52: “We have lost Magneto.”

Speaking of consequences to manipulation, we see Moira’s attempts to reshape Magneto to “help make him a better man” (perhaps someone who would play nicely wrt to the Krakoan project?) backfire horribly during the events of Mutant Genesis.

For a short entry, this actually gives a really good window into Moira’s psyche, in that she’s more than a little bit prone to depression, when we combine her previous comment that “we always lose,” the trauma she experienced in her previous lives, with her immediate reaction that “I am just as bad as they are. If not worse.”

Entry 57: “I have decided to remove myself from the world.”

See what I mean?

This entry ought to remind us about one of the key aspects of Moira’s powerset: Moira’s ability to predict the future is contrained way more than, say, Destiny. The more Moira acts to change variables and try to produce her good ending, the less of a guide her memories of her past lives becomes. More on this in a bit.

it’s also a good reminder that Charles and Moira have been testing out their “husk...backup” system much, much earlier than poor Pyro thinks.

Tea for Three:

There is something wonderfully theatrical about this three-hander scene in that it all revolves around power dynamics and reversals: Moira starts out quite confident, hands-on-hips, reminding Charles and Erik that she doesn’t need them (I wonder which “of mankind’s greatest culinary cities” she has a backdoor to?), which Magneto responds to with a jab at her cynicism towards “the common kindness of others” and “assuming there’s always another shoe to drop.”

This next exchange gives me a real sense that, at least as far as the secret plan to secure Krakoa’s future goes, the Quiet Council are only really there to ensure that they “won’t be a deterrent to our broader plans.”

At the same timethe surface of collegial conviviality, everyone knows that “we’re all up to something” - note how quickly Moira goes from her confident posture to a more defensive crossing of her arms, even as Magneto shows off his dexterity with his powers, which is a nice visual detail in an otherwise very talky page.

One area of disagreement becomes quite clear: Xavier and Magneto really disagree with Moira about whether “we can do this without” Sinister. Once again I’m frustrated in not knowing what the Plan A was wrt to the genetic database.

But here Xavier really brings down the boom: “We promised to bring Destiny back.” This freezes Moira right up, and shows one of the main tensions in their (joint?) project, the conflict between radical unity and political necessity.

However, there’s a significant question mark about why Moira believes that “there can be no precogs on Krakoa.” On the face of it, Moira’s objection is due to her fear that Destiny might “tell everyone the truth” that “we always lose,” I don’t believe her for a second. I think Moira’s objection stems from their traumatic meeting in Life 3, and because Destiny “has ways of seeing me.” I think Moira is up to something that she doesn’t want Xavier and Magneto, let alone anyone on Genosha to know about, and doesn’t want Destiny letting the cat out of the bag.

Here’s where I think people slightly get things wrong about the state of play wrt to Destiny and the other precogs. While Xavier repeatedly says “we know,” I don’t think they’re actually agreeing with Moira so much as trying to patronizingly soothe her. After all, their final offer is that, while Xavier and Magneto will “put them all off” with “tomorrow, tomorrow, not today,” (paraphrasing a German rhyme from Erik’s childhood) eventually Charles and Erik will ensure that everyone will "know the truth.” This seems quite different from what Moira wants.

A remaining question: when did Charlex and Erik learn the whole truth, as Entry 5 suggested? Did they?

And here we get the core disagreement between Moira and Xavier/Magneto: she sees “the truth” as meaning “we always lose,” they see it as “until now we have always lost.” I have to admit I’m a little curious as to whether Moira really believes her own nihilistic message, because in that case, why go to all this effort, but I do think it’s importatnt that people remember that Moira’s powers at this point only let herself see backwards. The world has changed too much to predict the future.

Speaking of gender and condescension, though, the resolution of this argument is really pointed. On the one hand, Moira given credit for her contributions to Krakoa: “you shaped us into this, you made us into this, we are the perfect tools for an imperfect age.” On the other hand, she is very firmly ushered to the bench, because “now it is time for you step aside and let us do the good work for which we were created.” It does come across a bit like Adam talking to Herr Frankstenstein, as Moira’s manipulations come to bite her in the ass one last time.

And as mutant fireworks thunder overhead, Magneto and Xavier have one last confab, worrying about the future. Krakoa might not be enough to ward off mutantkind’s Ragnarok, but Xavier and Magneto are ready to do “whatever it takes” to see it through.

AND WE”RE DONE!

#xmen #xmen meta #powers of x #hoxpox #spoilers

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all-good-things-dot-dot-dot · 4 years ago

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All Good Things… The Value Of A Life.

#Blog #Bloggerstribe #AllGoodThings…

17th June 2020

Hello, Chaps and Chapettes,

Have you ever seen Twelve Angry Men? If you haven’t, I cannot recommend it enough. It is a story that has regenerated several times, from a television show written by Reginald Rose to the stage, and twice as a movie (a 1957 film starring Henry Fonda and a remake in 1997). This story is as poignant today as it was sixty-plus years ago, not just for the black lives matter movement but for many impacts on justice happening today and how we respond to them.

(Photo: https://sillyfunda.wordpress.com/2014/04/13/review-synopsis-12-angry-men-1957/)

The story revolves around twelve jurors who have just witnessed a court case about a 19-year-old who has been accused of the murder of his father. They must all unanimously decide whether he was guilty or innocent of the crime and if convicted they will be sending him to the chair. It’s taking place during the hottest day on record and most of the men want to get the case over with so that they can go enjoy the rest of their evenings. Yet, during the first vote, only one man holds his hand up to say that he believes they don’t have enough evidence to say the boy is guilty. Thus, they all have to stay and talk until they can all agree on the verdict.

Rather than talk to you about why I think it’s a great film to rewatch or play to perform today, I’ll share with you twelve lines that I believe can offer a different outlook on your world. This isn’t an essay or a lesson, just an idea of how you might see a point of view or understand the way another person might think or feel.

“If there is a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused . . . then you must declare him not guilty.” Said by the Judge in the opening line.

‘Reasonable doubt’ becomes the theme and reason why the story exists. If the twelve jurors had gone into the room and not one had a doubt, then the story would have ended an hour and twenty sooner than it does. It is due to Juror 8, who first votes not guilty against the rest of his peers, that the debate continues and the group are forced to discuss the reasons the accused is or isn’t guilty. It’s like the quote from the first Harry Potter book; “it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your peers, and a great deal more to stand up to your friends.”

Additionally, it is important to add that while none of the characters are named, all have their own personalities. There’s an older man with the experience of his years, a younger man who grew up in a similar neighborhood to the accused, an immigrant from another country, and a man who is estranged from his son. All of these characters show how different people view the guilt of someone they had never met.

“It's not so easy for me to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first.” Juror 8 after the first vote. Juror 8 never suggests the boy is not guilty. He admits he was not a witness to the murder, so he could not give a definite answer. What he does advise is that he took all of the evidence and statements were given and that gave him cause to doubt the boy’s guilt. We never know if we are seeing the full story. The social media, politicians, even the news can still be biased, no matter what channel or reporter is delivering it. They may claim not to be, yet there will often be a nudge one way or the other. You have to check your own instincts and question them to make sure you are still on the right page.

(Photo: https://www.cohenfitch.com/areas-of-practice/wrongful-conviction/)

“You know why slum kids get that way? Because we knock 'em on the head once a day, every day. I think maybe we owe him a few words. That's all.” Juror 8 again. How many times have you heard somebody say they knew what race or age or gender a criminal would be when they hear about a crime? We always suppose that we already know everything about the villains in our lives based on where they came from and who raised them. It’s not to say they are not guilty of the crime but few people outside of courts ask what drove that person to commit such an act on a fellow human being. Would things change if we gave people a greater amount of our time?

“Too many questions were left unasked.” Juror 8, regarding the accused’s court-appointed defense council. Similar to the above quote, so many slams down fists on the tables and yell guilty the moment they read a headline. I know I’ve done it myself too. We take the first thing we hear and react to it. We don’t question because we trust that what we are being told are the truth and the full story. Is it?

“This gentleman chose to stand alone against us. That's his right. It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone even if you believe in something very strongly. He left the verdict up to us. He gambled for support, and I gave it to him. I want to hear more.” Juror 9, the older gentleman who admits voting not guilty in a second secret ballot vote. Most believe Juror 5, the youngest Juror, is the one who changed his mind in the second vote, and nobody expects it to be the older Juror. Yet, when they find out, they angrily challenge why. His answer shows what most feel but few, such as Juror 5, are too nervous to attempt. The pack mentality is a thing and when we see a group going one way, it is easy and safe to follow the pack. We are less accountable when we are more than one person, it is built into our instincts. This is why, every now and again, we should check whether our instincts are correct.

“Nobody knows him after seventy-five years. That's a very sad thing. A man like this needs to be recognized. To be questioned, and listened to, and quoted just once. This is very important.” Juror 9 again, after discussing why an elder witness may have given false testimony. The oldest jury member notices something in the oldest witness that the younger members do not because he shares age and experience with them. The ninth Juror tells his peers that he does not expect the oldest witness thought he was lying in court, but relished the attention they so rarely got and thus forgot or imagined some of the facts in order to remain relevant to the case. How often is experience valued? How often do we dismiss someone because they said something too slowly, or quietly, or without confidence?

(Photo: https://thecinephiliacs.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/12-angry-men-1997-review-remake/)

“Let me go. I'll kill him. I’ll kill him!” Juror 3, after being called a sadist for wanting the guilty verdict by Juror 8. Before this, Juror 3 and those still upholding the guilty verdict point out that the boy was heard by the older witness telling his father that he’d kill him. Juror 8 seemed to deliberately rile Juror 3 up, since he asks after this if Juror 3 really would try to kill him, causing him to give a blustering admission that he did not mean it. How many times do we say the cruelest things, not thinking what it might mean to somebody else? Equally, how often do we hear things and assume it is meant as gospel truth?

“Maybe it wouldn't hurt us to take a few tips from people who come running here! Maybe they learned something we don't know. We're not so perfect!” Juror 5, said to Juror 7 who called Juror 11 out on not being from the same country as the rest of the Jurors. Juror 11 is the immigrant, seemingly from a country they had to escape from due to war. Juror 5’s point, as the viewpoint of a younger generation still willing to listen and learn, is that it is easy to believe you know everything when you’ve lived in one place for long enough. When you’ve been the same skin color, the same gender, or in the same mentality your whole life, you cannot easily see it from the viewpoint of others. It’s not their fault but they must try to understand from the shoes of somebody else. If they do not try, then they can equally be to blame for the failure of society around them.

“Switch knives came with the neighborhood where I lived. Funny I didn't think of it before. I guess you try to forget those things.” Juror 5, when challenging how the knife could have been used. The knife could be seen as a McGuffin in the story as it is first shown how there could easily be a similar knife acquired by Juror 8, despite the prosecution claiming there could only have been one knife of the kind used in the murder. The second part is this, where it is pointed out that the way the deceased was stabbed from above the rib cage did not match how a switchblade would be used, in an underarm attack instead. Yet this line also shows the terrible things that can become so common an occurrence for many that it can be passed off as a formality. Should such things really be considered normal?

“What kind of a man are you? You have sat here and voted guilty with everyone else because there are some theater tickets burning a hole in your pocket. Now you have changed your vote for the same reason. I do not think you have the right to play like this with a man's life.” Juror 11, to Juror 7 after he changes his vote just to speed things along. Going back to the pack mentality, many can change their minds to suit their survival. When Juror 7 sees a way to resolve the situation faster, they change their vote to suit themselves, not the cause. Juror 11 explains that while Juror 7 might be doing the right thing, they’re doing it for the wrong reason. Another quote, from Alexander Hamilton, also heard in the fim Sucker Punch and cartoon Rugrats of all places, is “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

(Photo: https://www.romper.com/p/13-reasons-rugrats-was-the-most-feminist-socially-conscious-cartoon-ever-1665)

Nearly there… “I've known a few who were pretty decent, but that's the exception. Most of them; it's like they have no feelings. They can do anything. What's going on here?” Juror 10, suggesting that race made the boy do what he is accused of. The story makes no point of telling us who the boy accused is, other than that they are 19 years old and that the victim was their father. However, Juror 10's comments suggest that the boy is not of the same race as the Jurors. Steadily through the story, Juror 10 makes many comments about the boy, referring to ‘their kind’ rather than the race, yet the reaction of the other Jurors when he finally does have a long rant about the boy’s origins is to shun Juror 10. Finally, they call him down and sit him in a corner away from them. This act alone shows that discrimination, even when not delivered face to face, is still as problematic. Reinforcing a dislike for color, creed, or religion of a person even when they’re not in the same room is still breeding antagonism and bad feelings that are carried into the times they are in the room with you. Is it really okay to say something bad about someone, just because they’re not there?

And, lastly, “It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone.” Juror 9 to Juror 3. It comes full circle. Where Juror 8 was the only one at the start to stand by not guilty, Juror 3 now tries to stand by a guilty vote alone. Yet, it is realized that Juror 3’s motives are based on the comparisons he makes to his relationship with his estranged son. When he is gently told that the accused is not the same boy as his son, he is the last Juror to accept a vote for not guilty.

In conclusion, I love this film. It may have overtaken Hitch, 21 Again, and Star Trek - Into Darkness as my top favorite films of all time. It has so many levels and interesting twists and points to make yet does so without making the audience feel silly or bamboozled. If you have the time, I fully recommend watching it. I know I will definitely be watching it again.

Stay safe, stay happy.

All good things, Love, Scaramouche. X

#twelve angry men #blog #blacklivesmatter #blogger #ageism #staysafe

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clowntramp · 5 years ago

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Man in The Window - chapter four - all chapters available on Ao3: abbeypop

Arthur Fleck x Female

She was there again, in front of his door, this time clutching a bottle of red wine with one hand and a lit cigarette with the other. It was late, and she had decided to give a couple more lap dances before leaving the club around 2am. She didn’t want to but she needed the money. And now she stood in front of his door hoping she wasn’t too late. She reached up to knock but hesitated, questioning her motives briefly. She was mostly curious, partially driven by the fact that she couldn’t recall inviting him to the club. She hoped she could put the pieces together, maybe talking to him would trigger her memory.

She flicked her cigarette and knocked. The fluorescent lights were humming a soft tune accompanied by the jarring pangs of gunshots and sirens. She regretted staying late, but she still needed money even if the city was burning. She counted as ten long seconds passed. He was probably sleeping.

Suddenly the door opened, causing her to flinch. He looked at the floor smiling and stepped aside ushering her in gently without a word. He was wearing the same pants but with a cream button down and a dark blue vest, which pinched in the back accentuating his boyish silhouette. His hair was still damp and she noticed the thick scent of aftershave as he closed the door behind her.

He turned around and she noticed his freshly shaved face, it looked young and innocent.

“I brought wine,” she said quietly while holding up the bottle, “I don’t know if you drink, you can have some of course I mean, if you do drink.” She stammered over her words painfully.

“That’s okay,” he said softly, “I don’t really drink, but thank you.”

She was surprised to hear this. “Are You sure? You’re really going to make me drink alone?” The bottle was already open, she took a large sip, raising her eyebrows at him, offering up her most enticing smile. She hated drinking alone, but had gotten used to it.

He opened his mouth to object but refrained and instead walked over to her, taking the bottle out of her hand. He let out a stifled nassely laugh as he rose the bottle to his lips. He took a long gulp and mirrored her smirk. Warmth hit his empty stomach and he took another sip.

He handed her the bottle smiling. “If you want, I can grab us some glasses from the kitchen.”

“No, thanks, I prefer the bottle.” She took another sip, or a chug rather, and he stared at her intrigued.

“We can sit down if you want.” He gestured to the couch as she lifted the bottle to her lips once more. She let out a satisfied sigh after she swallowed and silently took a seat, tipping her head back and closing her eyes

He took a seat next to her, but not too close, and took the bottle out out of her idle hand. She looked up drowsily, watching his throat twitch as he took a few big gulps.

He sighed and placed the bottle down on the coffee table, which was cluttered with newspaper clippings and magazines. She watched as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out. He turned his head and looked at her playfully,

“So, did it bother you?” he asked gently. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and reached for the bottle.

“Did what bother me?” she took another sip of wine and stared at him, hoping he would elaborate. She wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth, her ego needed it.

He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in close to her, speaking through his teeth, “when you shot that cop, did it bother you?”

She smiled at him casually, satisfied, and sat up a little. She took another swig and let out a mumbled “no.”

He smirked at her response and adjusted his positioning on the couch so he was facing her. “It didn’t bother me,” he let out a snort of laughter, “when I killed those three guys on the train, or Murray, or Randel, or my mother…” he trailed off mumbling as if reliving a blissful memory.

This was the man she remembered seeing on the Murray show, the one who’s confidence seemed to spill from his eyes. The man who came to the club earlier that night was different, less potent, she liked this version better.

Her brows arched in response to this and her lips twitched into a slight smile, “I didn’t know you killed your mother,” she said casually.

He ran a hand through his hair, “yeahhh,” he said sighing, almost bragging. His eyes flickered around the room nervously, “so have you killed anyone, I mean besides that cop?” He asked this question nonchalantly, as his fingers tapped on his thigh.

The informal way he delivered such heavy words made her stomach twinge with satisfaction. She never thought she would come across another person like herself, one who took joy in their acts of deviance. The thought of this made her smile.

“the cop wasn’t my first,” she muttered, with her lips on the bottle. “I’ve never told anyone about it, but the first one was a while ago, I was younger, but I don’t really remember.” She tilted her head back and took another long chug of wine, then passed the bottle to him. “I have this memory problem,” she continued as he drank, “I lose time, often. I almost blackout, and forget where I’m going or how I got there. That’s what happened with the first one.”

“Then how do you know it happened?” He asked amusingly while drawing the bottle up to his lips, taking another sip.

“Well,” she said hesitantly while looking around the room, “the last thing I remember was that I was in a car, it was dark out, I was covered in blood and the guy next to me was dead.” She smirked.

He passed the bottle back to her, “sounds to me like you’re a bad date.”

She tried to stifle a laugh but couldn’t and let out a childish giggle. He grinned back at her.

“You’re not going to tell on me right?” She asked playfully.

He flashed a toothy smile, “of course not! As long as you don’t tell on me.” He winked and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a package of cigs and a lighter.

She placed the bottle down on the coffee table, finally noticing all the clutter. Her eyes scanned the various newspaper clippings, most of which had his mugshot plastered on them. Then she noticed the magazine clippings, and questioned how she hadn’t noticed them earlier. Torn pages from Playboy and Hustler were scattered about amidst sloppy cut-outs of nude women. Hard scribbles covered their faces while the rest of their bodies were untainted. She reached out and picked up a page, the woman was fully naked and spread eagle, her head was cut off.

She looked back at him curiously. He was lighting the cigarette now, oblivious to her shuffling through his papers. He took a long drag with eyes closed as she stared at him. Then he looked up and saw what she was doing. She noticed the color drain from his face as he widened his eyes, clearly embarrassed. He started to stutter.

“I-I’m, I’m s-sorry.” He let out a snort of pained laughter as he frantically got up and started gathering up the papers on the table. In between the rummaging he covered his mouth hard in an attempt to silence his laughter. She cringed at his clear discomfort.

“No im sorry,” she said firmly, “I shouldn’t just be going through your things like that, I’m so sorry.” He wheezed hard and she reached up and placed a hand on his arm. He tensed up immediately and let out another bout of pained cackles before gathering up the other papers and stumbling into the other room. He slammed the door behind him. She remained seated, listening closely to his muffled howls. The sounds of his distress made a knot form in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, she was at the bedroom door knocking lightly.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, I really am,” she said in her most soothing voice, “please, it’s nothing to be ashamed about, I have magazines of my own too ya know, please I really didn’t mean to upset you, please come out.” She didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her, it was sweet and forgiving, lacking the harshness she had worked so hard to perfect.

She stepped back from the door as his laughter subsided, taking a moment to debate whether she should just leave and never bother him again. She turned around and walked back to the now empty table, picking up the wine and taking a big chug. Silence had filled the air again and she looked to the door anxiously. She wondered briefly if he would come out and stab her in a frenzied rage. That’s what she would have done if a stranger came to her apartment and rummaged through her collection of porn.

She played this image out in her head vividly. The idea of a sharp pain and then the euphoric tingle of blood draining from her body sent a shiver up her neck. She wouldn’t mind going out that way, she had always assumed that her life would end in the hands of a violent man, or herself. She wouldn’t put up a fight either, she would surrender easily, finding comfort in the fact that she got to share one of her many secrets before settling into the black oblivion of death.

The bedroom door creaked open, bringing her back to reality. He stood in the door frame, hands buried in the pockets of his pants, his fiery gaze fixed to hers. She felt the unease that settled in the space between them, it made her squirm with anxiety. She was ashamed of herself, of how she had made him upset.

She mirrored his posture and hung her head in shame. The wine hit her stomach hard and she felt dizzy with contempt. She wanted to fall to her knees out of absolution. She couldn’t fathom why she felt the way she did. She had never felt remorse for making others feel bad, she actually took joy in it, but this was different. She wanted this feeling to go away, it was unfamiliar, unrecognizable. She silently hoped that he would walk over and slap her, she wanted to feel anything other than this feeling. In that moment she had a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or herself. Anything to escape this feeling.

He was standing in front of her now but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, raising her head to meet his eyes. The gentle touch grounded her back to reality and she looked into his eyes.

He smiled softly. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” he whispered.

His words hit her like a brick to the chest, she opened her mouth to object, but the words never came out. He released her chin and let silence hang in the air as she desperately searched his eyes for an explanation. But there wasn’t one, and she knew this.

With that she clutched the wine bottle close to her chest and left his apartment in silence. He followed her to the door and closed it behind her. Alone again in the dim hallway, she took another chug of wine and let herself surrender to the habitual warmth of time beginning to fade.

#arthur fleck #joker #arthur fleck joker #jaoquin phoenix #jaoquin phoenix joker #joker 2019 #clowntramp #arthur fleck fic #arthur fleck x reader #joker fic #Man in The Window

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {2}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Prince Hans is a mirror at heart, but wishes to shatter his reflections and correct his past mistakes. He returns to Arendelle, willingly surrendering himself to Queen Elsa’s judgement. Uncovering truths, unforeseen circumstances and a bit of je ne sais quoi, bring the Ice Queen and the Mirror Prince together in a way neither of them would have imagined.

A/N:

(( This is a collaborative RP Fic written by lovely fellow Helsa shipper FOW and myself. We RP for fun and just wanted wanted to share this story with fellow shippers, especially all my lovely shipper buddies over in the Helsa Discord Server. Long live the Province of Helsa! Thank you, Beta Reader Friends, your help is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy~ ))

P.S: ((This is the shortest chapter so far, I have a few more chapters ready to post, but I don't want to spam, posting them all at once, so I'll try post one chapter daily or every other day until the story is up to date.)) Previous Chapter: Chapter 1. Double Jeopardy

Chapter 2. Burn After Reading

Hans accepted the journal and his return to the dungeons without complaint, always polite. He was right: He never made a sound when he walked. He moved as silent as a shadow, but for the clink of his chains, which even then were quiet.

Given enough pen and ink, he proved to be a voracious writer. It helped that he had nothing better to do with his time, but he certainly took more time in getting his words down. He had to choose them carefully. He knew they could be used against him. For the moment, he wanted to stick to uninteresting topics. Just to test the waters. Yet, in spite of himself, his thoughts kept turning to his situation.

He never gave complaints. He rested without concern, and waited to see who would come for his letters.

Anna had NOT taken the news of the the 13th Prince's return to Adrendelle well, and far less knowing he was to be staying in the kingdom, even if he was to remain in the dungeon. Anna wished to go pay him a visit in the dungeon, just to punch him in the face again, but was prohibited from doing so. She was relieved that Elsa was not wasn't planning to contact the Prince either (at least outside the required daily journals to her).

Anna asked her sister why she even allowed the Prince to return to their kingdom, but even Elsa didn't know the answer to that herself.

Hans seemed to remain entirely neutral in the presence of the messenger. He insisted on folding over his journal pages and putting a wax seal on them (or rather, a splot of wax from the candle he wrote by, with 'XIII' scratched into it) to send to Elsa.

Whether the seal remained intact or not, he supposed he had no control. Perhaps it was better if he didn't know.

'Please burn after reading.'

'It's much different, writing a journal or letter that you know someone will read. Every word weighed like ounces of gold and scale often checked for accuracy. When one flake can tip the balances of someone else's opinion.'

'That is the way by which I lived in the Isles. Words spoken have echoes through later conversations, everything comes back as a scathing remark, or nitpick. Some days the picks go so deep or come from so long ago, one questions if they had any merit at all, or if they are going mad. I much prefer the dungeons. Would you believe, they echo less in Arendelle.'

'I said I was a prince 'in name alone', in truth all that means is that I have access to the castle grounds. I have found that the castle dungeons and the castle rooms are equally grim, and each echo their secrets to all in sundry. Neither prisoners nor princes are allowed their secrets, apparently. My father and brother are both ill, and have been for many years. My family didn't want to cut me off from visiting them, even if I am a treasoner. At least, not after they decided not to hang me I suppose. That proposition was short-lived. They have seen too well that scene, and they have no desire to see it again.'

'How grim. The Isles has a grim sense of humor. Or maybe it's just my family. I should never know, I imagine. I would hope to be there when my father dies, great man as he is, but I can't expect that time of mourning to be respected. Better to have taken my chances here. But chances at what? I don't believe in any gods. I don't imagine there to be a soul for me to save. My own peace, perhaps, but that's selfish even for me. My own inner stupidity, perhaps.'

'A tolerable first entry, I suppose. Have a nice day, your Majesty. My sincerest apologies to Her Highness for being inflicted upon her vicinity again. The Princess is welcome to throw things. -Hans'

Hard to say of that last part was a joke. It was a meandering, but that was simply what one got, with a journal.

Elsa read over the letter multiple times. It was not what she had expected, but it had given her a glimpse into his life, even if it was minimal. She had asked him for his thoughts and feelings, though she got more of the former rather than the latter.

The journal entry felt so stiff, but she thought since it was the first one that someone was reading it was understandable.

She read his request at the top of the page 'Please burn after reading'. She contemplated if she would fulfill his request, she had a candle at the ready, but she could not bring herself to burn it. Not yet at least, instead she folded the letter back up and placed it in her desk drawer under lock and key.

The next was sent with the same 'seal' as the first.

'Please burn after reading'

'Good morning, or whensoever you should read.'

'It would almost be easier if these were letters to and from, but then I could not stop myself from afflicting some persona on you.'

'My mother is an actress, you see. A very good one, but that is all she is good at. Acting, and picking one apart like a carrion bird. I have memorized Macbeth, and say the cursed play's name without fear, knowing I am more cursed than it could hope to be. For every character, an act. "For all the world's a stage and its people merely players," writes the Bard. It must be nice to not have to pretend, to be content. To not have to pretend to be content.' The repetition was no typo, nothing was crossed out or uncertain there.

'And yet, it all feels real at the time. It always does, no matter if the decision is conscious. Broken mirrors are unlucky, and I am by trade unlucky. But there are some things I would never admit to feeling, and some things I simply feel I cannot.'

'I have often wondered how Her Highness feels so much all at once. The Princess seems so full of life. Never take her to the Isles, it would be a shame to drain that charming nature. I wish this could have been avoided so to never temper her enthusiasm with jaded realities. But alas, Reality is a bastard.'

'Wishing you well,

-Hans'

So the Queen was actress? That was something Elsa had not known. She had studied much of the Southern Isles after the coronation, but much like information on Arendelle during the closing of the Gates, there was not much it (at least regarding the Royals).

Now she knew where Hans got his acting skills from.

There was so much dejection in his words, that it almost made her feel sorrow herself.

She wondered if he really incapable of feeling or if was another charade of his. If Anna was truly right that he had a frozen heart.

Again as she did with the previous letter, instead of setting it ablaze, she set it in her drawer with the other under lock and key.

She had pondered whether to have made his punishment writing letters rather than journals, but decided against it. She really shouldn't be writing letters to him, no matter how curious she was to get questions answered. She chose journaling because it was more informal and open for him to write the thoughts and feelings she requested, since it seemed to have been the way avidly written in his confiscated journal.

Though she should have realized upon her request that he probably wouldn't be as open to her as he was to himself and there was no way of knowing if what he wrote was truly himself or just another persona he hid behind.

The next letter was a trifle less organized. Still, however, with its carved seal.

'Please burn after reading.'

'Good whenever, Your Majesty. Assuming you read these at all. That sounds rather like a greek punishment, writing letters to one who never reads them. Although, it sounds a bit like a religion, too, doesn't it? Ah well. Philosophy is the act of asking a thousand questions and debating about answers none will ever have.' What an opener.

'I had thought this story to be one I and my crew had made up in a collective fever, utter nonsense brought upon by unfamiliar waters and frayed nerves. Reflecting on Arendelle, however, I think perhaps it may have been entirely real.'

'Once upon a time, I and my crew met Sirens.'

'We were on the Conch Cat, my ship, as a captain some years ago, shortly before my admiralty. I have since kept the Conch Cat, though it now likely has a new captain, in light of my removal from the Navy. That stung worse than any sentence for treason, but I digress...'

' We had traveled some way through a storm somewhere in the Pacific, and that storm was hellacious. It threatened to rip the mast down even with the sails pulled up, but as we sailed on, soon it halted. As if someone had snuffed a candle, it had gone, replaced with a fog so thick that one could not see the forward bow from the stern. We could only drift slowly and pray that both fog and storm relented before we found somewhere to become a shipwreck, but the fog was, at least, peaceful. Some minutes into our silent crawl across the water, we began to hear ringing laughter and singing. We could all of us understand the language we heard, but the voices sounded foreign- indescribably so. They sang a familiar song, about a woman missing her sailor fiancée. '

'My heart is pierced by cupid,'

'I disdain all glittering gold,'

'There is nothing can console me'

'But my jolly sailor bold.'

'We looked into the water, and found there a woman, with lily-white skin and long waving hair under the water, graceful as any fish, and with a silvery tail of shimmering scales in our amber lamplight. It was bizarre and curious, so of course every man leant to see (and likely, a part of that being that she wore no scrap of cloth, but mine was a purely scientific curiosity, if you'll believe it).'

'There was more than one, but it was one with long raven hair that I could best see from my position. Every man listened to their singing, and each looking over the sides, before I alone realized what was happening.'

'I called to the men to get back to their posts, and barely managed to grab the helmsman and drag him back by his collar, before one of the sirens leapt up to try and grab him. He still has scratches on the side of his face (that he swears to others were from a jealous lover). I recall that one having ringlets of red-gold hair, though I caught only a glance as she tried to nab him. Men jumped back from the sides, some grabbing others, and returned to their posts. I, however, remained curious. Why had they not affected me so much as they had affected the men? Some men had to be tied to rails, why should I be different? So I ventured forward again with a lantern, foolish as I am.'

'Your heart is pierced by cupid'

'If a man may be so bold,'

'But I have nothing for you,'

'For mine is beating cold.'

'They did not care for this addition, and our Barrelman managed to pull me back this time.'

'I ordered my men to pull the sails down and speed through the fog, damn the consequences and the mast as well, so we did. Someone launched a canon, it sounded as if it hit rocks but we had seen none. We survived the sirens, fog and storm with shredded sails but an intact mast by only the grace of any god listening, and escaped. We all drank ourselves to sleep that night, and spoke of it as a fiction the next day.'

'I think perhaps, after all, it was no fiction. But I only tell the story to men of the sea, who are used to a little fabrication and strange stories. I never tell it as a fact, but it is. Who would believe? I'm glad to tell it as a truth to someone."

'My best to you, always; -Hans'

His writing was less elegant than it had been the day before, with perhaps some scratching-out and scribbling that was uncharacteristic of his writing. The handwriting seemed less tight and controlled, the writing less thought-through. The send-off seemed almost careless in both its words and its handwriting. There was a curious section near the header of seemingly aimless hatch marks, to no real purpose. He just seemed a little less controlled and rigid than before. And perhaps, his topic of choice was stranger than usual. Getting a thought out that he would seemingly never otherwise have shared.

Elsa tapped her pen against her desk. His opener doubting whether she even read his journals made her want to send him a note of reassurance of her readership, now she was debating whether that was the right course of action or not.

His sea story though different than his previous entries, had piqued her interest. The tale of Sirens only a myth to some, but to her it read so real, for she knows Trolls are real and even her own powers were something that would seem like fiction to someone that hadn't witnessed them with their own eyes. The possibility of more Magic out there made her wonder if there was someone out there who's a little bit like her in the great unknown. Yet the sirens weren't the only thing that caught her attention in this letter, his lyrics of the song stood out to her

'Your heart is pierced by cupid'

'If a man may be so bold,'

'But I have nothing for you,'

'For mine is beating cold.'

It was mention of a frozen heart yet again.

A blank piece of paper sitting in front of her as she continued tapping her pen.

How would she even address him, even in a simple note? She kept hovering her pen over the paper ready to start writing, but pulling away as her mind went blank yet again.

Maybe she need not tell him, but show him that she read his words. Without much of a second thought at the center of the page she wrote:

' I believe.'

Short and simple, but to the point. She folded the paper, like he did his and now it was time to seal. She placed the wax, but the Arendelle seal didn't seem right. She poured more wax and this time with her magic made a snowflake to replace it.

The note was done, now it was whether or not she would choose to send it.

She cleaned off her desk, placing his recent letter with the rest under lock and key. The note she just wrote in her hands, she played with the edges as she looked at her snowflake insignia. She was lost in her thoughts, when a knock at the door startled her.

"Your Majesty," The head guard seemed uncertain at first. "Your prisoner seems... off, today. He hasn't expressed any change in particular, he just seems off in a way I can't place, my instincts say something is wrong. Do you have any thoughts or direction? He also insists that he would like to wash his own clothes, but I consider that too dangerous, and frightfully curious for a previous prince." The head guard frowned. He had been doing his job for some years, but something about all this felt wrong, and he couldn't quite say how. Something beyond the laundry.

Elsa sighed. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention Captain."

She had noticed a change in Hans in the way he had written the journal, but had not thought much of it, but now that the captain voiced his concern there was no ignoring that there was something definitely off with Hans today.

"I think I have to go see him myself, in order to decide a proper course of action." It was something she had not planned on doing, but she felt she had no choice now, she had allowed Hans to return so he was her responsibility.

She still had her note in hand as she stood up from her desk and walked towards the Captain.

The guard nodded. "Excellent plan, your Majesty. I will be there to maintain your safety." The Captain assured. That was what it always was, his job. But he took pride in it.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #frozen fanfiction #Shattered Reflections

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