#and there were at least in-story references to what happened to fred

[mxcottonsocks]

I do like The Old Curiosity Shop, but it definitely feels to me like Dickens' messiest novel.

A (possibly incomplete) list of things that drop out of the book part-way through:

Master Humphrey

1st person narration

Fred Trent

Whatever the original intention for Dick Swiveller was

The Old Curiosity Shop itself

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Do you think Percy Weasley could have gotten on with your version of Tom? Like, obviously they'd need a situation to get past Tom's general Tom-ness, but Percy did do 12 OWLs (also where'd you get Tom's OWL scores I can't source it) and I feel that he gets a hilariously bad rap in canon for just... wanting to learn things and not be poor.

What's the Deal with Tom's OWLs?

Your second question first.

There is no source, we don't know canonically anything about Tom's coursework and scores beyond that Dumbledore said he did very well.

We gave him 13 to put him ahead of known canon characters like Barty Jr. and Percy and make him a super special boy (who to be fair would then be remembered for his overachieving mad academic prowess that turned out not to matter at all).

It's one of those things we made up in fics so as to be able to write stories in which we needed such a detail on hand.

Would Percy Get on with Tom

With mine and @therealvinelle's version? (see here)

No.

I actually think Percy gets the short end of the stick much of the time. As you note, even before he made the great betrayal of expressing doubt regarding Dumbledore, he was generally disliked by Ron, Fred, and George at least and when the split happened between Percy and the Pro-Dumbledore family it felt weirdly as if Percy had been excommunicated until he learned to admit he was wrong.

But that doesn't mean he gets along with Tom either.

Tom as a schoolboy would likely view Percy much the way Fred, George, and Ron did. He'd ask himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (never mind that Tom is doing the same thing himself, save that Tom excuses himself because "I am poor and Muggle-born" and no, Percy being poor doesn't count).

Tom would chafe at Percy's entire personality of unironic overachiever.

That Percy then does go on to get positions like secretary to the Minister would have Tom despising him on principle.

Tom as an adult would likely think that Percy's surprisingly reasonable and ambitious for a Weasley but would think nothing of his life/trials and tribulations and would probably just find it funny the complete ostracizing of Percy (to be fair a bit in both directions) over agreeing or disagreeing with Albus fucking Dumbledore on every batshit thing the man has ever said.

But Tom would not feel any personal connection with Percy and if ever in conversation with him would probably be very disinterested.

... And if they were to be trapped in a conversation with one another, I imagine Tom would still think to himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (nevermind that Tom at this point is a stylized Dark Wizard who sometimes refers to himself in third person by the fancy title he's given himself).

As for Percy, if he got to know Tom on any real level, he'd think he's fucking nuts (which he is). If he knew him on a superficial level--he'd either be a heated academic rival he distantly respects but wants to beat or if the man's older then an authority figure he wants to impress.

You said it yourself, some drastic thing has to happen to get past Tom's Tom-ness. And I just don't see what that drastic thing would ever be.

Just because Percy doesn't deserve his reputation among the family or Harry for that matter does not mean he and Tom Riddle would be buddies.

(Though it sounds like you really want this, anon, so you should just write the fic.

(gif credit by @franzias-cave)

(Also, as a caveat, I love this insistence that overachieving nerds must sit at the same lunch table and like each other. That that quality is alone that the stamp of friendship must be placed upon you both.

"You both took so man O.W.L.s!" - someone's grandmother at a Christmas party.)

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Hello again, not quite sure how to formulate this question, but on the topic of EM Forster, I read most of his novels many years ago, and then recently re-read The Longest Journey. I really enjoyed it and I like the themes, but I found the style quite strange and a bit hard to follow at times. I've read that the book was meant to be 'symbolic' and not particularly realistic. But anyway, I wondered what you made of the style of it and how you like it (or not) in relation to the others. I am planning to re-read (and re-watch) Maurice soon.

Hello again!

I got to say I haven't read The Longest Journey. I love Maurice, but I'm not really a big Forster fan (I actually know considerably more about Fred Benson!).

However, I do know The Longest Journey is commonly referred as Forster's most polarizing novel. It is, after all, his only novel that was never adapted into a film. I read a short summary of it on Drewey Wayne Gunn's Gay Novels of Britain and Ireland (a very useful guide) and I confess I wasn't very impressed. So your thoughts don't seem to be unusual.

On the other hand, it's interesting that for a long time Maurice was considered a lesser work among Forster's bibliography, to the point its rights' owners were reluctant to give Merchant Ivory their permission to adapt it. Just take a look at some reviews from the time of its release:

C. P. Snow, in The Financial Times, found the novel 'crippled' by its "explicit purpose," with the ending "artistically quite wrong" (a near universal criticism at the time). Walter Allen in the Daily Telegraph, characterised it as "a thesis novel, a plea for public recognition of the homosexual," which Forster had "wasted" himself doing, instead of an autobiographical work. For Michael Ratcliffe, in The Times, it stands as "the least poetic, the least witty, the least dense and the most immediately realistic of the six novels." Philip Toynbee, in The Observer, found the novel "deeply embarrassing" and "perfunctory to the point of painful incompetence," prompting him to question "whether there really is such a thing as a specifically homosexual sensibility." Toynbee went on to state that he could "detect nothing particularly homosexual about Maurice other than it happens to be about homosexuals."

The reason for such a cold reception seems clear to me: Forster was seen as a "serious author", and a story about two homosexuals falling in love and having a happy ending was still interpreted in the 1970s as purely trifle activism, and not really “real art”. You can still detect the influence of this line of thinking in contemporary gay literature, where the gays-suffering-and-dying-because-they’re-gay releases remain the most acclaimed and “serious” ones.

Maurice’s reputation (both novel and film) grew a lot in the last few years, thankfully. Forster benefited from writing what he truly wanted: it’s a tightly written, focused story. The themes of romantic friendship, institutional oppression, interclass relationships, masculinity, the English nature and even religion are well presented and utilized. I also appreciate how Forster wasn’t afraid of making his protagonist imperfect, in an “uncool” way: Maurice Hall is an aggressively average middle-class snob, and he's also quite misogynist toward his mom and sisters (and went no contact with them, even though they didn’t deserve it). Some people complain its narrative is too slow for modern standards, but I’m used to it. And maybe Forster needed some missteps like The Longest Journey to reach to this story.

[burgundybmw]

Munson's Mixtape

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader

Word Count: 3,470

Warnings: Mrs. Cunningham being a bitch, Mention of the Devil, Death (Chrissy, Fred, Patrick), References to Jason being an asshole.

Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.

Author’s Note: Hope you guys liked this chapter! The next one will have Eddie reuniting with his lady in the trailer... but be warned. Next chapter won't be all sunshine and rainbows.

Track Fifteen

Y/N has never been in the back of a police car. Not once in her 20 years of life. She was always careful, anything to avoid her mother's wrath if she dared to do something untoward. However, her two decade long streak has come to a screeching halt. She was currently sitting in the back of Chief Powell's SUV, with Max Mayfield sitting beside her. Dustin and Lucas were in another car, and they were all heading to the Wheeler household. Y/N had asked the chief of police to stop at Rick's car to grab the duffle bag she had taken from her house. He agreed, and now she was peeling through Chrissy's diary trying to find something to back her story up. If she was going to successfully pin this thing on Jason, she needed more solid proof than her word.

Max was looking at her like she was insane, but kept her mouth shut. She was a smart girl, and knew better than to ask her what she was going in front of the cops. Y/N was reading her sisters most private thoughts as quickly as she could. She knew that if she found something useful, the police would confiscate it as evidence. They too would know every detail of Chrissy's life, the good, the bad, and the embarrassing. Y/N just hoped Chrissy would forgive her, wherever she was. She was framing her sister's boyfriend for murder, but Y/N held on hope that it wouldn't get that far.

The Carver's had influence, and once the panic eventually died down they would probably find the best lawyer they could to free Jason. She didn't think claims of a satanic serial murder would hold up in court, at least not for him. Hawkins was crazy enough to believe Eddie would do such a thing, but not All Star American Good Ol' Boy Jason Carver. By then Y/N would have enough evidence to prove Eddie's innocence, and then the cases would go cold. It made her sad to think Vecna couldn't be punished in a court of law, that he would never serve jail time for his crimes. But hopefully he will be dead by the end of this, and Y/N will have comfort in the thought that Chrissy could finally rest in peace knowing her real killer is gone forever.

Throughout Y/N's search she found a few entries in the diary that could be helpful, with a good enough spin. There was one from September that mentioned Patrick.

September 8th, 1985

Dear Diary, School starts tomorrow, and normally I would be excited for the new year, but this time I'm not. Last night Annie threw a last weekend of summer party at her house. Jason picked me up as usual, and everything was going great until Andy suggested everyone play spin the bottle. I didn't want to do it, but Jason said it was just a silly game and that it didn't mean anything. During the first half of the game I had to watch Stephanie, Michelle, and Crystal all kiss my boyfriend on the mouth. I tried not to feel jealous, they all said it was just fun. It didn't feel like fun to me. None of the boys landed on me at first, and I didn't know if I should've felt relieved or upset about it. I don't want to kiss any boy other than Jason, but it hurt seeing it happen to him over and over again. I wanted to get even, and I had my chance when Patrick spun on me. Jason gave him such a dirty look, and Patrick told me I didn't have to if I didn't want to. That was nice of him, and even though I was jealous of other girls kissing Jason, I didn't want to upset my boyfriend. So I just kissed him on the cheek, it was a bit closer to his mouth than I would normally do, but I never made contact with his lips. After I sat back down, Jason pulled me up by the arm and dragged me into the kitchen. He threw an absolute fit! As if he wasn't doing worse! He said it was different for girls, that I was his and his alone. I told him it was just a kiss on the cheek, but Jason wouldn't listen. He never listens when he's angry. After that he left me at the party and drove home. Patrick gave me a ride himself, and said he would talk to him today. I just hope I don't have to start senior year without a boyfriend, I already know what prom dress I want to buy.

After Y/N read the entry she thought of different ways she could make it seem like Jason had it out for Patrick. It would be difficult, considering the fact that they were friends, but not impossible. A second entry from the beginning of March mentioned Fred.

March 4th, 1986

Dear Diary, I got interviewed by the school paper today! Fred wanted to do a piece on the cheerleading squad and I was picked! My picture is going to be in it and everything! I'm so excited to tell Y/N about it. Even Jason's sour mood can't bring me down. He was sooooo convinced Fred was going to say something bad about me, because according to him Fred only writes bad things about Jason, and because I'm his girlfriend that means he's gonna write bad things about me too. I just think he's paranoid. Jason can be a little narcissistic sometimes, thinks the world revolves around him. He said the world revolves around us, which is sweet I guess. I don't know, he's been stressed out about his last basketball season of High School and getting into Yale. So I won't hold it against him.

Those two entries were all Y/N had to defend her case. There were others that talked about fights her sister and Jason had, but the rest of the diary sang his praises. She was sad reading how Jason had treated her sister, and that she didn't realize how cruel he could be. Chrissy didn't deserve Jason's bullshit, but it was too late for her to say anything about it now.

Before she realized it Chief Powell was pulling into the driveway of the Wheeler house. She could see a half dozen cars parked there, her mother's car included. Y/N's heart started pounding, she didn't think her mother would bother to show up, but she was here, waiting for her. The thought gave her little comfort.

Chief Powell opened the back door of the car and let the two girls out. There was another police vehicle in the driveway, so Dustin and Lucas must already be inside. As they walked through the door, all Y/N could hear was yelling.

Max went to sit down next to the boys on the love seat, and Y/N slowly walked to stand beside them. She purposefully ignored her mother's frigid stare. When the Chief walked in everyone stopped speaking for a moment, waiting for him to speak first.

"Okay. The story I've heard tonight is something I, quite frankly, find hard to believe. If you would have asked me a month ago if I thought the Devil was in Hawkins, I'd tell you to check yourself into the loony bin. But now, I don't know what to believe. So right now we are going to get to the bottom of this. Starting with you three." Chief Powell said sternly. Before any of the kids could speak the parents in the room started shouting again.

"The Devil? What's this about the Devil?" Mrs. Sinclair yelled. Lucas sank deeper into his seat. That was her I-mean-business-voice, and he knew he was about to be in deep shit.

"Oh God, Dusty what is he talking about?" Mrs. Henderson asked her son, wiping stray tears off her face with a hanky.

"What on Earth?" Mrs. Wheeler gasped in shock.

"I knew it! I knew Satan himself was involved with this!" Mrs. Cunningham shouted, and Y/N held her head down. She tried to stop herself from shaking. She looked up for just a moment only to find her mother staring daggers at her.

"That's enough!" Chief Powell shouted, but Y/N ignored him. The officers started asking the kids questions, about what they were doing at Lovers Lake. She couldn't focus on them, she was frozen by her mother's icy eyes. They were locked on to her, like a missile about ready to strike. The rest of the parents were shouting again, but Mrs. Cunningham never said a word.

"Shut up!" Chief Powell shouted. Y/N looked over to him, the spell her mother had on her finally broken.

"We're gonna try a more civilized approach. One at a time. You first." Chief Powell said as he pointed at Max.

"Wait, what? Why me? I'm not even in Hellfire." Max protested.

"Follow me." Said Officer Callahan as he lead her upstairs.

"And you, stay right here." Chief Powell said pointing to Y/N. "You two go in the other room, I'll deal with you later."

Dustin and Lucas gave Y/N a pitied look, before they nodded and walked into the kitchen, Lucas' little sister trailing behind them. That left Y/N alone with Chief Powell and the rest of the parents. She moved to sit down on the love seat, when she barely made contact with the cushion her mother went in on her.

"You have a lot of explaining to do missy. First, you selfishly ruin your sister's funeral, embarrassed me and your father in front of everyone, and now this? What is wrong with you! I knew your father was wrong, he should have never bothered calling Notre Dame. You should have stayed away before you ruined absolutely everything!" Mrs. Cunningham shouted. They stopped and stared at her mother's harsh voice, the other mothers in the group turned back to look at Y/N with a sympathetic look on their faces.

"That's enough Mrs. Cunningham, it's my turn to ask the questions." Chief Powell said sternly. Her mother looked like she wanted to continue, but she knew not to embarrass herself in front of the police.

"Okay Miss. Cunningham, can you continue what you were saying earlier? About Jason Carver?" Chief Powell asked. Mrs. Cunningham whipped her head around to face the Chief, protest ready on her lips before he raised a hand at her to keep quiet.

"I believe it was Jason who made a deal with the Devil... I think he wanted revenge against Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick. Jason... he's not who you think he is. It sounds crazy, but I know he somehow made contact with Satan himself, and through whatever means he was able to use black magic to kill all three of them. My sister often singed his praises, but she always saw the good in people... She didn't see how wicked he was." Y/N replied. She tried to make her voice sound haunted, scared out of her wits. Chief Powell was about to ask her to elaborate before her mother cut him off.

"How dare you. How dare you point the finger at Jason. You have no idea what you're talking about." The words were laced with venom as Mrs. Cunningham said them.

“Mom, it was Jason. I know it was him.” Y/N pleaded, but her mother ignored her.

“Shut your mouth young lady. Jason is a good, sweet, God fearing young man. He loved your sister! He wouldn’t make a pact with the Devil, stop spreading these lies.” Mrs. Cunningham replied, sick of her daughter's antics.

“I’m not lying! She told me they fought a lot, and Jason was paranoid she was going to leave him! See here, I have Chrissy’s diary." Y/N grabbed the book she hid behind her and opened it up to show the pages she marked.

"They went to a party and played spin the bottle, she kissed Patrick on the cheek and Jason flipped out." Y/N flipped the book over to show her mother and Chief Powell. She turned the pages frantically to find the next entry she dog eared.

"And here, Chrissy wrote that she did an interview with Fred about the cheer squad, and she said Jason didn't like him because Fred always wrote about his failures in basketball. Jason is the only one who's connected to all of the victims! That’s the only explanation! Jason signed his name in the Devil’s black book!" Y/N shouted. All of the parents in the room looked at her in shock and horror, all except her mother, who looked at her as if she belonged on a stake ready to be set aflame.

“Are you sure about this young lady?” Chief Powell asked.

“Yes. Something is wrong with Hawkins, so horribly wrong. We all know it, but are too afraid to admit it. I don’t know how Jason made his evil pact, but it’s the only thing that makes sense." Y/N felt the tears fill her eyes, this time she didn't have to fake them.

"I saw how Chrissy died, she levitated from the ground. Her bones shattered in place, her eyes... oh God her eyes were ripped out from the inside. No man could do that. Jason is trying to pin this on Eddie, he knows what people in town think of him. It would be so easy… but he didn’t fool me. He won’t get away with this.” She held firm throughout her tale. Y/N prayed that it was enough to convince Chief Powell. His face was still a bit unreadable, but he looked less skeptical than he did at Lover's Lake.

“Alright then. If you wouldn’t mind going into the kitchen with the others Miss. Cunningham, I’d like a word with your mother.” Y/N nodded and slowly walked away, leaving her mother and Chief Powell to speak privately. When she walked into the kitchen Dustin, Lucas, and his sister were all standing in the hallway next to the stairs.

"So, what if, with each kill, he's not simply killing them, he's making a powerful psychic connection with his victims? A connection powerful enough to rip a hole in the fabric of time and space." Dustin whispered loudly. Y/N stopped right in her tracks, the group didn't notice her presence yet. A feeling of dread so intense it gripped her from the inside out. Vecna was far more powerful than she had feared.

"He's opening more gates." Lucas replied.

"Bingo." Dustin replied. They heard another officer walk by the hallway and slowly headed back to the kitchen, Y/N quietly trailed behind.

"Why would he be opening more gates?" Dustin asked.

"To take over the world." Lucas replied, and that idea made the dread inside of Y/N grow thicker with every passing moment.

"And who do we know who wants to take over the world?" Dustin asked.

"The Mind Flayer." Lucas whispered. It was like the two of them were having their own private conversation, oblivious to Y/N and Lucas' sister's presence.

"So if the Demogorgon was just his foot solider, Vecna is his five-star general. A five-star general with the power to open gates." Dustin whispered frantically.

"Holy shit." Lucas said has he put his hands behind his said.

"Holy shit." Dustin replied in turn.

"Holy shit. That was incomprehensible. You lost me at Mothergate. Please be kind. Rewind." Lucas' sister said with distain.

"I agree, I have no idea what any of that meant." Y/N said finally making her presence known.

Dustin groaned and went back to the beginning of his theory. He explained what he knew about the massive gate that was in Hawkins Lab, the first one they found when Will went missing. He further explained how that gate remained open for a year before their friend Eleven, the girl with superpowers Dustin had told her about days prior, had closed it. They thought the gate was closed forever, until the Russians tried to open a new one under Starcourt Mall. A part of The Mind Flayer had possessed Will, and from there possessed dozens of other people in Hawkins. After they defeated the corporeal Mind Flayer in the mall, Eleven lost her powers, and they thought everything was finally over. That was until Vecna appeared, with his ability to open gates wherever he killed his victims.

Y/N's mind was racing. She hated every word that came out of Dustin's mouth, each statement more horrifying than the next. How was she oblivious to everything? Living her happy-go-lucky life as if there wasn't a living hell that casted it's dark shadow over Hawkins. Dustin had only given the cliff notes version of the story before, this, this was way worse. Lucas' sister, Erica she now knew, had led them to the dining room of the Wheeler house, convinced someone could hear their conversation. They all sat down at the table as Dustin paced back and forth in front of it, rambling on about his theories on Vecna.

"So our working theory is that Vecna makes remote contact from his attic. We don't know why. We assume he can do it from anywhere." Dustin sat back down when he noticed Erica staring into space. Y/N followed her line of sight and noticed the light from the chandelier was flickering in a pattern.

"Are you even listening to me?" Dustin asked.

"Yea, I'm listening. It's just..." Erica said as she walked towards the light fixture in the ceiling. "You said you followed Vecna through lights, right?"

"Yeah, why?" Dustin replied.

"Because I think he's here." They all stood up from the table to see what Erica was talking about. Y/N didn't look away once as the light maintained its steady pattern. A bad feeling settled in Y/N's stomach, she feared that whatever it was that was causing the lights to flicker was up to no good.

"S... O... S..." Dustin whispered. "Hey, uh, remember when I said they wouldn’t be stupid enough to go through Watergate?”

“Yeah?” Lucas replied.

“I overestimated them.” Dustin said in a disappointed tone. Y/N walked over and stood in front of the kids, her arms crossed against her chest.

“How do you know it’s them? What if it’s Vecna or something else? What if they’re trying to trick us?” Y/N asked, she was skeptical that it was truly Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Steve on the other side of that light.

“It’s Eddie. I know Steve, Robin, and Nancy don’t know Morse Code, but he knows S.O.S. Nancy knows about Will communicating through the lights when he went to the Upside Down, it has to be them.” Dustin replied.

“Eddie? Eddie if that’s you can you show me a sign? If it’s Vecna you can kindly go fuck yourself, I’m not in the mood for this.” Y/N turned to face the lights, her arms moving from her chest to her hips with a serious look on her face. If Vecna wanted her he could just stop wasting her time and do it already, she didn't want to play any silly game.

The pattern of the lights stopped for a moment, the light maintaining a consistent glow, before it started up again. This wasn't the same S.O.S Dustin pointed out earlier, it was something else. The light flickered once and held the glow before dimming, then it did it a second time, and a third in the same way. Then it started flickering again, a steady 1, 2, 3, 4 beat. Other lights on the chandelier started to flicker as well, all following a consistent beat. Y/N began tapping the rhythm on the chair in front of her, and just like that, muscle memory kicked it. It was the same motion she made when she tapped the steering wheel of her Buick, every time she listened to Eddie's mixtape. It was the beat to For Whom The Bell Tolls. She started to softly sing the lyrics of her favorite song, the one she told Eddie and only Eddie.

"Make his fight on the hill in the early day… constant chill deep inside… Shouting gun, on they run through the endless grey. On they fight, for they’re right, yes, but who’s to say… Oh God Eddie baby you’re a genius!” Y/N cheered. She turned around to face the rest of the group, a massive smile on her face. Eddie was here, in a way, and he was alive.

“Hey! Meet us in Nancy’s room, I’ve got an idea!” Dustin yelled. Y/N followed the kids as they stole the Lite-Brite from Mike and Nancy's little sister and headed upstairs. She hoped that whatever Dustin was planning would work. Y/N hated the idea of Eddie staying in the Upside Down for a single minute longer.

Taglist:

@imchangkyunned , @creativedogs , @nightless , @kik51199 , @kik51199 , @thecraziestcrayon , @dabzzallday420 , @science--hoes , @efvyqrs , @justanotherkpopstanlol , @kikis-writing-world , @secretsicanthideanymore , @heartandhead2018 , @piperd06 , @kellysimagines ,

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 4.522

Warnings: NSFW! Smut, so smutty. Gamahuche. Licking. Bodily liquids. Fingering. Sucking. Hair pulling. Begging. And I’m out of whatever else there is, but I’m sure there’s more - let me know and I’ll add them XD

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the always gorgeous and incredible @radaofrivia​! She is the Brain to my Pinky! The Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone! My goddess Saga and my muse Erato! My drinking buddy and who will stay up till 4am with me to finish this story.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

*Edit: The title was decided before I realised that it is a song by Kings of Leon. These two have nothing in common except for the title.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

(Credit to original gif owner - if this is yours please contact me so I can give you proper credit)

The grey concrete building stood tall in front of you. You leaned your head back to see the top, but it was nearly impossible. All you could see were windows leading into the sky. A doorman in a black uniform stood by the entrance, watching whoever went in and out. He nodded his head with a stoic look in a greeting.

The lobby looked more welcoming than the outside building. There was a fireplace with three sofas surrounding it and a coffee table stacked with magazines. A few women were already sitting there, gossiping about the new dapper doctor that had rented the entire top floor.

You rolled your eyes and went over to the reception. A man stood to greet you with a smile, but he was talking to someone in his headset, which only took a few seconds before he hung up.

“I am sorry about that, how may I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m here for an appointment with dr. Syverson,” you said a little nervously.

“Ah, yes. I have a form you need to fill out,” he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, “The elevators are just right over there. Take it all the way to the 52nd floor. Another receptionist will be there to guide you further.”

You accepted the paper and went for the elevators. A chill went down your spine as the cold air from the air condition hit you. You pressed the button for dr. Syverson’s floor. An orchestral song started playing over the speakers. It wasn’t until you listened closely to the lyrics that you noticed it was ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the beat of the soft drums. Lars Ulrich had been your celebrity crush as a teen, and you still listened to their older songs when you had a bad day.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ‘ding!’, pulling you out of your trance. Another receptionist stood at the opposite side. She looked up from the computer and smiled.

“Welcome to dr. Syverson’s clinic. Do you need help filling out the paper?” she asked nicely. You quickly scanned what you needed to scribble down. It was mostly your personal information and history of health.

“No, I think I can manage, thank you,” you smiled back.

“You can take a seat in the sofas, and when you’re done just fold it and put it in the mailbox, dr. Syverson will call you in, shortly,” she motioned to a black mailbox by the elevators that you had missed when walking past it.

You nodded and went for the sofas. The room was warm and comfortable with green plants everywhere. The sand-coloured leather sofas were softer than you expected as you sank down. You filled out the form and put it in the box.

Instead of sitting back down, you decided to walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look at the impressive view of the city. Your eyes widened at how far you could see, all the way to the ocean, and if you squinted your eyes, you might have been able to see your apartment building, even the bar you had often been frequenting lately.

Dr. Syverson walked out of his office. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a bit sore from having sat down reading his patients’ charts all afternoon. Now he just needed to check on his last appointment, before he could go home and enjoy an ice-cold beer.

His receptionist was packing her stuff, sending him a kind smile. The perks of working with his sister were that she didn’t try to seduce him, or leave her underwear in his white coat pocket like some of his patients tended to do.

He smiled back and looked around the room. His gaze landing on you. His first thoughts were not ‘oh there’s my patient’, no, his mind went straight to ‘YOWZA!’.

“Last patient for today, Luc. I’ll be leaving now, see you tomorrow,” he heard his sister say to him. She smacked his arm to get his attention. He was pulled back to reality, saying goodbye to her before walking towards you, changing his mindset from dirty to professional.

You gasped when a flock of seagulls flew by, making you take a step back and hit a wall. Except the wall had arms that grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor.

“Whoah, careful there, miss,” a deep rough voice said. You looked up and saw a man with a trimmed beard, a soft smile on his lips, and a mischievous look in his cerulean eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. You quickly remove yourself from his arms, first now noticing that he was wearing the white coat signalling he was dr. Syverson. And if that didn’t kick your brain in gear, then the name tag on his chest should do it. Dr. Lucas P. Syverson.

“It’s all good. This way, please,” he made sure you followed him to his office. The wall colour changed to a more soothing beige colour and was adorned with colourful paintings. You didn’t notice what they depicted before you stepped closer to one. It was of naked human bodies in various forms and shapes, very fitting for a gynaecologist’s office.

He had various books about his profession, but a few stood out to you. One had a peach on the cover and was written by dr. Syverson himself. You were impressed but wondered about the peach until you saw the title that made you blush deeply.

“How to eat a peach for dummies.”

He motioned for you to sit in the armchair, while he plopped down on the opposite one. He grabbed a chart from his desk and a pen.

“I’ve had a look at your medical history, and the…” Dr. Syverson looked down on the chart, “three gynaecologists that you have been referred to have written that you are in a state of good health. Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not too keen on some of these doctors you’ve had appointments with. They’re as old as Methuselah.”

You let out a peal of laughter. The joke having put you at ease with the doctor, who was smiling as you calmed down from your fit of giggles.

You were a little bit shocked by this doctor. Dr. Syverson was nothing like how you had imagined him. He couldn’t be over 40, with the extended educational schooling he would have had to go through. You remembered having read somewhere that it took at least 12 years to become a gynaecologist.

“Oh my gosh, they were. Another thing they had in common was that they would take a “quick” peek, not caring that I was screaming in pain, and then tell me that I’m healthy as a horse.”

Dr. Syverson sat back; his brow pushed together. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his forehead. He ran a hand through his beard, which made you notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring. If he wasn’t your doctor, you might have asked him on a date. Had you only met him at a bar instead of his office, and not being his patient. Damn it.

“There is definitely an issue we need to figure out here. I want you to know, miss that I plan on solving this mystery. Please, tell me in your own words what you think is wrong?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but all the sentences you thought of were too embarrassing to say out loud.

“Miss, you can say anything here. Nothing leaves these four walls, I promise you,” dr. Syverson tried to make you feel more comfortable with him with his gorgeous smile. His presence alone was putting you at ease. How did he do it?

“It burns when I’m penetrated,” you confessed.

“Penetrated how? During intercourse or masturbation?”

“I haven’t had sex since this happened. I can barely stuff two fingers in there,” you blurted, turning tomato red, confessing something so private to a total stranger, but it felt great to finally say it out loud, like a heavy stone being lifted from your shoulders.

“How about I take a look? Let me see with my own eyes that you’re ‘healthy as a horse’,” he quoted the old men, making you giggle. “You can leave your trousers and underwear on the bench, and have a seat on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The dashing doctor left the room while you removed your clothing. Feeling a little self-conscious, as you walked over to the gynaecologist table with the stirrups and sat between them, trying to cover your private parts with your shirt.

Dr. Syverson came back soon with a variety of scented candles in his arms.

“The smell of something nice usually helps my patients to relax a little,” he explained. He held them up for you to choose.

“This one,” you smiled and handed him the one called Ocean Mist.

“Nice choice, that one is my favourite,” the doctor grinned. He set the lit candle on his desk. The scent of a sandy beach and salty ocean soon filled the room. The doctor pulled the ultrasound machine towards you. You leaned back on the table inhaling deeply, willing your abdominal muscles to relax. The sounds of a guitar reached your ears. You watched as he set a portable speaker on the small table next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind a little music,” he said, smiling, while he put on a pair of bright orange gloves.

“I love Metallica, so please keep it flowing.”

“Can you guess the song I’m playing? Put your legs up here for me,” he patted the stirrups.

You lifted your legs, intensely listening to the instrumental version of the song.

“Is it ‘The Unforgiven’?” you asked.

“Correct, you’re good. This is going to be a little bit cold,” he squirted a large amount of gel on the ultrasound wand. He slowly inserted the rod inside you, pushing ever so gently. “How long have you listened to Metallica?”

You winced at the invasion but tried to keep your muscles from tightening around the smooth object. You didn’t see the set jaw on the gorgeous looking doctor. Your sweet scent was tickling his nose and making his mouth salivate by the thought of tasting you.

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve been to at least one concert per tour they’ve done,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, your right ovary is a little difficult to find. You’re doing great. Your left ovary is the epitome of health. Are you on any kind of birth control?” he asked casually, trying his best to make you feel safe around him.

“N… no… I…” your voice broke, and tears started streaming down your cheeks. Doctor Lucas quickly removed the wand, cleaned it and sat down next to you.

“It’s okay. Let it all out,” he told you softly. Concern for your well being was painted on his chiselled face.

“It’s just that… I haven’t had sex for years, YEARS doc. No man wants a broken woman, especially not a woman that cannot be penetrated without her screaming in pain.”

You babbled so much you forgot that you were in a gynaecologist’s office and not at a psychologist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt all that out,” you started to blush a crimson red.

Lucas fought hard not to pull you into his arms. His protective instincts were on high alert; he wanted to make you feel safe, make you feel loved. He was cursing the bastards who had hurt you. To him, women were the stronger sex, had to endure more pain than men. Women are precious, made to birth life, made to give love and be loved.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve had a rough time,” he patted your arm, the safest place to touch you and went to get up. “I’m going to feel around to see if there’s something I’ve missed with the ultrasound. What other bands do you listen to?”

You watched as doctor Syverson slapped on another pair of gloves and squirted a smaller amount of gel on his finger, on his long thick finger. You were practically drooling by watching him prepare to examine you.

“Eh… I listen to a little bit of everything,” you said. You laid back down and draped an arm over your eyes. Watching the handsome doctor working was becoming too much for you. He was stirring feelings inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and not in this form or quantity. You had taken a look at his well-proportioned ass when he walked out earlier, and his black trousers did very little to hide his hefty package.

“I’m sorry, but, again, this is going to be a little cold. What was the last song you listened to?” he warned.

It was an erotic scene, watching him standing between your legs, one hand on your belly, while the other was about to enter your most sacred place. You felt him enter. A soft moan escaped your lips.

Lucas’ ears perked. He hadn’t expected to hear that sound coming from your full lips. Had he heard correctly? The little vibration from you sent a jolt straight to the beast he was trying to keep dormant. This wasn’t the first time a woman had moaned while he examined them, but you were different. Another sweet sound reached his ears. You were so responsive to his touch, so open, so reactive. His mind was racing, but one word kept popping up, more.

You had forgotten how to speak, how to form sentences, how to communicate. You could only feel.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

“The last song? You listened to,” he didn’t mean to sound so tense, but he had to distract himself, his treacherous mind, he needed to keep the small-talk going, to break the silence. He wanted to kick himself in the balls for thinking about you, while he was fingers deep inside you. His compassionate instinct was winning over his lust.

Stop it, Lucas! You’re a professional. You cannot mess up! You CAN NOT fuck this up! She needs your help. Lord, give me strength.

“Oh...” you murmured, coming back from whatever universe he had sent you to with his finger technique, “Ehm, before the Metallica song in the elevator, I listened to ‘What’s Your Country Song’ by Thomas Rhett.”

“That’s a great song. I like country music.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as a country kinda g… GOD!!!” you gasped as he curled his finger, touching the spot.

You released a louder sinful sound, a sound that hadn’t left your lips in a very long time. Lucas watched as your chest was heaving, gasping for air. The room was suddenly suffocating him. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. His breath was hitched, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Why did you have to sound like desire itself?

“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave and reduced to a velvety whisper. He hooked his finger once more, listening intensely to the sounds escaping you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You lifted your hips, moving your pelvis closer, needing more friction, needing to feel him deeper inside you.

Fuck!

He was watching you, vehemently. A fire was burning deep in his groin, heck even his eyes were flaming. His shoulders moved fastly up and down as he was heaving in the air through his parted lips, he needed oxygen, he needed to control himself. He was scolding himself for feeling like a horny teenager.

“This is… wrong,” he said in a panic. He moved his hand away from you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist in a fierce grip.

“Please…” you begged, “please don’t stop. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Please, Lucas… I need you… I need you to finish this.”

He could hear the need in your voice. He could smell your arousal. You were clawing your nails into his skin. The look in your eyes was clear that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. The same eyes were shining with unshed tears, begging him for release, and the sound of his name from your lips was making him so close to breaking his resolve.

“I… can’t… you’re my patient,” he groaned, his forehead showing the concerned lines of wrinkles, which made him look even more desirable.

“Can’t you make an exception? Just this once? Please...”

Lucas ran a gloved hand through his short-cropped hair. He turned away from you, needing support for his shaky legs he leaned against the back of his office chair. He was thinking about it, really thinking about it.

“Please, doll. Don’t test me. I’m standing on the edge, and I’m this close to jumping in with both feet. I can lose my career, and I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

You watched as his shoulders sank. You moved off the examination table, pulling the hem of your shirt down to try to cover your nakedness.

“I’m sorry, dr. Syverson. I… I didn’t mean to put you in such a precarious situation,” your voice was small. Your gaze firmly on the wooden floor beneath your feet, you felt so ashamed to have tried to seduce your gynaecologist, who was only trying to help you. Lucas turned around to the sound of your voice breaking, and a little saddened that you started calling him his title again. Your cheeks flushed, your arms wrapped around yourself. You gathered the courage to move towards your clothes.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He moved towards you with the speed of lightning before you could take a single step. His large muscular frame wrapped around you, your head was laying on his chest, listening to the racing of his heartbeat.

“Say ‘you’re fired’,” he ordered, his voice husky and commanding like some kind of army captain, but it was also desperate. Desperate for you not to leave him. Craving your touch. Desiring, longing, yearning, lusting for you. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you processed his words. He heard you gasp as you realised what he was saying.

“Dr. Syverson… you’re fired,” you whispered seductively, although a little shaky too. You watched as the sweet and calm doctor changed before your very eyes.

He clashed his lips with yours in a hungry kiss. He was starving; his only thought was to taste you that was his only goal. Your scent had been making him insane; famished was more correctly described.

While holding you in his arms, he made you move backwards until your bum found the end of the exam table.

His kisses were desperate, and so were you. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breathing was shallow. It was going to happen; it was really going to happen.

He lifted you up and made you sit on the exam table. He parted your legs and went to stand between them. He cupped your face between his warm palms, leaning down to kiss you again. He kissed your jaw and all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Please, don’t regret this,” he whispered and went to touch his forehead against yours.

“I want it, even more than you do,” you answered breathlessly.

With your consent, there was no turning back now.

He devoured your mouth while his hands roamed all over your body. He unbuttoned your blouse while you shoved his white coat to the floor. You pulled at his button-up, buttons were flying everywhere. He shoved your shirt down your shoulders and off your arms before he threw it somewhere behind him. You ran your hands up and down his hairy chest, wanting to feel all of him, not the doctor, but the fine specimen of a man that he was.

He removed your bra with a flick of his fingers. Slowly revealing your breast to him. Your nipples two hard buds, waiting for his mouth to suck, lick, bite, whatever he wanted to do.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His voice was desperate, so filled with lust, but also something oh so sweet.

Lucas moved his lips down your collar bone. Feasting on your breast, nibbling at your skin, before he finally went to town with your nipples. With the first touch of his tongue on your left breast, while he pinched the right, you let out a loud guttural sound. Just him playing with your bosom was about to send you over the edge. The coil in your belly was so close to snapping.

“More… Please, Lucas, more,” you whimpered, pushing his head to the place where you needed his mouth the most, right between your thighs.

You heard him chuckle. He gently pushed you down, making sure you were comfortable before he hooked your legs over his shoulders for better access to your glistening desire.

“Fuck…” you mewled. The sight of the mountain man between your legs, the growing bulge in his dark trousers was so erotic you were about to combust. Your sex was on fire.

“Your body is divine, bug. It was made to be worshipped. I want to make the pain go away,” he said softly.

You didn’t get to say a word as his tongue ran along the seam of your wetness, making you shutter from the first contact. His tongue was wide and long, his mouth blowing hot air as he sucked your lower lips gently.

That tongue of his was everywhere, inside you, lavishing you, adoring every centimetre of your flushed skin. You lifted your head to watch him working you into a frenzy, right as he sucked his index finger into his mouth, coating the digit with his saliva.

The pleasure that he was giving you was overwhelming. The moment he pushed his finger inside your womanhood, was like nothing you had felt before. His finger was warm, and it was a whole different feeling than when he was gloved. His tongue darted out to play with the glistening pearl hiding between your lips, sucking in his finger. Your wetness allowed his movements to be smooth and easy, in and out, and he found that spot that made you howl in ecstasy.

“Luc… I’m… I’m so close… FUCK!”

The coil broke, snatched, ripped apart. You weren’t pushed over the edge, you were shoved, hard, and the pleasuring waves kept coming and coming. It felt as if your orgasm was never-ending. You never wanted to come down from that high. It was addictive.

You released your hold of Sy’s head from your thighs, not having noticed you had trapped him. You were panting hard, trying to catch your breath after the tsunami of an orgasm the doctor had given you.

Lucas’ palm covered your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Did I hurt you, doll?” his face scrunched in concern.

You shook your head, no.

“No… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

The smile on Lucas’ face was breathtaking. He was beaming with pride. You watched as he leaned back, noticing he was still wearing his trousers. The apparent bulge in his abdominal area looked painful.

You moved to sit up, motioning for him to stand.

“I want to return the favour,” you told him, unzipping his trousers. You were gentle, as the tent grew more extensive, the more you released his manhood from its confinement. You helped him out of his black boxer briefs and came face to face with the finest cock you had ever laid eyes on. You were drooling, licking your lips, dying to taste him.

“You don’t have to, angel,” he groaned as your tongue darted out to taste the precum leaking from the tip, hearing him growl, a sound coming from deep inside him.

“Please let me, Sy,” you pleaded, taking his length in your hand. You looked up to see Lucas nodding slowly. He groaned in acceptance.

You ran your tongue over your palm to lubricate it. Lucas’ eyes widened to the size of teacups. His cock jolting in excitement, his heart skipping a beat at the erotic scene happening right before him.

One hand touched his hips, moving to the small of his back, to have a grip on his ass, pushing him closer to your face. He filled your hand beautifully with his hardness, yet he was still soft to the touch of your palm. You started moving your hand up, slowly, hearing his gasp was turning you on even more than you already were. You smeared the clear precum around the glans with your thumb. Delicately wrapping your mouth around him. Your lips were stretched to max capacity, a voice in the back of your mind was telling you that you had to be careful not to lock your jaws, but then again you had a doctor right in front of you if the situation should happen.

You languidly moved his member further into your warm mouth, coating him with your saliva. Your tongue gliding over the tip. Lucas released a low moan that sent vibrations through his body. He lifted his face towards the ceiling. Your hand left his ass, moving down his thighs, tickling the backside of his knee, before travelling up the inside of his thigh and gently cupping his balls.

“Fuuuuuuck…” he guttered. You sucked the part that could fit in your mouth in synchronicity with your hand’s movement. He felt the tightening deep within his testicles. The hitching in his breath notified you of his coming release. You led his hands to your scalp, letting his fingers fisting your hair, before giving him a sultry look with his cock in your mouth.

He was grunting hard as he set the pace, while you did your best to keep up with him. Moving his hips, chasing his release inside your mouth. You relaxed your throat, letting him take over. You wanted so much to please him. 

“Fuck, sunshine… I’m so close,” he growled.

“Come in my mouth,” you uttered. It was like something within him snapped the minute you voiced the words. He moved faster, harder, rougher. Until you felt the first spurts of his seed hitting your palate. You swallowed everything he spilt and then licked him clean.

Sy fumbled with his office chair as he sat down with a satisfied hum and pulled you to sit on his lap.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and lastly a lingering kiss on your reddened lips.

“Glad you approve,” you grinned back, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About those books,” you pointed towards the books you had peeked at earlier.

“Theses I had to write for med school.”

“Tell me about them while you rest for round two.”

[mysteryfleshpit]

Q&A 003

@evasive-breakdancing asks:

In the Incident Report, you mention extremities surfacing near the orifice. Can you elaborate on what the limbs looked like?

The event was very traumatic to the people living in and around central west Texas and was documented in a variety of ways. Of particular merit is the painting entitled “Limb Rising Near Midland” from 2015, which depicts a striking portrayal of one of the limb extremities of the superorganism emerging during the early morning of July 5th, 2007. While the event happened at night, the scale and destruction captured in the painting is reflective of the tragedy as felt by those who lived through it.  

@joysweeper asks:

Is it true that the restaurants in the Lower Visitor Center served meat carved from the living flesh of the Pit itself and cooked in its juices, or was that a marketing gimmick?

While there are hundreds of urban legends circulating around about the park serving flesh from either the Superorganism or any of the myriad of wildlife within it, these rumors are completely untrue. No restaurant within the Mystery Flesh Pit National Park ever served these items, for two main reasons: 1) Pit Flesh, as well as flesh from virtually every species found within the park, was and is notorious for its very tough and oily texture which is quite unpleasant. Even when cooked with a generous amount of seasoning, the mineral-like flavor of the fleshpit meat was a very tough sell to even the most adventurous foodies. And 2) After 1980, intentional, unauthorized damage to either the superorganism or wildlife within the superorganism constituted felony trespass and destruction of government property. No vendor granted an operating license within the park would dream of invoking such a severe sanction for such a relatively worthless prize.

@cumaeansibyl asks:

What kind of information do we have about pre-Columbian ritual practices centered around the MFP? Was any of that research able to continue post-containment?

The extent of our knowledge of pre-Columbian cultures relation to the Pit is heavily based on the few (publicly available) records of the ruins adjacent to the Entry Orifice. From what we know, there was definitely an advanced awareness of the Superorganism among local and/or ancient cultures. How this awareness manifested is unknown. Some scholars speculate that the pit may have been a focus of worship, possibly involving sacrificial offerings. No evidence of ancient cultures descending into the pit has ever been found, but this doesn't definitively rule out pre-Columbian expeditions. The controversial discovery of early colonial Spanish armor within the sand gullet seems to dispel the common notion that complex technology is required to descend at least that far into the pit.

@brainy-twilight asks: 

You said that some people were recovered from compound surface fauna. How many were 'successfully' removed? Are any still alive today?

While HIPAA and similar regulations prevent me from finding out exactly how many people even suffered amalgamation, It's estimated that fewer than half a dozen ever survived the treatment process to recovery. “Recovery”, though, is a loaded word here. The “treatment” co-developed by Baylor Medical Center & the Anodyne Corporation was highly dependent on the nature of the amalgamation, and seems to have been most successful with combined masses containing only human tissue.  

The procedure for treatment involved removing the brain and as much of the spinal cord as possible from the amalgamation. When possible, extraction of other organs such as eyes, cochlear tissues, tongues, and larynx would later enable the “recovered” patient a sensory experience much closer to that which they had previously enjoyed, since medical technology is even still unable to replicate the organic sensory quality of human sensory tissues. However, the difficulty and cost of this additional procedure all but ensured that this rarely took place.

Once extracted, the brain of the individual patient would be placed in a nutrient salve and connected to a proprietary interface and life-support system developed by the Anodyne company. A rudimentary computer-based system could be used to communicate with the recovered patient after several months of therapy, and in some cases individuals were reportedly able to use vocorders to synthesize speech. It is unknown how many (if any) of these individuals are still living today.

Anonymous asks: 

Is Anodyne still operational? (the company)

Anodyne was formally dissolved in 2009 following its bankruptcy filings, with its remaining debts and liquidation being managed by the reorganized Permian Basin Recovery Corporation. Through nebulous political machinations, the Permian Basin Recovery Corporation was awarded an exclusive and indefinite contract to oversee the management of the Superorganism Containment Project. Today, the PBRC continues many of the same extraction operations that the Anodyne Corporation did before 2007...

@lost-forest-heart asks: 

What exactly is a gasp owl?

Gasp Owls / Suckling Sprites / Bugguns are all names given to the same peculiar type of animal found in deeper portions of the Mystery Flesh Pit's anatomy. They are very elusive and are one of the least-studied fauna within the Park, with very few living examples surviving in captivity long enough to study.

They are believed to be descended from an avian ancestor, though this is speculation at best. The name “Gasp Owl” is a reference to the characteristic labored breathing which plagues these small and curious creatures.

Many tourists and park staff would erroneously report having spotted the fabled “Marrow Folk”, when in reality they had stumbled upon a small brood of frightened Gasp Owls.

Anonymous asks: 

After the disaster were the emergency phones still working? If so could they be called or called from still?

Yes, after the 2007 catastrophe, efforts were made to re-establish a communications network within the Mystery Flesh Pit which included the many trail emergency phones, though the greater percentage of them have remained unused since 2007 and have likely been overtaken by growth.

@pretty-art-i-really-like asks: 

what are the stories behind some of the memorial sites found in the park, such as the Gatti Circus Tragedy memorial, and the Fred J. Agnich memorial dam?

The Circus Gatti Tragedy Memorial commemorates the 1976 tragedy in which the traveling entertainment group Circus Gatti was scheduled to perform a daring high-wire stunt show directly above the then under-reinforced entry orifice as part of a publicity stunt. During the performance, several chimpanzees, which had been scheduled to perform, became panicked to the point of disrupting an ongoing routine by a troupe of clown stunts-people.

While the soft flesh of the pit throat cushioned the performers fall, an unexpected stretching of the moisture crops allowed them to slide down into a then-unreinforced area of the pit.

Rescue personnel were able to locate the performers inside a digestive sac a few hours later, but by that time, all 50 stunts-people had already begun being digested by the pit. Rescue personnel cut them out, correctly guessing that many were still alive. An experimental antacid spray was discharged on top of the gooey, shrieking mound, but it was too late.

Instead of reducing the acidic effects on the partially-digested bodies of the performers, the experimental compound flash-calcified into the “Circus Clown Chymus” formation that appears on the trail today. The Memorial was constructed in 1986 to commemorate the 10-year anniversary of their deaths.

The Fred J. Agnich memorial dam was so named to commemorate the legacy of Texas Statesman Fred J. Agnich, a vocal proponent of the Texas State Parks.

[the-other-art-blog]

Amy and Laurie’s pet names

😏 Can we just appreciate Amy and Laurie’s pet names for each other??? I love them. They’re so loving, playful and flirty!

Be ready for an unexpectedly long post.

My Lord and my Lady

Only a couple like Amy and Laurie would call each other this way. Amy is sometimes called “my lady” or “her ladyship” by her sisters but they usually do it to poke her. It’s fine, that’s what sisters are for but I just love that Laurie keeps calling her like that as an endearment. It means he accepts that part of her identity... because he also shares it.

For a while, I have said that Laurie is Amy’s knight in shiny armor. It doesn’t mean she is a damsel in distress but think about it. Whenever Amy needs someone, Laurie is there. She falls into the ice, Laurie rescues her; she’s lonely at Aunt March’s house, he visits her every day; she gets the flower table, he supplies the flowers and brings his friends to buy; she’s worried about her family, he promises to go and console her if anything happens, and he does! Laurie is there whenever she needs him. And he does it happily. I think he likes to be needed, he likes to be the one at the rescue.

These two live in a medieval fantasy. Laurie calls her daughter “little princess” and his horse is named “prince Charlie”! So, you have the Lady and the Lord of the castle, the princess and the horse. 🥰 Perfect. Honestly, I have a headcanon that Bess helped him name it, but Laurie could have done it by himself. In any case, it’s so on-character.

I think or I want to believe something like this is where Timothee was going when he was asked about why Amy and Laurie are a great couple. But it is wrong because the movie only has Amy calling him My Lord.

Madame Récamier & Impertinence

That’s about it, isn’t it, Madame Récamier?’ asked Laurie with a quizzical look at Amy. ‘Time will show. Come away, Impertinence, and don’t shock my family by calling me names before their faces,’

Madame Récamier was a very famous lady during the revolutionary times in France. She was a rich lady who became quite famous for hosting reunions in her salon. Her circle included intellectuals, politicians, artists, la crème de la crème de Paris. So that’s what Laurie was referring to. Previously he was talking about how they plan to good society at their house.

But there’s something else 😏 .

So, back in the 19th century couples wouldn’t be as affectionate towards each other in public. Not even the married ones. They will always be very prudent. And a proper lady like Amy would follow the rules of society regarding this. She’s a true gentlewoman, a wife and a member of Concord’s high society now. Even more, Madame Récamier was a beautiful woman trapped in a very unsatisfying marriage and most probably had multiple affairs. Most importantly for this discussion, she posed for David and Francoise Gérard in very seductive positions and clothes! And I think this is why she calls him Impertinence.

I mean, if this is how Laurie thinks of Amy... 😏 People don’t need to know this, least of all her family, her father! 😆

Mrs. Curtis

This one appears in Chapter Uncle Teddy from Little Men. It’s actually the second time it appears, I think, the first one being when Marmee was in Washington taking care of her husband. Since LW, Amy is the only one who uses her middle name, though the other sisters must have one too. I wonder why Louisa only pointed out hers. Maybe it was to show how grown up and formal Amy wanted to appear when she signed “Amy Curtis March!, even though her letter is full of mistakes.

I think it’s hilarious that Laurie uses it. I mean, no one calls her like that. But it makes me happy that he does cause Amy and Laurie are a very presentable, fashionable, prestigious couple, but it’s nice to think that they also have fun in their private time. I love them.

Raphaella

Technically everyone calls her like that, but it’s still nice 😊 cause Laurie uses it at a moment where Amy had given up her artistic dreams and planned to marry Fred. So calling her Raphaella, brought her back home and reminded her of an Amy who dreamed to be the best painter in the world and who knew better than to marry just for money. Valrosa is such a amazing part of their arc and love story.

Raphael was famous for his Virgin’s and Child which is a figure that is very important for her. In Jo’s Boys, Emil gifts her a locket of that very theme since it reminds him of when Bess was a baby 🥰.

And it also talks about the art that Amy liked. Amy admired Raphael and Michelangelo, THE Old Masters from the Renaissance. They set the bar for the next centuries. However by the mid-1800s people were starting to rebel. I would love to know what Amy thought of the Pre-Raphaelites! When Amy was in Paris, she must have seen Impressionist works, still unpopular but they were growing on art students. That’s something 2019 movie did sort of ok. Amy is someone who grew up watching the masterworks according to traditional standards and that’s the kind of art she wants to do.

[thebrownssociety]

Chip And Dale Rescue Rangers Spoilers/Thoughts

As the title suggests, this contains major spoilers for the movie. Only proceed if you’ve either seen it or don’t care about being spoiled.

1. So the voices didn’t actually bother me. It helped, I think, that they started talking in the alternate voices pretty much straight away. Which I think helped separate it from ‘filming’. 

2. CGI surgery? Must admit, that’s an interesting point. Also makes sense with evolution. I’d assume there must just be CGI toons as well, created more recently.

3. Ugly Sonic!? I thought he was cool and I liked that they made him relevant to the plot instead of a one-off gag.

4. The muppet toons were done really well. You’re never shown their legs, makes it more real.

5. The whole stinky cheese thing...wow. Answers the question of if there’s drugs or not in Toon universe. The way Chip initially tried to charm his way in...yeah, he may have lost some of his acting skills doing that insurance gig.

6. The throw away line about the Nicktoons. ‘The toons fought back’. People have pointed out this is against character for the toons, but I think it makes sense, albeit it in a dark way. The rugrats at least must be in their 30′s by now. [Aired in early 90′s] Its surely not unreasonable to assume they must have changed their personalities, and we don’t know what  happened. Maybe they only ‘fought back’ with pies. As for the Paw patrol dogs, my theory is that either it’s an exaggeration. [Which I don’t think would be unlikely if it happened last year and he was signed off work afterwards] or that it did happen and due to the fact they’re toon dogs they can’t be put down. Either that or the Police department were so mortified about the fact they messed up so completely they let all charges drop.

7. Toons on the wall that I noticed/knew, Jiminy Cricket, Flounder, Gus [Cinderella], The Tweedles, Sneezy, Garfield [There’s also a sign above Garfield that says foghorn. I’m assuming this is a reference to the Looney Tunes character?] 

8. Toon body parts on the other side of the walls that I noticed. Jimmy Neutron’s hair, Cheshire Cats smile, Pink Panther mouth, a white glove that could belong to anyone [brings to mind Mickey Mouse, but I’m fairly sure it can’t be him], a smurfs hat, Sora’s hair + Mad Hatters hat. 

9. Ellie...I’m going to be honest she seems quite a bland character. Not much is given to her. [This might be because apparently test audiences reacted negatively to her. Considering they also apparently reacted negatively to the original idea of Pluto being the villain, which led to them choosing the below instead [presumably] I’m not sure they were right.]

Also I think credit needs to be given to the actress for the fight scene she was in. She must have been working with thin air, which must be very difficult.

10.Toons I saw at the end [and recognised] Abu, Fred Flintstone, Patrick Star, Woody Woodpecker, Phineas Flynn, Dipper, Jiminy Cricket, Flounder, Cheshire Cat [Crossed with the tiger from Aladdin], Johnny Test, Kai [Jungle Book], a toon that looks like Obelix from ‘Asterix’ [Same pattern pants and same hair, but black], Gus [with a parrots beak], Gumball? [Amazing world of], Bambi, Sneezy, Woody [same clothes, green instead], Frog Tiana, One that looks like a care bear, but with a tail? [Purple], 

11. Sweet Pete...now, I do know about Bobby Driscoll, but I must admit if I didn’t know the story [which I didn’t until it started making the rounds on Tumblr] I’d just think it was very clever. It’s clear toons do grow up mentally [and they must in some sort of chronological order as well seeing as the chipmunks start in 3rd grade] and as I’ve previously mentioned in another posts I think there’s other ways they could have gone with it if they were determined to have Peter Pan as the villain. 

His voice works as well, seeing as Chip and Dale have completely different voices. I’d assume that Disney made the EPIC FAIL conclusion that no one would know/care about what happened to Bobby Driscoll. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

The bootlegged idea is interesting as well. It’s shame there wasn’t a team up between Chip and Dale and other family members of the other toons. [Sneezy, for instance, was bootlegged, so it would have been interesting to see the other dwarfs helping out.] The very least we see is that it’s a big story in the news. 

I also like the way Peter gets his henchmen to do EVERYTHING. Even when he’s about two centimetres away from Chip and Dale himself, he still tells Jimmy to grab them when he could have just reached out himself. 

He must have started the business before having his CGI operation, though, because in the parody ‘Flying Bedroom Boy’ you can see he has the stubble round his mouth. [Another good detail]

He’s also ‘The chessmaster’ I think. Look at his expression when Putty’s telling his story. He knows he’s lying but he’s just waiting for Ellie to realise that. 

If the whole thing didn’t parallel Bobby Driscoll so much it would have been a really clever take.

12. Finally, on a lighter note...we want Darkwing, we want Darkwing! Loved it, so in-character. 

[thcweasley]

Yours

PAIRING : George Weasley X Y/N

SUMMARY : George getting jealous of his twin brother for being closer to you .

WARNINGS : none? Make out? implying things? hehe

WORDS : 1.7k

A/N: lol this hits too close to home, growing up i was shadowed by heather sister :(  I was going to turn this into smut but im not sure.. cos i never wrote a smut before lol.

“Focus on your work Weasley” Snape smacked George Weasley’s head with the book he was holding, causing the whole class to look at his direction.

George was already an easily distracted person to begin with. but today especially, he got his mind somewhere else.

He was looking at you and his twin brother Fred, giggling while trying to figure out snape’s task. All of his life he never thought that he would feel this much jealously towards the older twin. Sure, sometimes it bothers him a bit that people pay more attention to him, or the fact that people always refers them as “Fred & George”, not “George & Fred”. But he knew it’s a silly thing to be bothered about so he always managed to brush it off.

But not today, Fred had been assigned with you. The girl George met on his last solo trip to honeydukes. It shocked him how he never saw you around before, despite being in the same house and grade. But hes glad that he met you. George didn’t like to be cheesy, but he was so sure that you were made for him. Whenever youre around, he just felt so happy. You’re funny, kind, and on top of all you’re prettiest thing he ever seen. Sadly, for him, other people seems to think that way about you.

He introduced you 2 weeks ago to his brother and friends. You seem to get along great with everyone. He liked that, his brother and friends is everything for him. But he cant help it but feeling a little bit jealous. He didn’t wanna admit it but this jealously is most probably because he was insecure about his feeling for you. Before everything he was sure that you fancy him the same way he fancies you. But now, hes not sure. And he hated it, youre supposed to be his girl.

The class that felt so long was finally over. George quickly stood up, walking towards the common room. he just want to burry his face onto his bed now. He felt an arm linking his. “Hey you” it was you. He let out a big sigh, not knowing how to feel right now.

“Hey, did you have a good time today?” He hated how catty he sounded. Knowing you, he knew you wouldn’t able to tell.

“Yeah it was fun. Your brother is hilarious you know that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling his face getting hot.

“Well yeah hes a clown” George answered shortly. Wanting you both could just drop this conversation. He didn’t like this, being jealous of his twin brother.

“ahah yeah true, youre also funny too you know” You leaned your head onto Georges arm. At this point it was hard for him to not just pulls you into a big hug. “Whats your plan for the rest of the day?” You asked looking up on him.

“Im not sure, probably just sleep” George answered looking down to you. You looked so cute leaning on to him.

“Wanna have a study date? Snape’s test tomorrow right?” George’s ears perked up at the word date.

A smile creeps on his face. “Yeah sure”

“Brilliant! I’ll see you in 2 hours then!” You gave his arm a squeeze before you go. Leaving George all smiley by himself.

2 hours later, George found himself getting ready for his study date. He finally going to make a move on you. Its obvious that you fancy him now right? At least you were the one who refers their study session as a study date.

He tried to look around for Fred but he was nowhere to be found. He feels weird do anything without asking for the older brother’s advice. But it was time to go to meet you at the Library and he didn’t want to make you wait, so he just decided to cross his fingers and hope for the best.

“Hey” George greeted you, big smile on his face. You look up at him from the book you were reading, smiling back at him. “You got a lot of stuff here” He sat down beside you, looking at paper and pens in front of him.

“Oh its not mine” You answered. “So, do you have anything you’re particularly struggling with?”

Whilst you tried your best to explain the things that he was struggling with. George was doing his best to stay focus on what youre saying instead of you. He cant help but admire your face, your cheeks, your lips. He wonders how would it feel like you press his lips against yours.

“Are you listening to me George?” You asked, knowing the answer pretty well.

“Uh yeah, im sorry I got distracted” he blinked.

You brought your hand on to his head, messing with his red hair. “you’ve been a bit distracted these days. didn’t you got smacked on your head earlier today by Snape?” you chuckled a bit running your fingers on the back of his head. “Did it hurt?” You tilted her head closer to him, rubbing the back of his head.

He couldn’t seem to think straight at this point. The fact that youre so close to him right now, he could smell your scent. He took a deep breath trying to be brave and make a move. He put his hand on top of yours, pulling it away from his head. “Y/N..” He started, linking his fingers with yours. “I think I like you”

“Yeah?” You chuckled feeling. your cheeks starting to get warm. “Whats going on George? Why are you suddenly so serious?”

“Well, Im not sure how you feel about me. But I got nothing to lose so here I am. I like you” Surprised by his words, you didn’t say anything. So he thought he could just make a move then. He leaned in closer to you getting you lips closer to each other. Not knowing what to do you just close your eyes. He smiled, taking this as a greenlight to proceed his act. Until all of the sudden-

“Your tea is here!!” Fred walked in, causing them to pull away from each other. “Hey that’s my seat George, do you not see the stuffs on the table?” He said as he sat down filling the gap between You and George.

“Fred what are you doing here?” George asked, clearly  frustrated with the situation.

“That’s not how you greet people, my dear brother” He said handing you the tea he was talking about. “Besides, youre not the only one who got invited to this study group. Right Y/N?” You just nod at him feeling flustered, thinking about what could’ve happened if Fred didn’t just walk in.

The next day, George has been avoiding you since last night. He thought you guys shared the same feeling. But yesterday proved him wrong. He was just another friend to you

Snape’s exam was a group work, being Fred’s partner obviously made you work with him for the exam. You looked so happy, George wishes it was him working with you instead of his twin brother. He hated this so much, it’s ridiculous how jealous he felt towards his twin brother right now.

The exam’s finally over, George saw you coming up to him from the corner of his eyes. “Hey” you greeted him. “Wanna go to Three Broomstick later? I haven’t really seen you all week”

“Who’s coming?” He asked, hoping this time its just the two of you. And everything that he thought about last night wasn’t true.

“Uh everyone. Fred, Lee, Angelina and others im not sure” George snickered. How stupid of him to think that you wanna be alone with him. How stupid of him to think he got a chance with you.

“I think im gonna pass on that” he took a deep breath. “Im tired. Ill see you around” He left you dumb folded, walking away towards his room.

The night comes around. The common room feels empty, his friends had left him for Three Broomstick. George just chilling alone on his bed when he heard someone opened the door.

“George?” You walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed “Hey, im just.. I just wanna make sure everything is okay”

“Why you here” George answered bitterly. “Arent you suppose to be out with your friends, with my brother?”

“Well yeah but I wanna check up on you. And talk about last night..”

“What do you wanna talk about Y/N?” He took a deep breath. “I already get it, you see me as a friend. If anything, you like Fred more than me. I get it don’t worry. Everyone always picks him over me, im used to it”

“George…” you scotched in closer too him, trying to stop him from rambling all these nonsenses.

“Im not even sure why I thought you like me, he is the better twin. Im just me. I just thought I have a chance with you. Throughout my life, ive always get hands down from my siblings, share with my siblings.” He realised how ridiculous he sounded but it didn’t stop him. “I love how you get along with my friends. But, i just thought, I thought youre my person. Finally someone I can proudly say mine. I thought you feel the same way as I do…” Georges voice was getting quitter when he felt your hand grabbing his. “I like you a lot and I get that you don’t feel the same way. So if youre coming here to explain that i-“

His words were cut off by your lips crashing to his. “You never let me speak Georgie”  You murmured against his lips “I don’t know how you got it all wrong” you kissed his cheek lightly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. George. I like you, im your person. Ive always been“

With a big smile he pulled in for another kiss. He held on to your waist pulling you closer to him, positioning you onto his lap. You threw your and around his neck, deepening the kiss whilst his hands lazily griped your waist.

You can feel something poking between the inner part of your legs. With a slight smile you press your legs more on to him, grinding it against him. Earning a low groan from him.

He held your hips down on him, so both of you can feel more of the friction. His lips travelled to your jaw and to the back of your neck. You could feel his hot breath, sending shivers down your spine as he moved his lips closer to your ears. “Prove it” OKAY SO Let me know if you want a part 2 smut off of this HAHAH.

hehe part 2

this was quite hard to write cos i feel bad for him ahaha. this is loosely based on a true story. but i never got my Y/N :’)

MY OTHER WORKS follow me / send request / talk to me! im lonely (if u send me anonymously maybe click here) my collaborative ford anglia playlist Christmas with the Weasley playlist

[tcm]

The Makers and the Breakers: The Hollywood Studio System By Constance Cherise

From anecdotal tales to darker narratives of downright malevolence, movies about the Hollywood studio system are as prevalent as the subject is understandably intriguing. Films like A STAR IS BORN (‘54), THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL (‘52) and, just for a bit of naughty camp, DAISY CLOVER (‘65), to name a few, all allow a voyeuristic gaze behind an enchanted curtain. The major Hollywood studios controlled all aspects of filmmaking, distribution and the lives and appeal of their stars.

A studio executive’s expertise was to home in on the "It" factor of an actor. Then the build-up of publicity would begin. A well-engineered system of perfectly timed pulleys and cranks, bells and whistles would turn, and it didn't matter whether stories about a star were the truth, embellishment or lies, from the studios perspective stars weren't actual people, they were commodities that were bought, sold, traded and used as pawns to the benefit of the studio system. (A thorough reference on this is Jeanine Basinger’s The Star Machine) But, if anyone had ill feelings about their treatment, only those that were the most daring spoke up. The cliché “You'll never work in this town again” wasn't just a catchphrase, it was wholly and utterly true. Speaking up too loudly about one's gilded cage could end a career faster than Eleanor Powell’s “machine gun” tap dancing. As quickly as the mechanism could build a pretty face to stardom, it could just as easily grind to a halt, meticulously dismantling at record speed.

The true genius of the studio system was its innate and pristine ability to create a persona around the most capable assets that their commodity had to offer. An exceptional dancer with buck teeth? No problem. Send her to the dentist for cosmetic surgery. A heartthrob of a man who was too short? No problem. Elevate his shoes and make sure his counterpart wasn't wearing heels. A knockout beauty who could dance but was too ethnic-looking? Change her hair color from jet black to red, perform electrolysis on her hairline, add luscious waves, put her on a diet and change her name from Margarita Carmen Cansino to Columbia Picture’s own Rita Hayworth.

The system found what was innately undeniable, played up the strengths and buffed, polished or cleverly disguise the flaws, a process still happening in media. But the studio system of the Golden Age was far-reaching. Its governance traveled beyond its inner sanctum into affecting contractors' personal lives. A moral clause was a standard part of an actors’ contract. Both law enforcement and mobsters were part of the studio’s payroll, a necessary tactic thought to keep its stars in line and to protect the industry's overall reputation. If a star found themselves in a compromising position, there was always a hired hand, such as in the case of MGM's Eddie Mannix, to respond, repair and refute, regardless of the cost. Studios further exerted control by means of inclusivity. By creating an insular studio with every conceivable notion at their fingertips, including health facilities and a police force (as was present at MGM), the studio system was privy to inside information by way of design and therefore able to thwart potential problems sooner rather than later.

Opinions amongst stars who were part of the system varied. Some found it confining and artistically stifling (United Artists was created as a direct result of the burgeoning studio system in 1919), while others enjoyed its protective embrace. Fred Astaire was not a particularly handsome man, but his virtuoso skill of dance was undeniable. By the time he made it to Tinseltown, he had already been a star on the stage and his elegant persona was well polished. Almost the same could be said for Gene Kelly, except that Kelly was quite handsome with his all-American chiseled features and athletic body. He too came to Hollywood bearing Broadway accolades. Anything else either star may have required was worth any level of contribution on the part of the studio. But most stars didn't come fully assembled.

Numerous classic musical fans are aware of actor and untrained dancer Debbie Reynolds’ account of bloodied feet while rehearsing “Good Morning'' for the film SINGING IN THE RAIN (‘52), a story she confirmed in a TCM interview with late host Robert Osborne. Reynolds would star in multiple roles where dance was required, and for someone who was not a professional, with training from expert choreographers, she fooled us all. Ava Gardner did not go looking for the fame that found her. She was discovered through a photo in a shop window. The daughter of sharecroppers, Gardner had no experience in acting to speak of, and in fact, had a free-spirited reputation of reluctance. She had to be trained out of her deep southern accent, but her naturally stunning features combined with her charm literally smoldered the camera.

For all the contract players who willingly or unwillingly accepted the exploitation of their assets, there were those few who refused to play by studio rules. One not to cower was Mae West, who solidified her autonomy by demanding and receiving one dollar more than the head of Paramount, Adolph Zuckor, as well as full script approval of her films. MGM’s Luise Rainer, after becoming the first woman to consecutively win two Academy Awards, turned her back on Hollywood due to its iron grip. "I did not like the superficial life that one is naturally forced at times to live,” Rainer stated in a TCM interview. William Haines, one time voted as America's top male star, refused to hide his homosexuality living an open life with his lover, defying the orders of traditional marriage by Louis B. Mayer and as a result was fired from MGM.

That's what the studio system did: take an inarguable asset, create an inflated persona around it, smooth the dents, add a little extra padding where necessary and package it to be received exactly how they envisioned for public consumption...or...destroy it. After all, with over 70% of Americans attending film theaters at least once a week, the public turned the film industry into a multi-million-dollar business during its Golden Age when the average price of a ticket was 25 cents. Studios were readily aware they held the power and used it skillfully to full advantage.

The studio systems tactics could easily be viewed as a calculated sleight of hand, however, it unequivocally delivered, and its final product was polished, pristine and precise. But for those that were plucked from obscurity, was it truly a sleight of hand? One could argue that you can't get blood from a stone, and if that statement is true, the studio’s techniques of engineered transformation couldn't possibly invoke aptitude that didn't already exist somewhere within, however miniscule. Perhaps, instead of the credit studio’s retained for creating stars, its genuine function was to awaken exceptional latent potential that was simply waiting to be discovered.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Hurricane | g.w.

11-28-2020

George Weasley x reader

Word Count: 2,877

Warnings: Little bit of swearing, little bit of angst

Author’s Note: Here it is. My first story. Well, not my first story written but my first story posted. You know what I mean. Also yes, I’m super aware that I used Cardigan by Taylor Swift but titled it Hurricane. Yes. I know. Please enjoy!

Do not repost my work without permission

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I knew you’d linger like a tattooed kiss,

I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs

“What are you on about, Weasley?” Y/N demanded as George plopped down beside them in the library. 

George had a cheeky grin on his face, having been speaking in riddles almost all week. Y/N had no idea what the fool was referring to when he’d mention “the thing” or “the best day of their life.” Genuinely, they had no idea what he was up to. Ginny suggested that George was going to ask out Y/N finally, but the idea that the prankster finally noticed them and their feelings seemed fleeting. No, George was a clever boy but still absolutely oblivious. Perhaps that was for the best; Y/N couldn’t risk one of the few friends they had for a crush. 

Even if that crush had been quite persistent since third year.

“What I’m on, my dear Y/N, is the growing excitement for tomorrow.” He explained, as if Y/N had any idea what that meant. George kicked his feet up on the extra chair, leaning back to take a good look at his friend. They looked less than amused by his antics, and Madam Pince was glaring daggers at him.  “Don’t you feel it in the air?” 

Y/N simply stared at him with confusion. “George, all year you’ve talked about tomorrow. I still have no bloody idea what’s going on though. The only thing I know is that the O.W.L.S are tomorrow —and if you disturb those, Umbridge will have your head on a silver platter.”

“She’ll have to catch us first.”

Y/N stared down the red head once more, trying to determine what he was up to. Usually, George was much more open and willing to share his schemes. On more occasions than one, they were usually part of a good Weasley twin prank. So if this was a prank, then the twins were really keeping it on the down low. Because if Y/N didn’t know what it was, then no one else would either. At least, that’s what they assumed.

“I’m just gonna miss you, you know?” George suddenly said, leaning forward to rest his chin in his palm and put his weight on the table. “When we’re outta school.”

Y/N rolled their eyes, returning their attention to the book they were taking notes out of. “School isn’t over for a few months, Georgie. We have plenty of time.”

It was George’s turn to look unamused, leaning forward some on the table to get Y/N’s attention. Neither student were good at social cues, it seemed, since George had been flirting with them for years now. Always flirting, always complimenting. But Y/N either didn’t notice or pretended not to. Fred always told George just to be up front. “The worst that can happen is they say no.” He would say. 

George didn’t think he could handle being told no by the person he’d spent four years fancying, though. 

“I wanted to give you something. You know, to remember me by.” He said, pulling the book away from Y/N and shutting it. 

They huffed in annoyance, looking back at him. “George, I was studying—”

“That can wait. This can’t. Please?” For the first time in a while, George’s tone was serious. Finally, Y/N nodded and leaned in some, frowning. If George was acting like this, something certainly was wrong. 

When George determined that Y/N was giving him their full attention, he went through his bag and pulled out the sweater his mother had made him. Y/N watched as he fiddled with the garment, as if he was trying to work up the nerve to hand it to them. After a few moments, George folded it as neatly as he could, with the ‘G’ a little too far over but still visible, and slid it across the table. Y/N hesitated for a moment before they reached out and pulled the sweater into their hands, careful to not unfold it. 

“George, I don’t understand,” they admitted, running their hands over the lettering gingerly. 

“I just...I want you to have it. That’s all.” He gave them a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Before Y/N could respond, he was up and walking out of the library. For a long time, Y/N sat there and considered what that was about. The rest of the night was spent with Y/N being haunted by George’s unusual behavior. 

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

‘Cause I knew everything when I was young 

When George and Fred Weasley flew off into their smoke and firework clad sunset, the two didn’t consider the consequences. Well, perhaps they had considered the consequences for themselves but not for those around them. The twins didn’t consider that they didn’t actually know everything. That Umbridge would question every one of their friends, their siblings. That the Inquisitorial Squad would harass Y/N, Ginny, Angelina and Lee for weeks after. How would they know that?

Maybe they would have if they hadn’t cut off all contact with anyone that wasn’t family. Ginny and Ron got letters the first week after the twins took off. Lee had gotten one or two but not many. And Y/N? Well, they just didn’t get any. 

George gave them his sweater but couldn’t be bothered to write them. Everyone else knew what the twins were up to but Y/N wasn’t in the loop unless it was second hand information. Hermione and Ginny tried to reassure them that it must have been a mistake. That George was simply busy. Ginny suggested writing to him and sending it with her letter. 

Ginny got a reply. Y/N did not. 

By the end of the term, the end of their final year at Hogwarts, Y/N had stopped trying to get a letter back. It was as if the smoke had cleared and Y/N realized that George Weasley just wasn’t worth it anymore. If he didn’t want to continue their friendship, then who were they to force him to? They could take a hint. 

Y/N returned George’s sweater with Ginny.

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time,

Chasing shadows in the grocery line

The eye of a hurricane was usually the calmest time during the storm. It’s when there’s this eerie, yellow sky that suggests that the world is going to end even though there’s no wind or rain. And it felt like Y/N was in the middle of their own personal hurricane, simply trying to survive before they drowned. 

Not once since they left school had they visited the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop. Out of principle, they just wouldn’t. Perhaps it was unhealthy to hold such a grudge, but Y/N didn’t think they could handle the emotional turmoil that would come from seeing George again. It had been too long; a year had passed and the war was looming. No, Y/N just didn’t have it in them to face that grudge head on. Maybe after the war. 

Y/N worked in the apothecary down in Diagon Alley, only a few blocks down from the newly famous joke shop. And occasionally, they’d see one of the twins out and about. Maybe the twins didn’t know Y/N worked there. Maybe they did. Y/N tried not to allow themselves to be caught up in the “what if’s” of their mind but sometimes...well, sometimes they wondered what would happen if George ever walked into their little shop. What would they do?

That question was answered, sort of, when Fred Weasley walked into the apothecary one morning. He was dressed in brown slacks and a button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow and his hair a bit of a mess. Y/N was stocking the shelves with the various potions and products that her boss had asked her to work on when he cleared his throat. 

“Good morning, how can I —,” Y/N had started a greeting but turned and stopped themselves, clearly surprised by Fred’s presence. “Well I’ll be damned.” 

Fred let out a chuckle, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out an envelope. “Not the reaction I expected but I’ll certainly take it.” 

Y/N wiped their hands on their apron before walking around the counter. Fred took a moment to look his old friend over, as if making sure they were still intact. Y/N fidgeted under his gaze though. “What can I do for you, Fred?”

“Oh so that’s how it is, hm?” He teased with a grin. “‘How have you been, Fred?’ I’m absolutely smashing, Y/N. Thanks for asking. ‘How’s the shop?’ Absolutely brilliant, Y/N. Thanks for asking.”

Y/N felt the blood rising to their ears, creeping embarrassment making its way up. But why would they be embarrassed? They weren’t friends with Fred and George Weasley anymore. “I can see and hear how you’re doing from here, I didn’t think I needed to ask.” They said simply. 

Fred nodded some. Then, he held out the envelope to them. “Bill wanted us to drop this off in person. He and Fleur Delacour —you know, the pretty French girl who was in the tournament —are getting married next month.”

Y/N took the invitation and looked it over delicately. “Kind of bad timing, isn’t it?”

“Bill reckons it’s the best time to have it. Something happy, you know. And we’d really like it if you came.”

They almost scoffed at the comment about them coming. Ginny stopped by often enough, and perhaps Fred was referring to the entire family when he said “we’d” but Y/N couldn’t help but think he meant himself and George. “I haven’t had a good excuse to dress up in ages, I suppose.”

Fred nodded some, looking down with a small smile. “Y/N, about our last year—”

“Y/L/N! We have a delivery, could ya sign for it?” The owner of the shop called out from their office.

Y/N gave Fred an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.” They turned to get back to work but stopped, looking back at him. “I don’t want you to explain yourself, Fred. But I’d like to hear George’s excuse.” 

With that, they disappeared to the back of the shop, leaving Fred Weasley feeling like an absolute git. 

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired

And you’d be standing in my front porch light.

“What do you mean, they want to know my excuse?” George demanded, leaning against the counter of the shop. 

Fred lifted his shoulders in response, not looking up from his checklist. They had just closed up shop and he was taking inventory. He didn’t particularly want to tell George what Y/N had said, but felt that something was amiss. 

“I tried to tell them that they could have written but they didn’t want to hear me. They wanna hear you, mate.”

George ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further than it already was. “They're the ones that didn’t write. I should be asking their excuse!” 

“Then why don’t you? You know where they work now.”

George looked at Fred with narrowed eyes. Then he threw his suit jacket on the counter and hopped onto the store floor from the counter space. “You know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Before Fred could protest, George was out the door and making his way down the street. 

It wasn’t like George had just given up talking to Y/N. He’d written plenty of letters, but they’d all gone without an answer. The man wasn’t stupid; he could take a hint. But he wasn’t going to let them blame him for something he didn’t do. Absolutely not. 

Y/N was locking the front door of the shop when George rounded the corner. And when he saw them, it was like any frustration or anger he felt had suddenly vanished. This was the first time since he’d left school that he’d seen them and...and Merlin’s beard, he realized how much he missed Y/N. 

Memories flooded his thoughts —meeting them, falling for them. He remembered the Yule Ball and how radiant they’d looked dancing with Ginny and Hermione. He remembered how angry they had been when Ron had made Hermione cry. And he remembered Christmas their seventh year, right before they left, when they came to Sirius’s place after dad was attacked...

“One of these days, you’re gonna get your own sweater.” George said, elbowing Y/N at the dinner table. Their cheeks flushed at the thought. 

Fred made a passing comment about George manning up, which earned him a swift kick under the table. George gave him a dirty look and Y/N laughed at their interactions with one another. The truth was that Y/N would love to get a sweater from Molly. More so, they’d love to get one because they were actually part of the family. 

George was thinking the exact same thing. 

“George?”

The redhead was pulled from his thoughts by Y/N’s voice, which was both very confused and very alarmed. George straightened up and looked at them properly now, walking closer with his hands in his pockets as he tried to play it casual. Act like he wasn’t just on his way to get on them for being mad at him. But seeing them now…

“Are you finally going to explain yourself?” They asked.

So much for forgetting why he was there.

“Actually, I’m here to have you explain yourself.” 

The two stared at each other, the sun setting behind the buildings and the street lights flickering on around them. The tension was tangible as Y/N realized what George was saying. Then they got angry. 

“I have nothing to explain.” They said, pointing at him now. “I’m not the one who took off without even a goodbye. I’m not the one who didn’t bother to write.” The eye of the hurricane had finally passed, and Y/N was about to drown in their own anger and sadness. “You gave me your bloody sweater then just...just took off! You didn’t even tell me you were leaving! I deserved more than that!”

George threw his hands up, shaking his head. “No, no, no. You don’t get to turn this around on me. I told you goodbye! I gave you my sweater —you gave it back!” His voice was rising as he spoke, shaking as he did so. “I wrote to you every bloody day and you never once wrote back!” 

“Absolutely not! I wrote you and you never responded to me!” Y/N yelled back, pushing their finger into George’s chest angrily. “I stopped because I was sick and tired of being ignored. I can take a hint, George.”

George grabbed their finger, keeping it in place so they’d stop jabbing him with it. “You can take a hint? I didn’t ignore you; you didn’t write me!” Y/N tried pulling their hand away but George was too strong. “I wrote to you and I explained why I didn’t tell you about us leaving. I didn’t want you to get in trouble with Umbridge—”

“Fat lot of good that did. She and her stupid little posse harassed me for weeks after you left. They wouldn’t leave me alone. They would mess with my owl, they’d stop me every time I was in the halls, they’d—” 

It was George who realized it. “They intercepted our letters.”

Y/N looked up at him as they processed what he had said. “They intercepted our letters.”

All this time, they’d been upset with each other for no reason. All this time, Y/N assumed George just...he just left. That he considered himself too good for them, that he was too busy for them. But that’s not what happened at all, was it? 

“That stupid toad!” Y/N yelled as they threw their hands in the air. “I didn’t even...oh god, George.” They looked back up at him now, realizing how foolish all of this truly was. “George, I should have known better. And I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I should have come to see you.”

George shook his head, looking down for a moment as he calmed down. He should have realized it too, when Lee mentioned that he had written to them and they hadn’t gotten those either. “Bloody hell, Y/N. We’re both kind of daft, aren’t we?” 

They nodded in agreement, laughing softly as they wiped their eyes some. “We really are.” There was a pause as the two exchanged dopey grins. Then Y/N hummed lightly. “I...I really missed you, Georgie.” 

George nodded once more, reaching out to take their hand gently. “I missed you too. Think we can make up for some lost time?”

Y/N nodded with a smile, it only growing as they intertwined their fingers. “I didn’t check the plus one for your brother’s wedding…Could use a date?”

And I knew you’d come back to me. 

You’d come back to me.

[toomanyfandoms02]

The Journal // George Weasley x Reader

I LOVED THIS REQUEST FROM @rainy-day-gracie OMGGGG it was SO fun to write.

Don't forget that request are open and dialogue prompts are on my page!

Summary - Reader loses her diary and has to go on a search for it.

Word Count - 1.75k

Prompts - "When did you take that!" ~~ "I hid it."

Where was it?

WHERE WAS IT?

Now, I didn't like to refer to my personal notes as a diary, I prefer journal. But the point is, it was missing.

Missing from the small compartment under my bed where I had hid it. Not that I expected anyone to take it, but it calmed my anxiety so I did what I could.

The journal looked just like my sketch book, I did this on purpose so that people wouldn't question why I had it out and was writing in it on occasion. They would just think I'm sketching per usual. But I made sure to keep good track of it, because I truly *did* have very personal information in there, like any journal would. So at this point, I'm frantically running around asking my dorm mates if they had seen it. First asking Hermione and Parvarti because they knew of the book. Then asking Ginny Weasley and Sophie Roper.

They had all claimed to have not seen it.

So I rushed down to the common room. Checking the side tables, under the couch, on the fireplace mantle. But it was useless, I *know* I closed it in the compartment 2 days ago. I remember it distinctly because I had written a rather private thing in it that day, and I wanted to stop thinking about how it made me feel.

*Potions, one of my least favorite classes for a few reasons. (Maybe because we had it with the snooty Slytherins or maybe because Severus Snape taught the wretched class, who's to say.) But there was one thing that made the class shine for me despite the things I hated about it.*

*George Weasley.*

*Somehow we had managed to be partners for this potion by random. Much to Snapes disliking. But he had to let it go since the picking was truly random.*

*"Today we will be making the Babbling Beverage, does anyone know what this potion does?" Snape asked in his usual monotone voice. A slytherins hand shot up from the back, explaining that it makes you speak uncontrollable nonsense. George leaned across the table to me.*

*"Guess it wouldn't change much for you then, huh?" He laughed, leaning back into his seat with a shit-eating grin.*

*And that's what sparked me to write in my journal. I felt I had to do it immediately, so I did. I whipped it from my bag and held it in my left hand, not laying it on the table where he could see.*

*"What are you writing?" He asked, trying to peak at it.*

*"I'm drawing you Bimbo!" I laughed but that's not even close to what I was doing.*

**I really thought this was only the stuff you could read about, this feeling. A laugh has never brought louder music to my ears, and that smile, I feel like I've never seen him smile like that. He never fails to bring a shining moment to my day. I hope that I make him feel this way sometimes. The tightness in my chest, the way my heart feels like it's having palpitations because its beating so damn fast. Or the way I think he's just so perfect. I sound like such a teenager gosh.**

*I never used names in the thing just in case someone ever got a hold of it.*

*"Why don't you ever let me see your drawings?" He pouted, grabbing at the book and nearly having a hold of it. I snatched it from him quickly.*

*"Because I'm still learning and I don't like them very much." I lied, holding the book to my chest.*

*"I bet they look fine." He muttered with another pout before going to grab ingredients.*

After I decided there was no use in panicking, I took some deep breaths. I had to get to Potions soon, I could talk to George about this and vent to him about the stress I was under at the moment. I grabbed my Potions book from my side table and headed that way.

To keep me distracted by what I felt like were prying eyes in the corridors, (which no one was probably looking at me, that's paranoia for you) I flipped through my sketch book. I flipped through it all the way to the potions door. But one step in and I had nearly dropped it.

George sat, tipping his chair back with what I was positive was *my* journal. He looked deep in thought, his right index finger dragging down one of the pages to read it. I recovered my sketches and stomped over to him, alerting him of my presence. He stood from the seat, holding the book from my reach.

"When did you take that?!" I tried to express my concern quietly so no one would but in on the convo, my arms crossed over my chest.

"Technically I didn't take it." He replied in a cocky manner. "Sophie got it for me."

"But I hid it! That damn girl, I knew she was being suspicious. Give it back, now Weasley, I'm not playing." I held my hand out for it.

"Not until you tell me who you fancy." My face paled, he had read some of it that little snot. That made me quite scared, I did not want him knowing that.

"George it's just ramblings that I come up with, like short stories."

"These sound pretty realistic to me." For a second there his face seemed hurt, but I will have to look over it considering the situation I'm in currently. He brought it to his eye level, still to where I couldn't reach it, and flipped through pages to find one where I write something lovey. "How about, 'He made me laugh so hard I nearly choked today, how does he do it? Do girls seriously not see the charm in this man? I sure do.'" He flipped more, reaching a sufficient page clearly.

"Or, or this one. 'I like him so much I want to be part of his family. Have you ever liked someone so much you *want* to meet their family. I want to be a Weasley-'"

You've got to be kidding. You've **got** to be kidding.

I must have gotten so caught up with writing it that I just let a name slip. Why would I do that. My hand was clasped over my mouth firmly and George was still holding it eye level, seeming to read it silently. I sat in my seat and put my head on the table so I didn't have to watch anymore.

I figured this would happen this way, it wouldn't be me directly telling him. But I thought I would cry, because the thought if it happening made me cry. But I was actually just scared and embarrassed. Scared of rejection and embarrassed that it happened like this.

I heard the book lay next to me softly on the table and the seat across from me scoot out.

"I'm going to get the ingredients for today." He said quietly. I could see his feet walk away from my view under the table. My head was brought up, grabbing the journal and shoving it into my bag shamefully. He came back with small jars and measuring spoons.

"I didn't mean for her to grab your diary you know." He confessed, not looking me in the eye. "I was trying to get her to grab your sketch book. I wanted to see your sketches. But I'm guessing the books look the same so she grabbed the wrong one. I'm sorry for reading it, that was personal." He was fiddling with his hands, his key sign of nervousness, I could tell he meant his apology.

"Its okay, I would have done the same thing if I had yours." I chuckled, trying to relieve the tension in the air. That brought a smile to his face, finally looking me in the eye.

"So, do you have a crush on Fred?" He asked, his face cringing slightly.

He's kidding right? Surely he's not that dumb. My eyebrows furrowed probably as far as they could.

"What?" Was all I could get out. I could not believe this idiot right now.

"Well I hope it's not Ron, that would be a little weird I think, and surely it's not me."

"Yes it is!" I protested back pressingly.

"Its Ron?!" His face was horrified now.

"No you dimwit! It's you! Merlin are you dumb! Georgie you're all I write about in here nearly, look." I pulled the book out again, flipping to a random page. "I taught him how to braid today, he told me he didn't know how and I told him I was perfect to practice on. He's actually quite good at it, I think he knew how to braid. For a moment there he was just playing with my hair and I thought that I might just blackout, it was a dream." It was from a night in the common room. "Or, more proof. 'The boy was sitting across from me on the couch in front of the fireplace today. It was perfect to draw, or at least try. The sketch is kind if shit but I can tell its him and now it think I'll look at it every day because I loved that moment.'"

George's face looked so happy. It was another one of those smiles that drove me mad, but I guess everything about him drove me mad, didn't it?

"You really feel that way about me?"

"Of course I do. I thought it was obvious. And I'm sorry to spring it on you like this."

"Well I certainly was too much of a wuss to do it myself." He said with a nervous smile.

"You mean, you feel the same way?" There's absolutely no way.

"Well of course." He said, as if it was the most casual and obvious thing in the world. "Do you see me act the way I do around you with anyone else. Braiding anyone else's hair, trying to stay calm and collected and seem cool around anyone else."

"Well that's because we're best friends."

"But is that the case for either of us?" And he was right. We only acted this way around eachother because we were hopelessly pining for one another, without even knowing it. And it was consistently working.

"Well aren't we just the perfect pair." I said with a giggle, pouring ingredients in the cauldron for the first time in 10 minutes.

"Are we a pair now?" He asked with a cheesy smile.

"Is this your way of asking me out Weasley?"

"Maybe."

"Then yes, we *are* a pair."

[arctimon]

It’s so funny how my mind just comes up with random things from the show that just get expanded upon infinitely until I have to get them down on paper. One of the unresolved plot points from Big Hero 6: The Series is the Cruzes.  Both Megan and Diego failed to make an appearance in Season 3.  Given that said season was simply a mish-mash of different stories with only a little of continuity between them, this made sense. It makes less sense when you remember that Chief Cruz was suppose to be the antagonist of the second half of Season 2.

Megan’s absence from the list of possible replacements for Honey Lemon, Go Go, and Wasabi in “HPPPT” is even more bizzare, since she literally helped Hiro in “Legacies” and proved herself to be at least competent with the ninja suit.

Those are all finer details that I’m sure I’ll talk about in future posts, but right now...I want to go back even further in the past. We know about Diego’s past with superheroes; his father was killed after a night out, and Boss Awesome was too late to save his life.  We also know at some point, he moved out of the city and then an unknown amount of time later, he came back with Megan. The problem is...we don’t have any idea just how much time passed between those two events.

We know that Cass and Diego knew each other back then, and we can also assume that it was probably during their younger years.  In “Fred The Fugitive”, while on their date friend excursion, they reminisce a little bit: Cass:  Who wants small plates?  Remember Joe’s?  The plates were big and the waiters didn’t hate you. Diego:  *laughing*  I used to love going there...’til we moved. Cass:  Well, you never told me why you moved away. Diego:  Yeah, I don’t talk about it much.  Uhh...what happened was- And then the conversation gets interrupted by Fred’s shenanigans and the officers chasing him.

A couple of things to take from this conversation.  One...Joe’s is apparently the happenin‘ place to be for kids these days. ...Sorry.  The old man in me broke through. Second, you can tell that Cass and Diego were at least close enough to hang out with each other.  Maybe they went to school together or something like that.  That was probably where Diego got his crush on her.

Yeah, it’s kind of obvious. But putting that aside, shouldn’t Cass...know the reason why he moved away?  Was it not the death of his dad that was the reason?

Unless that wasn’t the reason. Remember in “Something’s Fishy” at the very beginning of the episode when Cass is talking to Hiro about Megan?

Cass:  Well, hit pause because I have some very exciting news.  I ran into an old friend who just moved back to San Fransokyo...and *pause because Fred invisible shenanigans* he has a daughter named Megan, and she’s the same age as you! We can assume from this that Diego moved away more than 14 years ago, because Cass’s tone and dialogue makes me believe that Megan was not around (or born, or perhaps even a thought at that point) when Diego left.  It’s hard to narrow down an approximate timeline because we’re not even given ages of Cass and Diego.  I’ve always assumed they were in their mid 40s, but that still wouldn’t mean anything if we’re not given any references to when he left. Another quick note is Diego’s use of the word “we”.  “We moved.”  And then Cass follows that up with “you moved”. Now perhaps Diego is referring to his family, which we can reasonably assume would be he and his mom.  Never mind the fact that his mom never gets mentioned whatsoever. But of course, when have I ever reasonably assumed anything? And this is where the wild theorizing part of me comes in. What if the reason that Diego moved away...was Megan? From Megan’s appearances in the show, she doesn’t appear to have any attachment to the city either.  The only reason she seems to gravitate to Joe’s Diner is because of Diego. And notice how there is a missing player in this whole thing:  Megan’s mom. Who is Megan’s mom? She doesn’t get mentioned at all.  What is with Cruzes and their moms not being mentioned?

Anyway, that’s a mystery that I’ve been trying to solve in the course of my stories.  Megan herself is getting invested in trying to find out who it is, because even she doesn’t know. Wonder whether that will ever show up again. Maybe in my dreams at 2 in the morning when I’m suppose to be sleeping.

[abigailnussbaum]

The Handmaid’s Tale 4x01-4x03

After three seasons and change of The Handmaid’s Tale, I think the facts of the matter are plain: what started out as a wrenching examination of how life under a totalitarian regime wears away at the soul and sense of self, and how the only possibilities for rebellion or escape within that system are minuscule and often self-defeating, has become a grown-up Hunger Games with prestige TV writing and acting. Except that for some reason, the writers are bizarrely reluctant to pull the trigger on that, so they keep falling back on the forms of that first show, even though they’ve been hollowed out of any meaning. Which is how you get this stretch of episodes, in which June starts out on the run with the other renegade handmaids, ends up on the run with (only one surviving member of) the other renegade handmaids, and in the middle both commits an audacious poison attack against Gilead and gets captured and tortured into giving up her friends.

And before we talk about the substance of all that, it must be acknowledged that most of it is just incredibly stupid. It’s simply absurd that Joseph Lawrence hasn’t been executed (at the very least, you’d expect him to have gone under the knife; Janine’s former Commander lost a hand for raping her, after all). It’s simply absurd that Gilead wouldn’t kill June immediately, or at least after she’d lied to them for the first time. It’s simply absurd that the handmaids wouldn’t try to move out of the new safe house, knowing that June could give them away (remember when Alma was the Mayday contact and June was the naive one? Now she’s so passive that she has to be told everything). It is beyond absurd that Gilead’s reaction to a group of rebellious handmaids who have stolen eighty-six children is to send them - together! - to a compound in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t even know what to say about the idea that these same women would be transported with minimal security and restraint, or that a passing cargo train would be enough to ensure June and Janine’s escape. At almost every turn, the plot developments in these episodes feel like they exist to produce a cool montage or yet another opportunity for Elisabeth Moss to suffer beautifully, not as a meaningful exploration of totalitarianism and resistance.

Having said that, there is good material in these episodes, and especially their suggestion that in becoming a leader of the renegade handmaids, June has placed herself in direct contrast to - and yet also modeled herself on - Aunt Lydia. The scene in which she arranges a particicution of the Guardian who raped Esther is as chilling as it is righteous, not because the murder is wrong, but because she so clearly recognizes that the way to get the other handmaids to do what she wants is to use the rhetorical and emotional handholds that Lydia beat into them. It’s notable how she’s styled, and how she moves, in the season’s first episode - all in ways that seem designed to echo Ann Dowd’s performance.

Esther herself is a really brilliant addition to the series (and it’s baffling to me that she was written off so quickly - perhaps she’ll return?). She forces June to play multiple roles - the subservient Handmaid/Martha to Esther’s Wife; the stern but loving maternal figure to an abused child desperate for attention and care; most interestingly, the role of an Aunt, who earns Esther’s loyalty by directing her violence and rage at the right target. It’s also, of course, yet another reminder of what Gilead is actually about, and of the fact that just as women like June are considered a stopgap measure, so are women like Serena. The real Wives of Gilead are children like Esther, too young and ignorant to say no or have a mind of their own. And if the result is rape, trauma, and psychological harm, then so be it.

At the same time, these episodes are also about June the increasingly mythical figure, both inside Gilead - the Mayday contact at Jezebel’s who is awed to meet her and inspired by her to make a possibly suicidal stand - and outside of it. And they’re about the weight that it puts on Luke and Moira’s shoulders to love, from afar, a woman who is a hero of the revolution. It’s a nice counterpoint to the show’s mythologizing of June that they are allowed to express how frustrating it is to have to deal with the fallout of her heroism. (Though some of their complaints are hard to sympathize with; yes, Moira, June probably did not think about the fact that some of the children she rescued from Gilead would remember no other home and want to go back; does that mean she should have left them to become illiterate child-brides and brainwashed rapists?) If you’re going to do The Hunger Games, at least acknowledge that real-life Katnisses can be as exhausting as they are inspirational.

And look, for all my grousing, it’s not as if there isn’t a good story to be told about June, the renegade handmaid who turns herself into Gilead’s scourge. The show’s styling already works hard to recall WWII, and the references to slavery also abound. Both of those periods have no shortage of stories about awe-inspiring heroism from within the belly of the beast, and if The Handmaid’s Tale struggles with plotting stories like this (and if placing a middle class white woman at their center is a choice with some obvious drawbacks) that doesn’t mean they can’t be entertaining and inspirational to watch.

Which makes it all the more frustrating that the third episode winds us all the way back to where we’ve been so many times in the last three seasons, with June in the clutches of the Gileadean security state. A situation that is treated, yet again, as an opportunity for the show’s costuming and set-dressing departments to imagine yet another level of Gilead’s color-coded oppression. I thought Atwood’s The Testaments was a rather pointless return to the world of the original novel, but one thing it grasps, which the show never has, is that Gilead was never meant to look elegant or cool. Its outfits and neologisms were meant to come off as cheap and chintzy. The show, in contrast, simply loves inventing new and increasingly elaborate settings, and putting June in new outfits, whether or not this takes the story anywhere interesting.

There’s a bit of fun to be had in the fact that June is so clearly over Aunt Lydia’s sickly-sweet mind games, but in the end it feels pointless - just a way of getting Moss to play against some of the show’s heavy hitters again, repeating the same beats we’ve seen so many times before. And sure, Lawrence’s line - “Gilead doesn’t care about children. Gilead cares about power.” - is a good one. But it’s also something we know. I suspect it’s something June knows - the only reason she denies it is that she doesn’t want to accept that she’s going to have to choose between her compatriots and her daughter.

And in the end, we’re right back where we started, with June on the run, except now only with Janine (conveniently, the other handmaids are killed before they ask any uncomfortable questions about how they were captured; and Janine just happens to be the character least likely to question or criticize June). So it remains to be seen whether this season will actually take the leap and become the adventure show it has so clearly wanted to become, while clearly being embarrassed by that desire. Or whether we’re in for another season of pointless runarounds.

(I will say nothing about Serena’s pregnancy except that I’m a bit surprised she and Fred were still having sex. Otherwise it continues to amaze me that the show thinks we should still have any interest in her - but at least someone actually comes out and tells her that Nichole isn’t her daughter. I will also say nothing about the June and Nick of it all. My stance continues to be that June should take what pleasure she can get in her uncertain life, but if the show wants me to be invested in their romance, sorry, that’s where I get off.)

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

If James Bond Was Bruce Springsteen

PART FORTY-FOUR OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Ella tries to focus on the future.

A/N: Surprise! Here’s the epilogue way earlier than I thought! Seriously, I have loved writing this story. Thank you so much to everyone who went on this journey with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

five years later

Biting at the inside of her cheek, Ella struggled to keep her eyes open. One hand was on her stomach, and her free hand went to her mouth. Ever since getting pregnant, the nervous nail-biting was nonstop. She didn’t know exactly why, and she didn’t know exactly how to get it to stop, either. After Jess finished another passage, he cast her a glance and frowned when he saw her fingers resting on her lips. He scoffed and gently reached over to bring her nails from her teeth.

“You need to quit that, Eleanor,” he said.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shifted and readjusted her position with her head on his shoulder as he read. “Fine. I’m sorry. I’m just nervous to see your mom tonight.”

“Why?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

She sighed. Things had been tense between Jess and his mother as of late, since she had accidentally landed in a religious cult with her husband and daughter. They had managed to escape before being totally brainwashed, but the incident left a bad taste in Jess’s mouth. It reminded him a bit too much of his childhood, and the thought of Doula having to experience any of what he had made his insides squirm. The atmosphere of frustration had resulted in Ella and Jess waiting as long as possible to tell Liz and TJ about the pregnancy. Seeing them at Luke and Lorelai’s wedding was simply inevitable, and the news would be obvious. Ella was a little over four months along, and had a clearly pregnant belly, which showed in the simple gray dress printed with small black flowers she was wearing. Jess, Ella knew, was more likely worried about exposing his own baby to Liz, even before she was born.

Ella shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t want seeing her to make you too upset. We’re the ones who get to decide how involved she is.”

Jess let a small smile across his lips. He leaned down to kiss the crown of Ella’s head. “Don’t worry about me, honey. I know.”

“Okay,” she said in earnest. “Just let me know if that changes.”

“Will do, Stevens.” Then, he shut the book, saving his place with his finger, and looked over at her inquisitively. Her eyes were tired, and she was a little pale. “You can sleep if you want to. We don’t have to be at Liz and TJ’s any specific time. No one here is gonna care if you rest for a little while.”

“Maybe, Mariano,” she said, running her hand over her stomach absently. “I just hate being so tired during the day.”

“Hey, at least the puking finally stopped,” Jess said with an opportunistic chuckle.

Letting her eyes flutter shut, she laughed with him. “That’s true.” Up until two weeks earlier had seen Ella constantly slammed with morning sickness. The tide was recently changing to crazy cravings, barbeque sauce on top of a banana being the highlight of the last week.

A couple minutes later, with Jess back to his reading, Ella did end up dozing off. She was cozy on the Gilmore couch, wrapped in a black cardigan over her soft, worn dress. The autumn chill had just arrived in the Northeast, and Ella had yet to adjust to it once more all the way. The air smelled crisp and familiar in Stars Hollow. It was the first time they had been back in over a year, busy trying to get pregnant, and then freaking out once they finally did. But distance had indeed made the heart grow fonder. Ella was happy to be able to see everyone again, and the idea that she was free to leave whenever she wanted, guilt-free, made the trip infinitely more enjoyable. The little blue house was finally sold to a young new family over eighteen months prior.

She floated back to reality at the sound of Luke’s heavy footfalls down the stairs. Opening her eyes, she didn’t move. Instead, she watched with Jess as Luke descended from the upstairs in his wedding suit. They’d barely arrived for the visit when Lue had raced upstairs with self-conscious requests for honest opinions. Then, he’d remained upstairs for twenty minutes fussing over himself before finally returning. Ella fought back a laugh as he came down, but he did in fact look decent in the suit. A fond smirk came over Jess’s face as he shut the book with a snap, putting it beside him.

“Well, where’s Right Said Fred when you need ‘em?” he drawled dryly.

Ella snorted, finally raising her head from Jess’s shoulder. “I second that.”

Luke barely noticed their compliments, instead fiddling with the small silk square meant to go in his pocket. “The guy who sold me this suit put this thing in the box. I don’t know what the hell to do with it.”

“It’s a pocket square,” Jess explained, brows furrowed. Even he knew that one after being forced to wear a tux at the launch party for Dave Eggers’ collection at Truncheon last year. “Do the math.”

“Oh,” Luke said, looking down at it. Realization dawned on his face and he put the pocket square in its rightful place. “Oh, it looks kind of nice.”

“Sure does, boss,” Ella said, biting back giggles. Luke was like a deer in headlights.

“So, this is the big outfit for tomorrow,” Luke announced, finally turning to them and putting his arms up to show them the look. “Get it all out now.”

“I like it. You look like James Bond if James Bond was also Bruce Springsteen,” Ella said.

“That’s what it is!” Jess said with mock excitement and wide eyes, pointing to Ella.

“But, I think it’ll make Lorelai’s whole life, Luke. Seriously,” she said with more sincerity, almost pride.

“Thanks, kid,” he said shyly. Then, he looked at his nephew. “Jess?”

Jess paused for a moment, then stood up and spoke with gravity. “Turn around?”

“Jess,” Luke said, sighing in exasperation.

Raising his eyebrows expectantly, Jess gestured in a circle. “Turn.”

Luke did as Jess said, spinning in a slow circle. “Well?”

“You are a very handsome man,” Jess answered.

Luke rolled his eyes. “All right.”

“I mean, very hot,” Jess continued emphatically.

“I got it,” Luke said.

Jess chose not to take the hint. “Rande Gerber hot.”

“Enough, Jess,” Luke warned.

Jess’s face softened with sincerity. “Hey. You look good.”

“Yeah?” Luke asked, surprised.

Jess clapped Luke on the shoulder and then went to sit back next to his wife. “I only do sincere once, man.”

“Right, thanks,” Luke replied.

Ella laughed, feeling nostalgic but not letting it overtake her. Since finding out about the pregnancy, Ella had been trying to focus on the future instead of the past. Even if it scared her a little. She was overjoyed at the idea she was going to get to see Luke and Lorelai marry. Before the conversation could go in any other direction, Kirk rushed into the house unannounced, taking a seat on the armchair opposite Ella and Jess. He put his head in his hands and gave a distressed groan.

“Luke! Everything is under control!” Kirk screeched.

“What happened to knocking, Kirk?” Luke asked.

“Yeah!” Jess said ardently, picking up his book again. “What if we were naked?”

Ella nudged him playfully with her elbow as a soft, sly smirk came over his face.

“Don’t say that,” Luke admonished him.

Kirk shot up and headed in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Luke asked.

Ella watched from her spot, her head back on Jess’s shoulder, as Kirk shouted about how he was going to throw up because he had messed up the wedding decorations at the gazebo, where the ceremony was to take place the following day. In the midst of the argument, Lorelai wandered in from the kitchen with a Pop Tart in her hands. She wordlessly handed one to Ella, who had been telling Lorelai about her recent sweet tooth during their frequent phone calls. Smiling gratefully, Ella raised her head and threw the wrapper away in the bin next to her as the scene unfolded in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Luke asked.

“I live here,” Lorelai said plainly. “You look hot.”

“Rande Gerber hot,” Jess chimed in without looking up from his reading.

Ella snorted a laugh.

“Yeah.” Lorelai continued munching on her pastry.

“You’re supposed to be at the Inn!” Luke insisted. Lorelai was meant to be spending the day at the Dragonfly, before Luke, Jess, and Ella departed to sleep in the apartment above the diner for the night.

“I was,” Lorelai said. “They don’t have Pop Tarts.”

“Get outta here!” Luke exclaimed.

“Why?” Lorelai’s brow crinkled.

“I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding,” Luke explained. “It’s bad luck.”

“Oh, are we doing that?” Lorelai asked.

The confusion went on, as Rory entered the room as well and was equally surprised Luke wanted to partake in the superstitious tradition. The two Gilmore women pretended to leave lamely before Luke gave into letting Lorelai stay. At talk of pizza for dinner, Ella’s stomach growled, despite her having just finished the Pop Tart. Jess heard it and chuckled, standing and putting his book in his back pocket before holding his hand out for her to grab.

“We should get going. Liz is making dinner and we won’t have the heart to leave if you threaten pizza,” Jess said.

“You sure? There’s still time to back out,” Lorelai said.

Ella sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear after rising. “No, I think we’re stealing enough thunder telling her the night before your wedding, let alone the day of.”

“Well, considering you didn’t tell anyone you got engaged until after you got married,” Luke said gruffly, “she probably won’t be as shocked as you think she will.”

“Agreed,” Lorelai said, nodding.

They both still threw in the occasional jab about Jess and Ella’s elopement, having missed it. Mostly, it was good-natured. Mostly.

“You guys got copies of all the pictures!” Jess said defensively.

Ella could only laugh along with Rory.

“Yeah, and you can keep Liz’s thunder,” Lorelai assured her, back on topic. “I don’t think I’m interested in it.”

Ella laughed, but followed with her hand back in Jess’s grasp as he went over to the doorway. “We should be back in a couple hours.”

“Hopefully,” Jess added, sullen.

“Hey, look alive, Mister Sunshine,” Ella teased.

He rolled his eyes playfully as he grabbed their coats and Ella’s bag. Lorelai, Luke, and Rory began bidding them goodbye (while Kirk lay on the couch, wailing and wallowing). Ella’s smile faltered a bit as she looked at Rory. They spoke semi-regularly, but it was sometimes very hard for Ella to bite her tongue. Rory was floundering in her career, burnt out from her intensity in school, and back to sleeping with unavailable men. Her affair with Logan, who was engaged, had been going on for a while, and Ella tried not to judge her. Instead, she just felt sad that her childhood friend was struggling. Rory had experienced meltdowns over bad grades even when they were in kindergarten. She had just begun working as the editor of the Stars Hollow Gazette, though, which Ella thought might actually be perfect for Rory. She hoped things would brighten up soon.

Jess held Ella’s coat up for her to put on chivalrously.

It made Ella roll her eyes at how adorable he was. If she didn’t know it was only because of what a good dad he was already becoming, it would have been irritating. But she couldn’t help the way her heart glowed at the thought. He was a natural with kids. Always had been, even when he had no experience. And after the baby came, Jess and Ella were going to split time off, since Ella didn’t want to miss the summer semester at the University. Both of them would be part-time, and Ella was glad for both herself, and also, the baby. She was lucky Truncheon had finally picked up enough speed for significant taking of prolonged leave.

“It’s only a couple blocks, Jess. I think I’ll just carry it. I’ll be fine.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s what you said last time. Then you got a fever!”

“God, you have no concept of weather! You can’t get sick from it! We’ve been over this!” she argued warily. “It was a coincidence! And it was just a cold, anyway!”

“Seems like a pretty big coincidence,” he said.

“Yeah, seems like it,” she retorted flatly.

He sighed. “C’mon, Elle. Help me out. What’s the point in risking it?”

After a calculating look, she finally relented and turned, slipping her arms into the plaid peacoat’s sleeves. “Okay. But I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for you, James Dean.”

She faced him again, and shot him a look, as she pulled her blonde waves from beneath her collar.

“Thank you so much,” Jess deadpanned.

“And, for Rhiannon,” she added, putting a hand to her stomach again with the extra layer on.

Jess was donning his jean jacket, and he scoffed. “C’mon, Elle.”

“Rhiannon?” Lorelai asked.

“I’m trying to convince him,” Ella said, tilting her head to her husband.

“I just think it’s a bit of a mouthful,” Jess said, shrugging.

“But we can call her ‘Annie’ for short, like I said,” Ella continued, unwilling to back down. The name had been on her mind forever. And they had already decided the baby’s middle name would be ‘Sophia.’

Jess sighed through his nose, then glanced at her earnestly. For once, Ella saw him actually consider it. Very seriously. Fleetwood Mac still wasn’t his favorite, but as he looked at her back in the Gilmore house, a reflection of who she had been over a decade earlier, he could hear her playing the song on Miss Patty’s piano the night of their first Thanksgiving together so vividly. It was like he was there again. And his eyes shone with love. It seemed he might like the name for their daughter after all.

“Maybe,” he said finally.

She smiled widely, dimples showing and hazel eyes dancing. “Progress. I’ll take what I can get, cutie.”

“See you guys later?” Jess said, eyebrows raised at the other three.

They uttered various confirmations and Jess turned to open the door as Lorelai came up behind them, blowing a kiss. Ella and Jess walked out the door, hand-in-hand, towards the dark green Volvo, which now seemed like it had been their car forever. As they descended the front porch steps, orange leaves crunching under their feet in the yard, they talked amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe I finally converted you to good taste, Mariano!” Ella teased. “Your daughter’s gonna be named after a Stevie Nicks song!”

Jess scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like you’re anywhere close to indoctrinating me, Stevens.”

“So, you’re not denying the name thing, then?” she asked.

“No, I’m not denying the name thing,” Jess answered after a moment.

Ella pressed a kiss to his cheek. He rolled his eyes, but eventually became genuine, turning her head with a gentle hand on her chin so he could kiss her on the lips just before they made it to the car. From the doorway, Rory shook her head and laughed at their familiar brand of bickering.

“Guess some things never change,” Lorelai said, chuckling with her daughter.

Luke smiled fondly from behind the two women, while Ella and Jess prepared to drive away. He watched them go. “Yeah. I guess not.”