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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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hoshi; vowels and veracity (m)

summary: after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher. pairing: teacher!soonyoung x single mother!reader genre/warnings: fluffity fluff nuggets, humor, a lil bit of angst when yn panics, *steve rogers voice* language! alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap the pickle before u tickle), face sitting w/c: 5.2k a/n: i really have nothing to say about this but i’ve been thinking about going back to school all week so this manifested. enjoy a lil sexy but sweet hosh💕

“Y-you,” another giggle and the press of wet lips to the sensitive spot of your neck, “stop, Soonyoung! I’m ticklish there!”

You feel a pout imprint itself in the sweet spot between your ear and your jaw, and you sigh at the rumble of his lips against your skin, “But you taste so sweet, baby,” he croons, and you’re practically melting between the door with how much Soonyoung has pressed himself against you, all of himself.

“What if I don’t wanna stop, pretty girl?” he husks against your soft skin, whispering things in your ear that aren’t for the faint of heart. In your haste to keep a firm grip, one hand goes to his clothes and the other nips at the undercut of his midnight black hair, “what if I just open the door right now and we slip right in, and then I slip right in you?”

Your breath hitches and suddenly your core feels like a timebomb, ready to combust.

Go on a date, Joshua says. He’s a sweet guy, Joshua says. He’s a friend of Joshua’s, so you know going into this blind date that at the very least, he wasn’t a serial killer. But what Joshua failed to tell you going into this was how much Kwon Soonyoung packed and how much of a temptor in disguise he is.

“I really would love to invite you in,” it looks like it pains Soonyoung to admit this, as he presses his forehead to yours and the edge of his fingers dig into your crushed emerald velvet number, “but tomorrow’s the first day of work and I am not emotionally prepared. But, I do want to see you again. I had a great time.”

The previous mood melting into the night sky, you reluctantly let go of the lapels of his tweed blazer. Unable to suppress your crestfallen smile you nod, “That’s fine,” you reply, inching away from him to send him a pointed look, “I wouldn’t have gone inside anyway. I don’t put out on the first date,” you cross your arms in an attempt to feign nonchalance.

Which isn’t a lie, although if Soonyoung had asked you two minutes ago to come inside for a cup of tea, you wouldn’t have argued. He is just that tempting. Said date raises an eyebrow in response, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear at the defiance in your eyes. “Oh?” he echoes, “then what date do you put out?”

“Date seven.”

“Lucky seven,” he grins, “so if we go on a date every day this week by Friday we should be good to go. How do you feel about steak?”

You slap his shoulder in his response, and the giggle that erupts from his lips in response has you feeling dizzy and giddy with excitement. Soonyoung has you feeling like a college freshman all over again, floating like Cloud 9 and drunk in anticipation. You peck one, two more kisses on his lips. He tastes like the peach champagne you shared and his own scent as he pulls you in for a much longer, much hotter kiss.

“Good luck on your first day,” you mumble against his lips, vaguely remembering that he’s a teacher in a school nearby.

“Mm, text me when you get home,” and with a final kiss to your forehead he unlocks his door, leaving you warm and full of heart-eyes on his front porch.

The walk home, more like float home, has you feeling all parts exhausted and hopeful for the days to come. For the first time in a long time you feel young and unbridled, thrumming with excitement. Now you’re just playing with your phone, waiting to exchange goodnight texts.

“Nari’s asleep,” when you walk into your shared apartment, you spot a sleepy Seungkwan on his laptop and sprawled across your couch. “How was it?”

“It was reealllly nice,” you’re still a little wine tipsy, drunk on the taste of Merlot and a certain someone’s kisses, “he was really sweet, and surprisingly sexy.”

“Did you get dicked down?” Seungkwan asks only the most important questions.

You scoff, flopping down on the couch next to him, “As if, we have work in the morning.”

“Speaking of work, are you sure you’re not able to drop off Nari to school tomorrow? It’s her first day of kindergarten.”

“I can’t,” saying it feels absolutely awful, but a single mother has to work extra hard to keep her and her daughter happy.

“It’s fine,” Seungkwan easily waves you off and runs a hand through his fluffy auburn hair, “her favorite Uncle is there, anyway.”

“Hey,” you lightly punch his arm, “I’ve already talked Nari through it. I’m cooking a big breakfast tomorrow—chocolate chip pancakes, duh, and taking a million pictures before we have to part ways. I packed a little Kit-Kat for her lunch with a sweet note. When I come back in time for dinner I promised her pizza from her favorite parlor and she can tell me everything about her day.”

“So, you’re bribing her with food.”

“Sue me, it’s every parent’s weak spot.”

Seungkwan stretches his arms, cradling you between his chest. You sigh into his clean linen scent, feeling sleepy. “Yeah, I’ve bribed her with my Switch once or twice,” he admits softly, eyes also drooping, “but you’re a great mother regardless. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Kwannie,” you sigh, feeling more at ease.

Nari is the light of you and Seungkwan’s life. Five years ago, you promised yourself that if you were more than financially stable and still sick with baby fever, you would adopt. You didn’t want to find a romantic partner for the sole purpose of having a child, you could easily do that on your own. And that you did, you researched and visited foster homes off in the countryside.

In a little town off the coast of the shore was where you met Nari, only six months old and full with cherub cheeks and eyes that sparkled like the moon and stars. You fell in love with her instantly. Fast forward five years later and she’s the reason you wake up every morning and work hard every day. Seungkwan being your best friend, also wanted rights as the godfather and therefore is also part of your perfect family picture.

You and Seungkwan sleep warmly tonight, both excited to share yet another year of Nari’s milestones.

“And then Mr. Kwon said I was an ‘ace’ with my vowels!” Nari has a string of cheese hanging from her chin, and you don’t bat an eye as you reach to pat it away with a napkin.

“I wouldn’t expect any less, baby,” you coo, carding a hand through her hair so her bangs don’t get caught in her meal, “remember when mommy and Uncle Kwannie taught you the vowels this summer? We sang that song.”

“Yes! I sang the same song and showed everyone how ‘ta do it,” your heart is swelling with pride, and you fight the urge to tear up because Seungkwan’s already showing signs of waterworks from his side of the table, “I read a book Mr. Kwon gave me today and he said he’s so impressed I read at a Level B.”

You quirk your brows at the new jargon. You certainly don’t know what it means to be a Level B, but it makes Nari happy and that’s all that matters. Wiping the orange grease off her lips, you muse that you must get in contact with her teacher one of these days.

“What’s a Level B?” Seungkwan similarly looks stumped at the new vocabulary.

“I don’t know!” Nari shrugs, but nevertheless her teacher’s attention has her glowing.

You giggle, “I’m so happy for you, baby.”

“I’m excited to go back tomorrow, I made a new friend! His name is Jeonghan and he helped me with my numbers today. He called my bows cute.”

“Cute?” Seungkwan perks up from his stupor, “of course you’re cute, Nari. So cute that you’re too good for this Jeonghwan boy.”

“Jeonghan, Uncle Kwannie,” she pouts when Seungkwan scoffs, in favor of shoving half a slice in his mouth. She turns to you, tugging on your blazer, “Mama, can I go watch TV now? I finished my homework and I wanna see the new Ladybug and Cat Noir!”

“Of course,” you pull away her plate, gesturing for her to go to the living room.

“Thank you mama,” and she’s bouncing off her seat, pushing her chair in and off to watch Miraculous Ladybug.

You sigh, “They grow up so fast.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widen at your age-old phrase, the words reminding him oddly of his parents when they used to talk down to him. “And here we are, aging twice as fast,” Seungkwan bemoans, already starting to feel the greasy food settle in his stomach. “We used to eat a whole pie! We could eat absolute garbage back in college and here I am weak at two slices—oh my god, am I having a ‘back in my day’ moment? We need to go out. I need to go out. I’ve been practicing consonants and vowels all day. I need a boyfriend,” he playfully narrows his eyes at you, “I need a boyfriend like yours, sweet and sexy.”

“Sorry,” you stick out your tongue, “but he’s mine.”

Perfect timing, Soonyoung’s name pops up on your phone. You two have been texting sporadically throughout the day, making plans for your next date. The two of you are going to watch a drive-in movie, a situation that screams teenage-back-of-the-truck-sex but the movie is a much anticipated favorite of yours and you genuinely want to watch it.

Soonyoung is full of humor and laughs, getting you to smile and relax at the right times during work and always manages to keep you on your toes whenever he says something flirtatious.

“Are you gonna introduce him to Nari?”

You stop typing, and look up towards your beautiful little girl in the living room. Her hair is out of her pigtails, drooping tiredly like she is. Her cheek is pressed against her favorite plush cat, fighting for consciousness because she’s waiting for Marinette to save the day. Your heart swells with affection.

“Dunno,” you shrug, trying not to think too hard about it, “we’re not that serious right now.”

You’re absolutely winded. You finished work early today, due to the fact that came in early so you could clock out and pick Nari up from school. Despite the fact that Nari says it’s okay for you not to pick her up, you can’t allow it and you want to be the one who she runs into when she comes out the door.

“Who do you think she’s gonna hug first?” Seungkwan’s elbowing you, baiting you. “Because this morning she gave me a hug and three kisses before I dropped her off.”

“Three?” you seethe in annoyance, “three kisses is our thing! Two on the cheek and one on the forehead!”

The two of you slowly steep together, waiting for the colorful blue door to the kindergarten area to file out. The heel of your shoes are digging into the grass, probably making a needle-like indentation in the dirt as you struggle not to seep into the lawn. You feel like you’re going to flop on your heels, wishing you could go run back into the car and find your flip-flops from last month’s beach trip. But before you could debate on the run the bell rings, and you’re on livewire when you see the students start to file out.

Your smile grows ten-fold when you see Nari’s jaw drop in surprise, seeing you waiting for her. She fists whatever is in her hands in surprise, breaking into the cutest smile as she screams, “mama!”

And you’re ready to hold your arms out and throw her around in circles, until you see who follows right behind her.

Kwon Soonyoung is Nari’s kindergarten teacher. Kwon Soonyoung with his hair down and untextured, wearing a mint polo and looking nothing like the date you had the other night. He looks absolutely soft and so, you are weak.

Kwon Soonyoung, the sexy deviant who sends you questionable texts and sends you funny puppy videos, is staring right at you and utterly confused when Nari rams straight into your hip.

Momentarily distracted, you pepper your pretty daughter in kisses (all three of them, two cheeks and one forehead) and tell her how much you’ve missed her. Clearly she doesn’t miss you as much, as she’s waving around a picture she drew during playtime, one of her and Jeonghan in the sandbox.

“Really, Nari,” Seungkwan mutters under his breath, shamelessly vocalizing his opinion on a five-year old, “can’t you choose a different friend?”

“Seungkwan!” you chide, but he pointedly annoys you when Nari finally enters Seungkwan’s embrace. He takes extra time to cuddle her, obviously jealous that another boy has taken refuge in your little Nari’s heart.

The moment is so sweet and simple you have no choice but to revel in it and take out your phone to snap a photo.

“Mama!” she pops her head off of Seungkwan’s shoulder, “come meet Mr. Kwon!”

And she’s tugging your hand, only you’re much stronger and you stay firmly planted on the grass. Heck, you even sacrifice your shoes by digging your heels in for extra measure.Your eyes widen in panic, but Nari doesn’t notice because she’s paving a path of dirt with her lime green light-up sneakers, trying to get you to move. You nearly forgot your latest tryst is your daughter’s teacher, and you never told him you have a kid.

But within seconds, there’s an audible slam and the three of you are shattered from your bubble. Turning to the noise the heavy navy door is now locked shut, all the students dismissed for the day. The crowd is gone. Soonyoung is gone.

Seungkwan’s eyes dart between the closed door and you, the pieces clicking. His mouth forms a little ‘o’ and he nods in understanding. “He thinks I’m your baby daddy.”

The two of you point out each other like the Spiderman meme. “He thinks you’re my baby daddy,” you echo, horror marrying your face.

“Mama? What’s a baby daddy?”

“Shh, Nari—” he picks up Nari in one swoop, mouthing a go to you as he leads her to the car.

All alone on the grass, you panic as you watch your family grow smaller and smaller as they enter the parking lot. Soonyoung’s just behind that door, right? Looking left and right to assure no one is going to think you’re being that parent and harassing the teacher within the first week of school, you bound up the steps to knock on the door. Your knocks clang heavily, echoing against the building.

Ten seconds pass. Nothing.

You deflate, pulling out your phone to shoot Soonyoung a quick text.

You: hey, can you come out for a bit so i can explain? Please

A minute passes. He leaves you on read. Defeated, you slump against the door. This day is really a whirlwind on your mental state. All you wanted today was some extra time off work, Nari’s three kisses, and maybe a goodnight text from Soonyoung if you were lucky.

The door suddenly flips open, and you’re braced against someone’s hands.

“Whoa, you okay?”

Your face crumples in relief when it’s Soonyoung that’s come out to respond to you. He’s bracing your weight by holding your arms between his hands, although keeping a respectable distance between the upper half of your bodies. It makes you a little upset, but you understand. Once you’re stable, he lets you go and leans away from you.

“Why are you waiting out here?” he asks pointedly, looking at you up and down. You seem terribly overdressed in your coral pinstripe suit, mismatching with Soonyoung’s apple sauce stains.

“Why do you think I’m waiting out here?”

“And if I close the door again?” he retorts suddenly.

“Then I’ll follow you home.”

A beat passes, whatever expression he conveys on his face is practiced and primed. You have a terrible time trying to decipher his blankness. Working with kids probably does that to an adult. “Come in,” he says neutrally, and you wordlessly follow him into his classroom.

The room is decorated beautifully, with rainbows and glitter. It’s also surprisingly organized, all the crayons in place and the play area free of stray toys. Your eyes instantly search for Nari’s desk, and a small smile fits on your face as you trace her handmade name tag.

“Normally, I don’t let parents in my room until it’s Back to School Night,” Soonyoung says, leaning against his desk. It makes you terribly nervous, knowing the ball is in your court and he’s waiting for you to make a move. His carefree, easy going nature is nowhere to be found, and all you see is walls and a mean poker face. He pulls up the sleeves of his polo, exposing pale, strong arms. Your mouth waters a little (you can’t help it!) and you immediately reach for a bottle of water in your purse. “So, what is it you have to say?”

“Seungkwan’s not my baby daddy,” you blurt, and you immediately blanch when Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “Wow uh. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“But you did say it like that,” Soonyoung replies slowly, “no child just doesn’t give three kisses to someone who isn’t their father.”

“I only called him my baby daddy because he said it first,” you grumble, almost childishly, “and Nari’s a baby, of course she’s going to give three kisses to anyone that feeds her and coddles her.”

“It sounds like an excuse.”

“It sounds like I’m freaking out because you keep talking back and forth like this!” you cry, slapping your hands against your thigh. You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re quickly getting annoyed, your face morphing into a shade of embarrassment. You can’t tell if this is amusing him or this is a real interrogation. “Let me explain, Soonyoung!”

He says your name slowly, deliberately. And then, “do you want to take a break in the Calm Down Corner?”

“The—the what?” Soonyoung’s eyes flicker to a corner at the far end of the room. The radiator is decorated in a sky blue wallpaper, and there’s a yoga mat on the floor. There are chairs next to a desk filled with coloring pages, decorated with fairy lights. Filling three of the chairs are various stuffed animals, a tiger, a cat, and a panda, all dressed as doctors. It’s a child’s therapy corner. “You gotta be kidding me.”

He raises a brow, and—is that a smile on his lips? “Then explain, why are you here?”

“Because I think I really like you,” you confess, frustration melting away to reveal the uneasy upturn on your lips. You lied when Seungkwan asked if you would ever consider introducing Soonyoung to Nari. In a different world, you would’ve loved to take the time to take Nari to the museum and introduce Soonyoung there. They’d definitely bond over their love for tigers. “Seungkwan is my best friend, and helps me take care of Nari. I adopted her five years ago.”

Something softens in Soonyoung’s eyes, and the air feels much more relaxed. But his dark brows remain knit together, and he looks at you with confused eyes. “Then if you like me so much, why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?”

“Because kids can be deal breakers,” you admit, and the colorful classroom feels smaller as you hug yourself. “I just, wanted you to like me first.”

It’s the primary reason why it’s taken you so long to date. Sure, there’d be a fling here and there, but nothing that feels as tangible as Soonyoung is. You’re not old enough to find a partner that wouldn’t blink at the sign of children, yet you’re still at that weird age threshold where a partner could immediately run for the hills at the mention of one. Nothing will top Nari, she’s number one in your heart, but the small selfish part wanted you to put the focus on yourself for just one night.

“You don’t have to hide, I want every part of your life no matter how long we have,” he assures you gently, firmly without an ounce of regret. Soonyoung opens his arms, and you cry in relief when you get to collapse in the scent of his cologne. You tuck your head in the crook of his neck, slightly sweaty from whatever activities he needs to do with the kids, but you don’t mind. His voice is quiet, melting in your ears, “and I really like you too. I really like Nari as well, she’s a great kid.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

You two pull away, and he swipes a thumb under your eyes in case some tears manage to escape. “So, Friday? Movie?”

“It’s a date.”

“Where’s Nari?” the question is huffed against your breath as you’re pressed between your freshly washed bedspread and Soonyoung’s body. He takes care in making sure the zipper of your delicate dress doesn’t get caught in the rush, easily slipping your dress off and throwing it on your desk chair.

“At Seungkwan’s, why?”

His cheshire cat eyes glow under the moonlight, positively devious. “It’s date seven,” he announces sweetly. His gaze betrays his saccarine reply, a look that only tells you that Soonyoung plans to fuck you five ways to Sunday, and you’ll gladly let him.

You sit up on your elbows, enjoying the show as Soonyoung quickly sheds his clothing. It’s ungraceful, exciting. Tonight was a simple carnival date, easily making you feel like a giddy college student all over again. Soonyoung won you five Pokemon keychains today, you could put a whole party on your hand.

“It’s actually date six,” you tease, tilting your head as his pants finally come off, revealing black boxer briefs that snug deliciously around the waist.

“Oh, okay,” he looks at you like you’ve spoken God’s word, reaching to pick up his shirt, “so you don’t want my dick fucking you raw tonight? Okay, I see how it is,” he pretends to put on his clothing, jabbing a thumb out the door.

You have the audacity to giggle, pulling him over by the waistband, “Come here so I can make an exception.”

You don’t know what it is that makes you want you want to give everything to this man. Heck, five years ago you didn’t even want a man as an excuse to have kids. But as he nudges you in all the right places and places you on top of him, you know this man will treat you like an absolute treasure. Every kiss is laced with smiles and sweetness, filled with vigor and vivacity that fills you up and leaves you afloat.

He takes care of you first, unwilling to let you budge as he places your core over his face. He makes quick, but effective use of his tongue and fingers, making sure you’re nice and sensitive for his future plans. You’re practically throbbing with pleasure, vibrating from every cell of your body. Within minutes he’s glistening in your arousal, and he pulls you down so you’re lined up with his crotch. It’s involuntary when you pulse against his member, your body shamefully alerting you that it’s desperate with need, and the remedy is right under you.

Soonyoung looks more satisfied than you, eager to please you. Without warning, he stuffs two fingers in your mouth, “You pretty, pretty girl,” you are keen at the attention, your body is glowing a radiant rose.

Your tongue rolls against his fingers, sticky and tasting of your arousal. Tilting your hips up you let Soonyoung pull his member out, lining it against your entrance. Feeling the soft tip brush against your delicate folds, you moan against his mouth. With a little ‘pop’ he releases you, lips shiny and parted.

“I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of hit-it-n’quit-it kind of guy,” he noses the sensitive spot of your jawline, which distracts you momentarily when the plush tip nudges your folds, coaxing you to unite. “Because after tonight, I’m definitely keeping you. Forever.”

The reply that dances on your tongue is overtaken by your whines when Soonyoung slips in fully, forcing your body to clench tightly against his. You take him, all of him. You feel wet and sticky and hot and swollen with affection as Soonyoung praises you for taking him so well. His pace is firm and passionate, short nails digging deliciously into your hips for leverage as he makes sure to fill you to the brim.

He’s right, tonight is far from being a means to an end. You feel like you can have nights like this the rest of your life. And when the both of you finish and you’re pulling the covers over one another, you finally manage to grasp the reply that was nearly forgotten.

Pressing a kiss to his jaw you whisper, “I’m keeping you, too.”

“So, how long can we keep this a secret for?”

“Ideally? Ten months. Realistically, I’d say Christmas.”

“Why Christmas?”

“Because I know you’re going to be dying to get Nari a Christmas present.”

Soonyoung props his elbow on the pillow, looking at you petulantly. “I could say it’s a good behavior reward. She’s been racking up those gold stars during morning meetings, babe. She’s not even trying.”

“That’s my girl,” you coo, rolling over to lean your head on his chest. Light has long flooded into your apartment, seeping through your curtains and reflecting on your white duvet. Soonyoung looks absolutely fluffy and well rested, and you can’t help but reach to pat down the ebony bird’s nest atop his head.

The two of you lay like that for a little bit, playing with each other’s cold feet under the covers and relishing under the touch of bare skin to bare skin. You remind yourself that you need to take Joshua out to dinner one of these days, as he managed the inevitable and set you up with an amazing partner.

“Breakfast?” Soonyoung pops the question easily, “let’s get steak.”

“Steak isn’t eaten for breakfast.”

“Then can I eat you for breakfast?”

You snort, hiding under the covers while Soonyoung attempts to tickle you. The whole act in itself feels wholly innocent despite the fact that you’re both naked and smell like sweat and sex. Just as you feel Soonyoung’s head dip under the covers to meet you at your chest, the door swings open.

“Mama!”

The previously warm room feels like wickedly sharp ice, freezing you to your spot as you clutch the covers closer to your chest. “Baby!” you cry exasperatedly, flinching when she throws all her weight on you. She’s still in her ladybug pajamas from last night, hair falling out of her braid.

She lifts her head from your breast to give you an adorable one-toothed grin. You try your best to maintain eye-contact, but Nari has impeccable vision. Her grin evolves into a full-on beam when she finds your bed partner.

“Mr. Kwon!” she’s squealing, clamoring over your lap. You do a double-take when you see Soonyoung sitting next to you, wearing a t-shirt. Where on earth did he get that?

Soonyoung’s eyes reduce to crescents at his (secretly) favorite student. “Good morning, Nari-ah. Had a fun time at your Uncle’s house?”

“Nari,” you force your daughter down to stand on the hardwood, giving her a stern look, “give Mr. Kwon some space, it’s really early and it’s the weekend.”

Knitting her brows together, she looks between the two of you, “But you two don’t have any space.”

You wince at her perception, and nudge yourself away so you’re pressed against your nightstand. The oakwood corner digs painfully into your back.

“We were haviång a very special parent meeting,” you fight the urge to cry when Soonyoung turns on his teacher's voice, sending your daughter a very convincing smile. You watch as your daughter’s eyes go wide, probably feeling very special that her teacher came all the way to her house to have a meeting. “You’ve been doing so well during the read-alouds that I had to tell your mama in person!”

“I told you mama!” Nari juts out her chest, and you lean over to kiss the crown of her head. “But Mr. Kwon, why are you having it in mama’s room?”

“Her room is the warmest!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing, his and Nari’s eyes widening simultaneously as he gestures to the open window. “The sun travels directly into your bedroom in the morning, and those rays send heat—”

“Mr. Kwon,” your voice is as steady as it can be, and you frown when Soonyoung wiggles his brows. You already know he’s thinking of three separate ways you can use the term Mr. Kwon in private, but you’re not having any of that, “shouldn’t we uh, wrap up this… meeting?”

“I wanna stay,” Nari glowers, obviously nosy as to what you two are talking about.

“I know baby. We just gotta finish up the meeting, okay? Can you—” you cut yourself off when Seungkwan finally decides to make his appearance, eyes wide at commotion he’s created. He’s in matching pajamas, ridiculously red as he bends down to scoop up Nari. Absolutely sweating and as red as his clothes, his eyes dart between the two of you. You could care less that Seungkwan’s eyes have bags under their bags, and was probably too tired to catch her when she ran inside the house. No, Seungkwan doesn’t deserve the title of godfather anymore.

“Nari! You can’t interrupt teacher meetings,” Seungkwan pretends to scold, and Nari turns her head so she can hide in her Uncle’s shoulder.

Knowing that Nari can’t see a thing, you mouth a very explicit I will kill you to your best friend, and he immediately mouths an apology to the both of you as he ushers himself out the door. You wait ten seconds for your daughter to be out of ear shot, before dropping the blanket from your neck and throwing yourself against the pillows.

But Soonyoung’s chuckling, pressing a litany of kisses all over your bare body in an attempt to comfort you. Instead of reveling in his lazy morning touch, you want to disappear between the sheets, never to be seen. What will the PTO moms say when they find out? How will you stop Nari from telling Jeonghan, and therefore Jeonghan telling the entire kindergarten population? Why isn’t Soonyoung freaking out about this? Instead, he favors to taste your body, in between kisses muttering something about it being kismet that Nari so happened to see right as you were discussing the secrecy of your relationship. Ten years from now, your daughter will be horrified when she realizes that no, teachers don’t normally give housecalls in your mother’s bed.

Your boyfriend pinches your thigh, regarding you with mirth in his eyes.

“So, that means I can buy her a Christmas present now, right?”

#hoshi fic #hoshi x reader #svt creations #caratwritersclub #thekpopnetwork #svt fic #svt scenarios #soonyoung fic

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cupsofsuga · 4 years ago

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𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ 🗺} PROMPTS - X

{ 💐} REQUEST - ❝ May i ask an imagine for yandere hobi when his s/o asks him to teach her how to dance and the first time she got the whole choreography correctly she so happy she calls him the " best boyfriend ever " and shower him with kisses everywhere all happy and smiling. Well overall I just need fluffy and happy hobi 😔 ❞

{ ☕️} NOTE - thank you for requesting, tulip!

━━━ Hoseok’s giggles reverberate within the abandoned practice room, having just ended a call with a melting heart. Oh, your voice is so heavenly! Even through the tone of static, he still encounters the lilac-stained harmonies that sing along with the mourning doves and midsummer fruits. He’ll hold up his phone with a dewy eloquence as if he was a child settling a seashell to their ear and listening for the oddities of a mermaid’s melody. And the siren before him seems like they had just inhaled the galaxy and spat out the ash of stars and planets with every syllable of theirs.

There was only so much time before you, his wild iris, will accompany him in the haven of a moonlit evening where the brume of nightfall becomes misty and the golden stars rain tendrils of light. Hoseok will attain his hope, and for the umpteenth time, the violets of devotion will tangle themselves with the whorls of his heart. Once again, beneath the sweltering sweetness, bliss will cloud his lungs. At last, with you at his side, he’ll taste the paradisiacal rays of light as they tremble within your smile.

Without another honeysuckle thought, the door creaks and there you stand in all of your empyrean glory.

Bathing in the depths of your velvet voice was infatuating enough, but to see his love before him felt like a fever dream. His cheeks burn a flamingo-pink, his ears value in shades of summer roses, the race of his heartbeat could be heard from planets away. The trembling of his soul is shattered by your pure presence. The revelation was maddening but enchanting in the most luscious way imaginable. Blinded by obsession, overwhelmed by desire. Hoseok's throat closes in on the affection he so desperately longed to drown you in due to melting under that deadly smile of yours lacquered in honey. Oh, how he longed to drown in you...

Now, he analyzed your figure to try and pluck some form of mistake (mostly just for an excuse to touch you and guide you through a certain step), but it was marveling how thoroughly and utterly flawless you were. Like a ballerina, you twirled with Eden’s nymphs and serene stardust, echoing throughout the ballroom with an angel’s laughter in your eyes. He feels his breath get caught in his teeth; he feels his heartbeat tremble within his chest. You, under the beams of white light, are beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

There are no words to describe how addicting the fragrance of your soul is. There are no words to describe this aching within his ribs, this blooming of July tulips and shy poetry.

Oh, and your smile when you see Hoseok at loss for words! It must be some sort of dystopian honeymoon. It is an ocean breeze against the mysteries of the sea, it is solace blended in with sugary-sweet rose lemonade. There is no possibility of a human possessing so much perfection, but then again, you were never human, were you? You are a free-spirited necromancer who lives amongst the milky way, a superlunary leviathan who collects pearls and sings with the sirens. You are inhuman, but you are pure. You have ascended from the clouds, ate away at psychedelic manifestations, but you are eternal. You are unreal in the most astonishing way possible.

You thank him for the lesson with your glittering laughter after he so kindly canceled his after-school club for this (he’d much rather take another beating from the school bully than miss a chance at finding nirvana with you), eyes glistening with Aphrodite's touch. Your words of encouragement are like fresh honeydew, but then you begin to submerge him in your heavenly affections. And nothing, nothing could make him happier. To taste the sage and lavender on your lips, to feel your tender touch so close to him. He is in a lovesick gaze, with bluebirds and hearts flying over his head like in cartoons.

There is no limit to Hoseok’s captivation. No matter the effort, you always linger within his mind and turn his cheeks rosy-pink. Forever and always, he shall be yours. Forever and always, you shall be his, but it’s not like you have much of a choice, anyways.

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owillofthewisps · 5 years ago

Text

gaze upon my bones

notes: are you ever just doing something and then you’re like ‘oh! a lightning strike to the brain!’ and you drop everything to do something else? that’s kinda what this was. which means idk about the quality but hey!

playin’ real fast and loose with gods and oracles in the witcher verse here because, well - i can.

title is from rafferty’s ‘mausoleum’

i tagged everyone in my ‘all witcher’ taglist but if renfri ain’t for you just skip it!

rating: hard teen? (warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death [canon compliant], brief mention of implied child death, brief references to sex, angst i guess?)

pairing: renfri/fem reader

word count: 3.5k

knowing fate does not save you from it.

People so rarely want the truth of fate.

You learn to read your patrons early, divine their desires from the lilt of their lips (pulled pink between their teeth, curved quiet around a secret, laugh lines carved around an unsmiling mouth) and the way their hands flutter like moths against the silk of your cushions. In the beginning, they come to you relentlessly, mindlessly, a river destined to spill into your ocean, to mingle with the salt of you. They pour into your endless reservoir and they never want the truth of it.

It is a hard lesson to learn, to swallow down the truth, but you never forget the prick of the mother’s blade against the soft curve of your belly and the way her sobs burned bright against your ear. When you were a child, pressing your ear against a seashell gave you the music of the ocean. If you returned to the coast now, you think, the shell would echo with her wails instead.

They do not want the truth, and so you no longer give it to them.

Instead, you carry their fates somewhere deep inside. You have been to war a thousand times, all without even knowing how to swing a sword. Have felt a man’s skull split beneath your blade, felt the pulse of it resonate up into your arm. Cradled a child as they sweat out a fever, held them for hours after they went limp in your arms. The first time you’d orgasmed, it had paled in comparison to the one you’d lived through the woman with hair that cascaded like fire against her freckled shoulders. The first time you’d loved, it hadn’t been as ardently as the man with night-sky eyes, a vast dark gaze full of the tenderness of the guiding stars.

A trickster god, you said to your mother, years ago now. Hundreds of other people’s not-yet lifetimes ago. Of all the gods you could choose.

She hadn’t known the trick would weigh heavy on you and not her, but that is the way of the gods.

(In your seventeenth summer, you give yourself to a forest goddess, let her priestesses drape you with ivy and fiddleheads still tightly furled. You trace a finger over the curved stem of the fiddlehead and turn your face towards the forest canopy, letting the dappled sunlight shimmer over your skin. It feels like a blessing.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness, slick white against velvet night, each tooth sharp with something unearthly, a knife’s blade of divinity. They smile terribly, and you know what it is to be small.

Very well, the teeth rumble, dark amusement apparent in the rockslide click-clack of them. I suppose you are owed a trick of your own.

You wake with winter spiraling down your spine, the chill spreading cool across your skin despite summer’s heated kiss. The gooseflesh prickles like little thorns, the sensation rolling over you like a shroud.

You do not know if it was just a dream, and you do not want to know.

If the trickster god has let go of you, he has not taken back your sight, the way lives unspool over little flickers of smoke with you a captive audience to their play, and that is the cruelest trick of all.)

There is inherent trickery in fate, you know, and most of your patrons’ fates are blurred at the edges, still intangible, still changeable.

Not Renfri’s.

She comes to the temple, hidden deep in the shadows of the woods, and you are entranced.

She is incandescent with youth, supple and wild. She reminds you of a waning moon. Aglow with vigor, the type of beauty that makes you want to raise your face to her and bathe in her light. But at her edges, a shadow that consumes, that edges closer to the heart of her.

She settles at the edge of the cushion across from you. Her legs are long, lean things, slender but heavy with muscle, and something in you aches to touch.

There is a small streak of dirt smeared across her graceful neck. Your sisters had offered her a bath, hands twisting nervously in their sleeves, and she had laughed, a low, clear noise.

“Some things we can’t be cleaned of,” she’d said. “I would see the oracle first.”

And so she came to you.

She slings her arm over her knee. In the sunlight, her eyes are the color of a newborn fawn, tawny brown and beautiful, but she has none of the fawn’s timidity.

“I’d thought of oracles as old,” Renfri says.

You quirk a brow. “Come back in several decades and I will be.”

Her pink lips lift at the corners with something sweetly sly. “I’d also thought them dull, so you’ve proved me wrong twice over.”

You hum something soft.

Renfri considers you, and you can feel her trying to split you at the seams, to open you to her curiosities.

“Do you truly know what is fated?” she asks softly, and for the briefest moment, she is delicate. Her leather armor, worn and nicked where blades have floated too close, seems too big on her.

More than I wish, you think. “Only time can answer that,” you say instead. “Would you like to know?”

She nods, and there is the snarl of a feral thing tucked between her teeth. The wild uncurls in her, that dark edge of the moon spreading across her, seeping like a shadow just beneath her skin.

You contemplate the small scars scattered like stars across her knuckles, the fine delicacy of the scar tissue, and the hard peaks of her knuckles beneath. “Think of what fate you want to know,” you say. “You may speak it aloud, if that pleases you, but hold it in your mind.”

Most close their eyes to bring their uncertainty out of the depths of themselves.

Not Renfri.

She meets your gaze, her hard eyes framed by the soft sweep of her chestnut waves, and though her face is blank stone, you can sense the bared teeth. She is all coiled snake, sleekly muscled and ready to strike.

“Hold out your hand.”

Renfri extends her hand. Her fingers are fine-boned, sleek and slender, but her calluses scrape against your skin as you turn her hand over. Her scars are small hills, and you trace the pad of your thumb over the raised skin without thought.

You have only a moment to register the warmth of her skin against your questing fingertips, and then her fate sweeps you away.

And it is terrible.

Blood swallows you like a tide, drags you deeper into a wash of violence that makes you tremble. Bellies burst and split open against the cruel drive of a spike; symphonies of cracking bones. The heavy thud of a sword pushing through a skull. The smell of copper and rot and death. An empty space inside, a void hungry for control, for taking back what is yours.

And then, for the briefest breath, for a lightning strike of a moment: your own lips, curling up into something fond. A touch so light it reminds of the sun, intangible but felt anyway. The woody, pungent scent of thyme mellowed by soft, sweet clover, soap and skin perfumed by the temple’s lush cloverbeds.

Then there is laughter, a comfort of familiar men’s low voices flashing by too quick for words. Blood blossoms and fades and rage so deep it winds up your throat like vines until you are choking on the breadth of it and then -

Snowy hair gone silver with grime. A voice like a landslide. Warmth and wonder, heat in the hallowed embrace of the woods. Two swords, silver and steel, and the bite of a blade at your throat. Pain spreading like a disease. A gaping maw of hunger never filled.

Renfri’s death pulls you out of her fate. You pick carefully at the threads of her still wound around the needle of your mind, tease them out before they can be woven into you. It takes more concentration than usual.

The breath you take is deep and slow; it washes the copper stink of blood out from your nose. “Do you want to know your fate?” you ask Renfri.

She considers you. She has eyes like the forest, deep brown and full of life. “No,” Renfri says. “Not yet.”

Your hand is still on hers, but she does not move.

You are the one who pulls back.

Later, once Renfri rejoins her men, Maya brings you a skein of water. She hums quietly as you drink deeply. “What did you see?” she asks. “It is not like you to be so shaken.”

You wipe the water from your lips. “Me,” you say. “I saw me.”

Maya cups your cheek. Her dark eyes are soft. They have the sorrow of the winter forest in them, bleakly quiet. She runs her thumb across your cheekbone, her touch feather light. “Knowing fate is a dangerous thing,” she murmurs.

You wrap your hand around her wrist, let your fingers play across the delicacy of her skin. She smiles, slow and sweet, and pulls away gently.

Maya settles next to you, her skirt flaring like an opening bloom. She rests her head against your shoulder and hums quietly.

The two of you stay like that for a long, long time.

Renfri returns a scant month later.

She is wild with delight, all bared teeth and feral joy. There is a cut healing on her collarbone; the edges of it going pink with the promise of a scar. Her chestnut hair is mussed by the wind. It wisps around her face like smoke.

She is achingly beautiful.

Maya must tell her where to go, for she finds you sprawled in the cloverbed behind the temple. She hunkers down next to you in one fluid motion. You blink up at her.

“Renfri?”

She smiles. “Oracle. You remember me.”

How could I not, you don’t say. Instead, you tell her your name and say: “You don’t need to call me oracle now.”

You push to your elbows as Renfri plops down into the clovers with you. She’s feline in her grace, stretches her lithe form in the sunlight, tilting her face up towards the light. You think of her grace as she prowls around the broad man in the market square.

“Would you like to know your fate?” you ask. It feels an odd thing, to ask it here, in the warmth of the sun with the clovers brushing against your skin, the sweet scent of them catching in the breeze.

“Why do you ask that?” Renfri says. She peers at you, shading her eyes from the sun, the deep mahogany of them almost black in the shadows.

“What?”

She sighs. “Why do you ask if I’d like to know my fate, instead of just telling?”

You shift. “People don’t always understand what it means,” you tell her. “Sometimes knowing the end makes you lose the present.”

Renfri hums. “I don’t think I could lose the present,” she says softly. “Not until I’ve run my blade through Stregobor’s belly.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“About what?”

“Stregobor.”

You sigh. “If you wanted to tell me, you would.”

“You can say it, you know,” Renfri tells you. She’s watching you carefully, those dark eyes half-wild. “You know the stories, even out here.”

“Do you want me to call you Shrike?” you ask.

She tilts her head. The waves of her hair spill against the shore of her shoulders. “No,” she says quietly. “I don’t think I do.”

“Alright,” you say.

You fade into silence, listening to the creaking lullaby of the forest. Renfri lies down next to you, her dark hair stark against the verdant green of the clovers. She tugs at them with nimble fingers. The snap of their stems sharpens their scent as it floats sweet around you.

Eventually, she tells you about Stregobor.

Eventually, you nudge closer to curl up by her side.

Eventually, she leaves, and you are left with nothing but the lingering scent of her - warm cloves and sword oil, and just beneath it, the copper tang of blood - and the choking feeling of a sob caught in your throat.

“Would you want to know your own fate?”

“No,” you tell Renfri as you separate a wild cherry from its stem. You split the flesh of it between your fingers and pry the stone free. The pit plinks into the wooden bowl, the sound of it oddly musical. Maya had pulled you both into the kitchen to help her when Renfri first arrived. It hadn’t taken her long to disappear, but you can still feel her warning gaze prickling against your skin.

Renfri steals the cherry from you with nimble fingers and pops it into her mouth. The carmine juice of it stains her pink lips dark. You try not to stare.

“Why not?” she asks.

It takes a moment to understand what she’s asking about. You pull your gaze away from the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her pale skin.

“Sometimes you can know too much,” you tell her.

Renfri hums. She cuts off a sliver of a nearby apple with a small dagger, holds it to your lips. You roll your eyes at her but pull the crisp slice from her blade, let the fruit’s flesh crunch under your teeth, sour and sweet in the same breath. She pulls back and sucks the juice from her fingers.

Heat rises to your cheeks.

You busy yourself with the wild cherries, breaking them down with the easy precision of constant work. The smell of them fills the air. “Besides,” you say absently, working at a particularly stubborn pit, “it’s hard enough already, waiting for what I’ve seen come to pass.”

Renfri pauses. “You’ve seen yourself in other’s fates?”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes.”

“Many of them?”

“No,” you say carefully. “Just one.”

“Oh,” Renfri says, and then she is working at the apple again, peeling its skin off in a long, curling ribbon. She’s quiet, then, and she stays quiet. During the mid-day dinner, with Maya and the rest of the table sharing the low benches at the long table, she seems to find her chatter again.

She leaves the same night. Her men are itching to move on, and from what low chatter carries to you, they’ve caught wind of Stregobor for the first time since he fled Angren. The sun is just gaining the golden hue of the late afternoon when she saddles her horse. Her men start ahead of her as she dallies at the door of the temple.

“Stay safe,” you tell her, even though you know that in the end, she cannot.

Renfri nods, and the sun catches in her chestnut hair, paints it bright and dark all at once. “The fate you saw yourself in,” she says quietly.

Don’t, you want to say. Please.

“Yes?” you ask.

“It was mine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you say, and your ribs crack under the admission.

“I knew it,” Renfri breathes, and she tastes of cherry juice and a hint of spice bread. She kisses you again, fervent, her callused hands rough against your cheeks, and you open to her. Renfri softens against you. She tastes of cherry juice and something tenderly sweet and fate - fate has not prepared you for this.

She pulls away from you and rests her forehead against yours. You breathe in her air and push it back out as your own. Her eyes are mahogany in the afternoon light, tinted darker still by want.

“I have to go,” she says.

“I know.”

“Soon,” Renfri says. “I’ll be back soon.”

You push into her again, catch her lips with yours. She pulls you close, one hand dropping low on your waist, her fingers dipping under the gap between your bodice and your skirt. She is so warm against you.

Renfri rides off into the distance. There is a moment where she blocks out the sun, and it gleams at the edges of her, crowning her with light seeping around her shadowed edges. An eclipse all your own.

Please, you think that night, as you tend to one of the patches of your goddess’s favored ferns. Let me be wrong, just once.

You trace a finger across the scar just beneath Renfri’s left breast, a little sickle moon of healed flesh. Your touch is feather light.

Renfri laughs and catches your hand. She brings it to her lips, presses a kiss to the pads of your fingers. Her lips are swollen and red and hot beneath your touch. You echo her with a kiss against the lean muscle of her belly.

“What are you thinking of?” she asks softly.

“Nothing and everything,” you say. She had come to the temple wearing a leather vest with a familiar pattern. You could not strip her of it fast enough.

“Come now, oracle,” Renfri chides. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You crawl up and kiss her red, red lips. She tastes of cherry juice and campfire smoke. It’s a lazy, sweet kiss. She cups the nape of your neck and urges you against her. Renfri touches you with a reverence you’d never expected, her rough hands soft against your skin.

Her hair is dark against your linens, the waves of it spread wide against your thin pillow. She glitters with delight, but there is still something feral tucked into her lips. She kisses you like a wild thing, sometimes, her deep brown eyes hazed until they are almost black, a velvet night to embrace you. You curl into her side and stroke your fingers over her skin.

The two of you doze until Renfri murmurs: “Would you tell me my fate, if I asked?”

You think of blood, and how the sound of two swords scraping against each other reminds you of a mourning knell. You think of Renfri’s teeth nipping against your neck like little knives, and her form molded soft against yours. You press your face into her neck and she smells of thyme, wood and earth, your soap still lingering on her skin.

She leaves tonight. The two of you are hoarding every moment you can have, winding sinuous around time like a dragon guarding its treasure.

“Do you want to know it?” you ask, tasting the salt of her skin on your lips.

Renfri traces the curve of your hip with a long finger. You pull back enough to peek up at her, to see the way the fan of her lashes flutter over her skin. She tips your chin up until you meet her eyes.

“No,” she says. Her eyes glimmer and gleam like torchlight.

You think some quiet part of her already knows.

You press a kiss against the blade of her collarbone. “Then I won’t,” you say.

The two of you stay entwined until Renfri has to leave. The Arc Coast is not small, and there are many towns where Stregobor may be hiding, though there are whispers that he is in a sorcerer’s tower in one of the larger towns.

Renfri’s goodbye kisses are always her hungriest ones.

She casts a long shadow as she and her men ride off. It glows around the edges, and you think again of an eclipse.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness. Each tooth is sharp with power, all honed pale bone gleaming in the velvet cradle of the deep, deep night. They are ghastly things, otherworldly, piercing through the veil. They do not smile, but you still feel small.

It is a cruel trick, fate, the teeth say, all rumbling thunder crackling just overhead, splitting the sky with sound. The order of it brings comfort, but the knowing - the knowing is pain. I am sorry, child of mine.

When you wake, you are already crying.

Years later, you step into a tavern and see a witcher with white, white hair tucked away at a table in the back. His eyes glow sun-gold, and he is as handsome as you remember.

You order a tankard of ale. Those amber eyes flicker towards you as you approach. His face is stone, but his eyes are a warning all their own.

“Thank you,” you say to Geralt of Rivia. “For trying.”

The tankard makes a heavy noise against the pitted wood of the table.

From the deep grunt, he doesn’t understand, but you don’t need him to. You still remember the look on his face as he skimmed Renfri’s own blade against the delicate skin of her neck. The desolation of it, the crack in the very foundation of him. You still know the touch of his arm against your back, how he cradled her as she fell.

You had always known you were going to lose her.

Knowing fate does not save you from it.

taglist: @whitewolfandthefox @hina-chans-stuff @witchernonsense @tutuwho @riviawitch3r @restingnurseface @consultingdetextive @ambivertomnivore @theunwantedomega @shewritesinthethirdperson

#renfri x reader #renfri x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #renfri imagine #me: i'm gonna work on my current projects #also me: does this

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narniaandplowmen · 5 years ago

Text

It is not that I love you less / Than when before your feet I lay (But to prevent the sad increase / Of hopeless love, I keep away)

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 2154 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

Part 2 of Half a Century of Poetry

Jaskier, back in Lettenhove for the winter, considers how Geralt's words on the Mountain were unfair, but that nothing on this world can stop him from loving the Witcher anyways.

They had talked, after the Mountain. Or, well, Jaskier had talked. Geralt had been about to leave when Jaskier finally made his way down, exhausted and devastated and wounded from the lonely, perilous journey downhill. It was clear that Geralt had wanted to avoid him, but Roach, always a sucker for the sweet sugar cubes and shining apples the bard usually carried with him, had approached Jaskier on her own free will. And he had to say something, he couldn’t just stay silent. So he had given a promise. I will not come to you, but if you ever change your mind I should not be hard to find.

And so he had. There was much that could be said about the bard, about his extravagance and tendency to ignore the rules. But if Jaskier made a promise, he made sure to keep it. Which is why he almost never made promises, regardless of what other people might think he did. Answering ‘sure’ to ‘will you promise to stay behind whilst I fulfil this contract’ meant that he is open to making that promise, but not that he is actually making it. Being part-Fae, fully noble and just generally a little shit made Jaskier proficient in finding loopholes in his so-called promises. But this? This was a real promise. And he had kept to it.

It was winter, and Jaskier had returned to Lettenhove to reunite with his sister and his nieces and nephews. The little kids were elated to see their favourite (and only) uncle, and although his brother-in-law - who had married quite above his station and continually feared Jaskier would reclaim his rightful place as heir - was less happy to see him return, his sister had welcomed him with open arms. The lands of Lettenhove looked gorgeous in the shimmering snow, white like- Jaskier bit his lip, an awful habit he had picked up since-

Avoiding the thought was hopeless. He had tried everything to distract himself, but nothing could take away his endless, hopeless, futile lover for Geralt of Rivia, friend of humanity. His sister had noticed, of course. Damn observant, that woman. She had always been, but Jaskier was sure it had gotten even worse now that she was a mother. The Fae blood probably didn’t help either.

‘Why don’t you write it out? That always helped you when you were younger,’ she had said one day, breaking through Jaskier’s musings of how the colour of her dress reminded him of Geralt’s eyes.

‘You don’t have to share it with me, or anyone, if you don’t want to. But it might help.’

So here he was, sitting in the manor’s humble library overseeing the snow-covered vineyard, with a quill in hand and paper in front of him like he was twelve, whilst longingly staring at his baby brother, who now lied next to his parents in graves covered in snow, and younger sister, who were allowed to play outside whilst he was forced to make his homework. Now he looked down at a new generation of children. One day he had wished he could have some of his own, and he could not deny that, after Geralt had accidentally ended up with a child surprise, he had dreamed of the three of them forming a family. Nothing now could be further from the truth. Instead of living in a cottage near the sea, Geralt retiring from his Witcher business to open a smithy, Jaskier opening a school and them raising the adorable Ciri together, Geralt had refused to claim his promised child, shunned Jaskier from his life and gone off to who-knew-where to, as far as Jaskier knew, continue killing monsters for little pay. He had not come to apologise, not come to ask Jaskier to rejoin him, not come to find him at all. And so, Jaskier had kept his promise. And Jaskier had kept away. If only his heart would get the message, too.

It is not that I love you less

Than when before your feet I lay,

But to prevent the sad increase

Of hopeless love, I keep away.

Carefully placing his quill back in the inkpot, Jaskier resumed his watch over the playful children in the snow. They had found some sticks now, and were playfighting. From his third-floor window he could hear fragments of their conversation.

‘You -- monster!’

‘I wanna be the Witch--’

‘--ys get to be the Witcher!’

‘Because the Witchers are -- cle Jaskier says so!’

‘I don’t want to be a kimimomo! I don’t want to be the bad --’

Jaskier smiled at little John’s mispronunciation of the monster’s name. The kids, inspired by Jaskier’s songs, had taken to playing ‘Wicher and Monster’, with dramatic fake-out deaths and some accidental real injuries. It seemed that, even in the quiet, boring lands of Lettenhove, Jaskier could not avoid being reminded of the man he loved so dearly. The snow as white as his hair, his sister’s yellow dresses, the wolf statues at the entrance of the property, the children’s play, the notes with unfinished lyrics describing Geralt’s heroic actions Jaskier had left behind during previous stays… Every day there was something, no matter how small, that reminded him of the man he had lost. The soup that tasted exactly like that served in the inn where he had first been allowed to wash the Witcher’s hair. The snide remarks from his brother-in-law that seemed to come straight from Geralt’s vocabulary. Filavandrel’s lute, greeting him whenever he entered his room. Everything around him was another tiny dagger piercing through his skin, making its way to his heart and cutting yet another piece of it in half.

In vain (alas!) for everything

Which I have known belong to you,

Your form does to my fancy bring,

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

It had been late spring when they had parted. It felt like they had barely reunited after winter, during which Geralt had visited his strange Witcher castle Jaskier was never invited to and Jaskier had spent his days teaching Ciri and nights playing his music at the Cintran court. And although he loved the court, Calanthe’s murderous glares when he accidentally mentioned Geralt had made him nervous enough to be happy when spring arrived and he could leave again, back on the road, following the person holding his rapidly-beating heart without even being aware of it. The dragon hunt had only been their fourth contract of the year, and after- After, when summer still stretched in front of him for another six long months, everything had felt off.

Sure, he had travelled, sang his songs at inns and bars and the occasional manor. Sure, he had met up with other bards, competed in a couple of sing-offs, written a handful of new songs which gained instant popularity. Sure, he had lived the life any normal, travelling bard did. But he wasn’t normal now, was he. He was Jaskier, Bard Extraordinaire, the best songwriter and lute-player on the Continent. His audience’s words, not his. He knew there was always something to be improved upon: a lyric that could be better, a beat he missed, a chord he botched. His audience might not notice, but he most certainly did. He would make quite an awful bard if he didn’t, after all. So, even though he did everything any other travelling bard would do, those six months had been strange. He had automatically found himself drawn to notice boards, turning around to inform Geralt of a contract only to be, once again, reminded the man was not there. No rhythmic sound of hooves touching the dirt during the day, no scraping noise of someone sharpening their sword near the campfire during the evening, and just his own breath breaking the silence of the night. It had been as if the world was ill, asleep in bed trying to fend off a fever that caused strange, surreal visions that gave everything normal a slightly sickly hue. Maybe his sister was right, maybe writing would help heal his broken heart.

Who in the spring from the new sun

Already has a fever got,

Too late begins those shafts to shun,

Which Phœbus through his veins has shot.

The playful screams of the children in the snow briefly silenced as the cheery voice of Molly the Cook called out that dinner was almost done. Jaskier knew that one of the kids would knock on his door soon, giving Uncle Jaskier the same message. Three stanzas in just as many hours, a poor yield for a poet of his stature. A sudden rage overtook him as he looked down at the half-empty paper. The words Geralt had thrown at him on the Mountain had felt fair at first, but after moping about them for while, Jaskier had realised that Geralt had been incredibly unfair. Him, shovelling Geralt’s shit? Yes, shovelling it out of his stable and onto the compost pile where it belonged. It was Geralt who created the shit around him, making stupid wishes that endangered the people around him, invoking the law of surprise less than fifteen minutes after learning Parvetta was a child surprise herself. Surely the Witcher knew that child surprises tended to give birth to child surprises, surely he smelled that Parvetta was pregnant to begin with. Even Jaskier had noticed that Parvetta had worn an unusual, slightly-out-of-style dress clearly intended to hide her abdomen. If Geralt had not been so incredibly self-centred, so incredibly self-absorbed and emotionally stunted he would have realised that his words were absolute bullshit. It had been Jaskier who had calmed Calanthe enough to not send hundreds of assassins after Geralt. It had been Jaskier who had tried to take the djinn away so the clearly exhausted Witcher would not do anything stupid. His wishes might have sounded idiotic, but they were clearly and precisely phrased, his mother had taught him enough about Fae magic for him to know djinns were just as tricky, if not worse, to deal with. Yes, Jaskier had shovelled the shit, but it was not his fault Geralt liked to dive into every single heap of manure he met. So no, what Geralt had said had not been fair. But by the time Jaskier had gathered enough of his wits to realise that, the Witcher had long been gone, and Jaskier’s promise had already been made.

Too late he would the pain assuage,

And to thick shadows does retire;

About with him he bears the rage,

And in his tainted blood the fire.

The sound of a wildly thrown-open door and a young boy’s voice shouting his name calmed the bard’s sudden anger.

‘UNCLE JASKIER DINNER’S READY MOLLY SAYS YOU NEED TO WASH YOUR HANDS!’ Little John, still carrying his stick, now ran into view.

‘Did Molly also say you were allowed to take your sword inside?’

‘A Witcher always carries his swords with him, you told me so! And I am a Witcher, not a stupid kimino- kimomo-’

‘Kikimore,’ Jaskier helpfully supplied.

‘Yes that. Will you tell Eddy? Will you tell him I’m a Witcher? I don’t want to be a monster, the snow is cold and wet when I fall down to die.’

Jaskier smiled at his youngest nephew’s petulant face. ‘Only if you put your sword back outside. True gentlemen don’t carry their swords to the dinner table, not even Witchers. Come, we’ll place it in the stables to keep it safe, and then we go wash our hands together, okay?’

‘Okay, uncle Jaskier. Can I sit next to you during dinner?’

‘Of course you can.’

Jaskier smiled at the young boy stretching out his arms to be picked up. If only life could stay that easy, with simple concerns like cold snow and fake swords. Jaskier knew, after all, it was impossible for him to stay angry. How could he hate the one he loved? The one who had, unknowingly, carried his heart for the past two decades, and would carry it for eternity and beyond? He would keep his promise to the Witcher, he would stay in his self-imposed exile, no matter the cost. A promise is a promise, after all. And just as he would keep the promise he had made to Geralt whilst feeding Roach that final, slightly crushed sugar cube, he would keep the promise he had made to himself whilst walking down the first mountain he and the Witcher had climbed to fight a supposed devil. I will love you till my dying days.

And, as he placed his nephew on his back, joking that ‘this horse will lead the noble Witcher to the stables,’ Jaskier mentally composed the final stanza he had struggled with for so many hours.

But vow’d I have, and never must

Your banish’d servant trouble you;

For if I break, you may distrust

The vow I made to love you, too.

#the witcher #the witcher ff #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier ff #written by me #made by me #It is not that I love you less / Than when before your feet I lay (But to prevent the sad increase / Of hopeless love I keep away)#it is not that i love you less #onceuponadisneypotter #Half a Century of Poetry

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dachi25writes · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter One: Up North

AEGON I

It felt surreal.

Blond hair and violet eyes– just like his own– stared vacantly into the ceiling. Pale skin, translucent in the fluorecent lights.

Just a nightmare, any minute now he would wake up in the station, have some of that tasteless but nutricious space food, don his spacesuit and go out to the surface of the moon to collect data he would later send to his father…

His dead father who seemed to be staring right through him, body stiff as the metalic table he laid on, his lashes still frosted, lips blue.

What was he thinking? Going up to the North like that without proper equipment or a guide of any kind, it was not like him at all, but maybe things hadn’t gone as he planned, maybe he had been forced to–

Aegon turned around just as his sister apologized for his distracted behavior and signed for the body to be discharged so it could be sent back home. Gods, it had been almost 6 years since he had last seen Dragonstone, he remembered the salty air and ashen grey sand so cool to the touch you could lie there even on the hottest summer day.

[[MORE]]

The memory was enough to make him smile, wan and melancholy for he did not– could not - forget the circumstances in which he was going back.

Rhaenys touched his arm, gently almost tentative “C'mon Egg, we have to go”

He nodded and walked along, she was very diferent from the sister he remembered, not taller though he coludn’t be sure with the heels she was wearing but the way she carried herself was diferent. She used to slouch, father always tried to correct her posture. Rain never cared to try though, she still slouched a little, it was only noticeable in a slight bend of her shoulders, but that didn’t take away from her overall air of confidence, she didn’t have much of that back then; most shocking of all, her hair was long, she really hated long hair would chop it off herself if mom refused to take her to the hair saloon “It’s been a long time”

She sighed “ I know”

"Where’s mom?”

“She’s back at the hotel I did not think it would be right to bring her here”

He nodded, of course she couldn’t bring mom to the body deposit, Rhaenys would never risk to upset her “How- how did she take it?, about Dad I mean, did you tell her yet?”

As soon as they were out of the building Rhaenys opened her purse and got out a cigarette and a lighter, she offered him one but he refused waiting for her answer as she put the cigarette between lips, gave it a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“Of course I told her” she answerered at last “C'mon Egg, I’ll give you a ride I parked just around the block”

He nodded and followed “And how did she take it?”

Rhaenys shrugged “She took it well all things considered, said we should have visited Dad some time and other stuff, you know how she is, but I think she is looking forward to seeing us all again”

He grabbed her arm “You called them?” he couldn’t belive Rhaenys! she was family but them… if they came at all it would only be to gloat.

She raised her eyebrow at him and shook his grip with ease “Didn’t need to, it’s all over the news, also from what I know Mr. Connington called us, well he sent this really long e-mails but you get the idea, didn’t you get one?”

He shook his head , dumbfounded “I don’t know, I really haven’t got the chance to catch up. Mr. Connington commed me at the station and I just had to get here” actually he never even expected to see Rhaenys here. He hoped she would at least go to the funeral, Mr. Connington was arranging at Dragonstone, but this… He felt anger claw at his belly, like oil on a sizzling pan the heat thretened to jump in every direction, he held it in, gods he was so out of shape.

Breath in, 1, 2, 3… Exhale. Keep focus.

And it passed.

Rhaenys studied his face, really seeing him for the frist time since they had started talking

"Fuck Egg you look like shit!”

He shrugged but felt self conscious nonetheless, Father had always insisted to always keep a good image for the Academy’s sake. He ran a hand through his short buzzcut, and dragged it all the way down to his face, he was so, so tired.

The car was a small old looking thing of a vibrant orange color, Rhaenys opened the passanger’s door for him as if he hadn’t enough strenght to do it himself.

“Where you staying at?”

"Well as I said I haven’t really–”

“ 'Kay so that means you are coming with me, we rented a room with two beds but I guess mom and I can share,it’s just a night anyway.”

He had half a mind to protest but he was just too tired to go around town looking for some place to stay so he just stayed silent.

Rhaneys started the car and soon enough they were at some cheap-looking but cozy motel called “Winterfell” which wasn’t surprising at all , he had seen at least 10 different stores with the same name since they left the morgue, according to his sister everyone had the Stark fever around here and wanted to be part of the ancestral noble house.

“For real” she said between giggles “I pulled over for some gas on the way here and the guy at the station told me he was a distant relative of the Stark, but not only him the hotel clerk, the barista at Manderly’s and they all say it in this really secret conspiratorial way. It’s kinda sweet really, now I get why Robb insisted we should do a roadtrip here, I can practically see his smug face when he mentioned he was an actual Stark”

Her laugh stopped, and became a bitter sigh.

Aegon wished he could say something but he knew he would most likely say the wrong thing and he just wasn’t up for a fight.His sister parked and proceeded to rest her forhead on the steering wheel, brown curls obscuring her face.

“Sorry Egg, I just can’t help thinking about Robb when we are here. He was always talking about Winterfell and I just-”

“It’s fine” he tried to be nonchalant about it but he felt uncomfortable, he had never been particularly close to Robb, he did like him though. Robb was one of those people you inevitably admire, but after he died everything went to shit at the Academy, everyone blamed Dad for it even Rhaenys, Aegon had been the only one that stayed after that. He knew it was pretty shitty to blame Robb for dying but if he hadn’t maybe…

“God I am such a jerk” Rhaenys lifted her face enough to look at him “I haven’t even asked if you have talked to Sansa or–?”

“I haven’t” he pressed his mouth into a thin line, he didn’t want to talk about this with Rhaenys now or ever really. “You know what? The space travel is really catching up on me so I better go rest like you said”

He opened the door and practically slammed it shut when it dawned on him he had no idea of the room number and he had to wait for Rhaenys. Fuck! just after he had stormed out of the car like a broody asshole(Jon’s asshole face flashed briefly in his mind), the day couldn’ t get worse really.

Fortunately Rhaenys let him save some dignity and got out of the car calmly as if nothing had happened but in her eyes so alike mom’s he could see worry.

"Sorry Egg, you know I am an idiot sometimes, we should go rest”

He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t, not really, not even after she left did he ever thought that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

She led the way to a simple room decorated in pastels with two identical beds, matching night tables and a very stiff looking couch where his mother sat reading one of the romance novels she loved so well.

As soon as she saw him she got up and enveloped him in an embrace he immediately returned, they parted after a while but she stayed close enough so he could smell her characterístic orange scent, she caressed his face.

"You look so much like your daddy”

Aegon searched for a trace of emotion in his mother’s eyes to know at least someone was grieving as much as him, but her eyes were dry and he remembered that even if his mom felt any pain for her husband’s death she couldn’t be able to express it. Maybe the only thing he resented his is dad for.

“You must tell me all you have done in this years, your sister and little Nym have kept me so busy I haven’t got the chance to visit you and dad.” she made him sit beside her in one of the beds, her soft hands patting his face and squeezing his arm, it made him feel comforted in a way he hadn’t in years “I hope you made him get out of the lab once in a while, Rhaegar needed someone to force him to rest or he would simply drop exausted which of course was never safe–”

"Mom” Rhaenys interrupted putting a hand on mom’s shoulder “Aegon has just arrived and has barely slept I think we better let him rest”

"But look at him dear, your brother looks like he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in years.”

That made him genuinely smile, gods, he really had missed mom “I’ve been eating just fine, I just need some sleep”

“Aegon you can’t sleep like that, you should at least change into your pajamas”

“Well I didnt bring any change of clothes” he confessed rather ashamed. It wasn’t like him to be so unprepared.

"Such a careless boy! Rain we cannot let him like this, we should go out to buy your brother some clothes and food”

Great, now mom was treating him as a 6 year old child.

“Ok, mom just give me a minute I need to call Daeron and Nym to let them know we are at the motel”

His mother nodded, and Rhaenys got out of the room with her cell in hand.He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Rain was a mom now, much less that he was an uncle. He had seen photos of ‘Nym’ when she was a baby and another one of a toddler dressed like Princess Jonquil from that animated movie, but he had never met her.

“Nym has been dying to meet you” As always mom guessed his thoughts.

"She has? I wasn’t sure that Rhaenys talked about me or the Academy”

Mom smiled sadly “Oh, Rain doesn’t talk about the Academy, but about you of course. You are a superhero to Nym, protecting the world from the alíens and meteorites, that girl is obssessed with space, she is always saying that when she grows up her uncle will take her to live with him in space”

He felt a warm feeling wash over him, more than ever he wanted to return to Dragonstone and meet his little niece. That would be nice, he figured, a quiet normal life where he could play with little Nym, of course first he had to investigate what dad was doing in the Wolf’s Wood on his own, he was the head of the Academy now, well he would be if there was an Academy anymore.

Rhaenerys entered again, she had a smile on her face. “Daeron said he and Nym will meet us tomorrow in Dragonstone, I was worried about not being there for her frist flight but her dad says she is very excited”

“I am looking forward to meet them” said Aegon at last, he wished so desperately to have his family back especially now.

"They do too” she replied with a soft smile “Mom, we should get going. Egg you should try to take nap until we come back”

He said he would, and he did try. As soon as they left he took off his shoes and laid down on the bed to the left. It was stiff and smelled way to much of air freshener, but he had been living in a space station for 2 years now so this was more comfortable than he expected. Still he couldn’t fall asleep, as soon as his eyes closed he thought about dad and his mysterious death.

Frustrated, he decided to watch TV to drown out his thoughts. He regreted the decision almost immediately, on the screen appeared a flash of red hair. He almost laughed at his own hopelessnes, there must be a thousand woman in Westeros with that same hair color, and even if he knew them all he would still wish it was Sansa.

The woman turned around and it was her. Sansa. She had grown taller and impossibly beautiful, statuesque and regal were the words that came to mind to describe her.She became an actress, he knew that much. It seemed she was at some red carpet event. His finger thumbed the button to change the channel, he didn’t want to see her, but suddenly a reporter came down on her like a falcon on his prey, and asked her about father’s death. Her brow furrowed, she looked around as if trying to gather if this was some kind of twisted joke, her eyes filled with tears, still she politely excused herself and went back to her limo.

She cared.

His heart skipped a bit, and this time he did laugh. Gods! He felt a fool. Sansa had made her feelings for him very clear on that last note she left him…

When the hosts of the show started talking he finally turned off the TV. He grabbed one of the pillows underneath him and covered his face with it no matter what he did his mind made up diferent scenarios for their reunion each more farfetched and unsatisfactory than the last and like that he fell asleep.

#night watch academy #chapter one #aegon targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys martell #tua au!#fandom: A song of ice and fire #my writing

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haec-est-fides · 4 years ago

Text

Filodox’s Trials of Apollo Reactions [Part I]

Welcome to part one of a reflective journey through Trials of Apollo ft. my original ebook annotations! I’ll be your host, 2020!filodox.

For this first episode, we’ll be going back to May 2016, the beginning of it all: The Hidden Oracle.

Annotations for this round are brought to you by 2016!filodox.

Is there anything we should know before we begin, 2016!me?

2016!filodox: I swore on the Styx never to read another Riordan book after he killed Octavian. And yet here we are.

... Alright then! Let’s get started.

But first, a more detailed overview on how this series will work: I will excerpt bits and pieces of the books based on what I highlighted / annotated on my first read. Beneath each quote, I will share what I wrote in the annotation. Below that, I will (occasionally) laugh at my past self, clarify the note, or say how my view has changed.

I encourage questions, comments, and concerns (of which there may be many), so go ahead and use that replies feature if you feel so inclined! However, these are just my opinions and (occasionally) emotional reactions, so no hate pls. <3 (Or, if you do send hate, pls make it funny.)

Now, diving right in with Riordan’s dedication!

To The Muse Calliope. This is long overdue. Please don’t hurt me.

2016!filodox: Hurt him. He didn’t even name the chapters.

As you can see, I had yet to experience Lester’s haiku and was already mad based on the table of contents alone. I went into this series very salty...

I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy.

2016!filodox: At least he did something right. Once.

I was just,,,extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill. (Though I was a huge Troy / Aeneas stan before all this, just to be clear.)

Is anything sadder than the sound of a god hitting a pile of garbage bags?

2016!filodox: I actually find this particular god crashing into a dumpster quite amusing.

I also blamed Apollo for what happened to Octavian. I think that had a lot to do with how Apollo acted on Delos in Heroes of Olympus, basically disowning Octavian and whining about how some “creature” scammed him? That was bullshit. Apollo needed to own the fact that he blessed Octavian, but he just abandoned him and denied all the blame. TL;DR I had a grudge, okay?

My mind stewed in confusion, but one memory floated to the surface -- the voice of my father, Zeus: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

2016!filodox: Wait, is this bc everyone blames Octavian and therefore Apollo? Bc lol but also no?

*cough* Octavian did nothing wrong 2k16 *cough*

Zeus will reconsider, I told myself. He’s just trying to scare me. Any moment, he will yank me back to Olympus and let me off with a warning.

“Yes...” My voice sounded hollow and desperate. “Yes, that’s it.”

2016!filodox: Apollo is a self centered frat boy, I forgot...but it is slightly...endearing? *narrows eyes*

Ah, how close I was to stanning Lester in the first chapter, when he was at his most “goddy”. You know, I actually made a rule for myself when I started reading Trials of Apollo that I would not under any circumstances stan Apollo. That was a naive goal, because it was never really a danger.

Regardless, Zeus had held me responsible for Octavian’s delusions of grandeur. Zeus seemed to consider egotism a trait the boy had inherited from me. Which is ridiculous. I am much too self-aware to be egotistical.

2016!filodox: I am going to Murder him.

*chef kiss* the hypocrisy ! the lack of self-awareness !

“I just...I assumed -- I hoped this would be taken care of by now.”

“You mean by demigods,” Percy said, “going on a big quest to reclaim the Oracle of Delphi?”

2016!filodox: That sounds like a decent quest, or you know, QUESTING FOR THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS

I’ve always said I can see the future but an inch to the left. Also, I don’t like Ella.

It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube. Say what you will about gods being absentee parents; our children inherit many of our finest personality traits.

2016!filodox: AND HE’S MAD ABOUT OCTAVIAN?!

I mean ?

Apollo, when Austin and Kayla show ambition: THEY GOT THAT FROM ME <3

Apollo, when Octavian (or Nero, or Caligula) shows ambition: srry i don’t know him ??

He had a weak jawline, an overlarge nose, and a beard that wrapped around his double chin like a helmet strap. His hair was curly and dark like mine, except not as fashionably tousled or luxuriant. His lips curled as if he smelled something unpleasant. Perhaps it was the burning seats of the bus.

2016!filodox: Nero ???

Not quite sure how to feel looking back at this moment. Call out post @ myself for instantly recognizing Nero, when afaik this scene was before we had any hints that Roman emperors were even a plot point? But here’s the thing: I don’t remember why I could recognize him so easily. I don’t remember where 2016!me obtained this ancient Rome knowledge. A mystery.

On another note entirely, did Nero really like,,,astral project into Apollo’s fever dream to address him directly? Because Rhea does. And sometimes Python does. But Nero? Can he do that?

The man laughed as flames licked at his purple sleeves. “You’re not sorry yet, but you will be. Find me the gates. Lead me to the Oracle. I’ll enjoy burning it down!”

2016!filodox: I too enjoy burning things down. # Nero confirmed

My only comment here is “oh you sweet summer child,,,”

Oh. Perhaps some of you are wondering how I felt seeing [Will] with a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.

2016!filodox: No, actually. I wasn’t wondering. I was plotting how to kill you, them, and quite a few other people. Do you think I could trade you for Octavian?

Oh man, back at it again with the salt. XD

I could only remember my conversations with Octavian, the way he’d turned my head with his flattery and promises. That stupid boy...it was his fault I was here.

A voice whispered in the back of my mind. This time I thought it might be my conscience: Who was the stupid boy? It wasn’t Octavian.

2016!filodox: I can’t really...explain my emotions upon reading this. I’m still not quite okay, but this...it’s bittersweet in a way. I don’t know if this is a poor attempt at a proper closure, the author’s way of beating a dead horse, or just a way to make Apollo seem pitiable. Whatever it is... Octavian was important enough to remain in Apollo’s mortal memory. He somehow made promises to a god and had Apollo wrapped around his finger. And despite being so much like Apollo, the god blames him. Like everyone blames him. But Apollo also realizes, accepts on an infinitesimal scale, that “it wasn’t Octavian”. He wasn’t perfect, but neither is Apollo. Apollo is (at least) subconsciously admitting his own guilt in the whole affair.

...yeah. I will note that this bit isn’t meant to develop Octavian, but rather uses Octavian as a prop to support Apollo’s development? Which is why it still stings. Like thanks, I guess.

“Your judgement in the past has been...questionable. I wonder if you have chosen the right tools for this job. Have you learned from your past mistakes?”

2016!filodox: Nero has made plenty of mistakes to learn from

Love how I just assumed it was Nero back in chapter 10 and went with it, zero hesitation. Also love how I heard Python say Nero has made mistakes and went “oh absolutely”. In fact, here’s something funny in retrospect that will become more and more apparent: I did not like Nero in 2016. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t. There’s something really odd going on here that baffles me, looking back...

“A triumvirate is a ruling council of three,” I said. “At least, that’s what it meant in ancient Rome.”

“Which is interesting,” Rachel said, “because of this next shot.” She tapped her screen. The new photo zoomed in on the building’s penthouse terrace, where three shadowy figures stood talking together....

2016!filodox: Is it bad that I’m smirking? Because it’s getting interesting ~ *clear malicious intent*

Wow, edgy. Triumvirates are just a neat, Roman thing and I stanned.

“The last triumvirate I dealt with included Lepidus, Marc Antony, and my son, the original Octavian. A triumvirate is a very Roman concept...like patriotism, skullduggery, and assassination.”

2016!filodox: THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL EVERYONE. MODERN OCTAVIAN IS A VERY GOOD ANCIENT ROMAN. POLITICS, ESPECIALLY SHADY AF POLITICS AND POWERPLAYS, ARE QUINTESSENTIALLY ROMAN. Also, I’d like to note that it’s confirmed, in this universe’s canon, that Augustus was a son of Apollo.

Ohhhh, wait. I think I’d watched the HBO series Rome by 2016, which would at least partially explain my ancient Rome knowledge. (Amazing tv show btw!)

“He heard them talking in Latin.”

“Latin? Were they campers?”

Pete spread his hands. “I--I don’t think so. Paulie described them like they were adults. He said one of them was the leader. The other two addressed him as imperator.”

2016!filodox: !!!! (obligatory 💕)

I was such a simp for Latin in high school. And the Roman Empire. Still am, but hey.

“The Beast is planning some kind of attack on your camp. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be big.”

2016!filodox: Runs in the family I guess

The Octavian / Triumvirate parallels are everywhere... 👀

“The emperors made themselves gods. They had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them.”

2016!filodox: # deify me

*smacking my past self with a stick* You stop that! Edgy child!

Anyway, a much better point here is like,,,the Imperial cult was huge in the ancient Roman world. Looking at Apollo’s explanation here, why did only the “worst” three emperors get to be immortal? Did famously “good” emperors like Augustus and Marcus Aurelius have the option of becoming minor gods, but they chose Elysium or something? Are there slightly less infamous emperors just hanging around anywhere as minor gods? A lot of Roman emperors live on in human memory is all I’m saying.

“Wait!” Will said as I reached the door. “Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?”

“The worst of my descendants.” My fingers dug into the doorframe. “The Christians called him the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero.”

2016!filodox: I honestly can’t believe it took this long to reveal this? Was anyone surprised?

Nero’s reveal is rather late in the book compared to Commodus, Caligula, and even Tarquin iirc? But it makes sense, being the first book of the series. Also love how 16-year-old me was like “this reveal is silly because everyone, like me, recognizes Nero on sight” and didn’t question that assumption at all.

“Germani.” Instinctively, I moved in front of Meg. The elite imperial bodyguards had been cold-blooded death reapers in ancient Rome. I doubted they’d gotten any sweeter over the centuries.

2016!filodox: BITCH. See? This is why I love Rome. They knew what they were doing.

Ngl, as someone of Germanic heritage, I felt really represented by the Germani, which is hilarious on so many levels.

He tried to compensate for his ugliness with an expensive Italian suit of purple wool, his gray shirt open to display gold chains. His shoes were hand-tooled leather, not the sort of thing to wear while stomping around in an ant pile. Then again, Nero had always had expensive, impractical tastes.

2016!filodox: I don’t exactly like Nero, and actually think he was quite the shitty emperor, but I guess I mildly respect and “like” him on principle (in this book at least).

OH YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I was so convinced that I didn’t actually like Nero, despite all of the lowkey evidence to the contrary? Who hurt you, past me? (Lmao, it was Tacitus, Suetonius, and Cassius Dio.) My working theory is that I was too much of an Emperor Augustus stan at the time to admit liking Nero. It’s hysterical. Look at me equivocating like a champ.

I’d been so proud of my son, the original Octavian, later Caesar Augustus. After his death, his descendants became increasingly arrogant and unstable (which I blamed on their mortal DNA; they certainly didn’t get those qualities from me).

2016!filodox: I’m glad Apollo and I can agree on something. Augustus was amazing and those who came after him...significantly less so.

See! The propaganda really got to me, what can I say?

Nero clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Oh, my. It seems we’ve had a slight miscommunication. You see, Apollo, Meg brought you here, just as I asked her to. Well done, my sweet.”

2016!filodox: This was obvious but I still find it...gods, the only word I can think of is “delicious”

. . .

“The Beast killed my father. This is Nero. He’s -- he’s my stepfather.”

I could not fully grasp this before Nero spread his arms.

“That’s right, my darling,” he said. “And you’ve done a wonderful job. Come to Papa.”

2016!filodox: Okay, but we should have known this since it became apparent her weapons were Roman. Also, oof. Also also, WHY did Riordan feel the need to add that last line? Why?

ASDFGHJKL: I CAN’T

“After the fire, we’ll rebuild,” he said. “It will be glorious!”

2016!filodox: The amount of times I have used this very logic is worrying.

For (some) context, Firelord Ozai is my favorite character from AtLA. <3

The scene might have been funny except that the Germani were now back on their feet, five demigods and a geyser spirit were still tied to highly flammable posts, and Nero still had a box of matches.

2016!filodox: Oh, I find this plenty amusing!

The emperor stared at his empty hand. “Meg...?” His voice was as cold as an icicle.

2016!filodox: The various ways his tone / voice have been described throughout this conversation are just 💕

*looks at camera like I’m on The Office*

Seriously, though. Nero’s voice is like the central descriptive element of his character because he’s so manipulative. It’s really cool and a great use of detail.

[Meg] turned to Nero. “You told me never to lower myself to my enemies’ level.”

“No, indeed.” Nero’s tone had frayed like a weathered rope. “We are better. We are stronger. We will build a glorious new world. But these nonsense-spewing trees stand in our way, Meg. Like any invasive weeds, they must be burned. And the only way to do that is with a true conflagration -- flames stoked by blood.”

2016!filodox: Real 👏🏻 Gods 👏🏻 Require 👏🏻 Blood👏🏻

I was way too enthusiastic about this whole situation, wasn’t I?

Nero grinned. “Good-bye, Apollo. Only eleven more Olympians to go.”

2016!filodox: Wait, shit, WHAT

Having read Tower of Nero, this probably had something to do with Python interfering with the Fates, huh? But does that mean it’s more Python’s plan or Nero’s? If this was Nero’s plan (with his 12 kids literally replacing the Olympians) that’s,,,really fucking bold.

Then I heard the screaming from Camp Half-Blood.

2016!filodox: Music to my ears ~

I’m presenting every edgy detail of my annotations so I have a proper case file when I inevitably have to face the question “On a scale of one to ten, how relatable is Emperor Nero and why should you have realized it’s a ten sooner?”

In a flash of silver light, the camp’s magical barriers collapsed. The Colossus lurched forward and brought his foot down on the dining pavilion, smashing it to rubble like so many children’s blocks.

2016!filodox: Payback! Dear gods, I can’t stop smiling! I’m just like “YES!” I know this will all probably get fixed or whatever but I’M HAVING A MOMENT.

I’ve learned to appreciate the small wins. <3

Percy grabbed one of the crown’s sunray spikes. He sliced it off at the base, then jabbed it into the Colossus’ forehead.

2016!filodox: As much as Nero is FAR from my favorite, I really don’t like defacing ancient (or replicas of ancient) statues and art...

This is where I just start laughing at myself tbh. I was so insistent on not liking Nero. Like, I sound like I’m in denial. Peak equivocation. What happened to that heart emoji a few chapters back? Why did I suddenly make it about *checks notes* ancient art? Updated translation: nooo don’t ruin the Colossus Neronis it’s so sexy aha

Just as the [arrow] reached its apex and was about to fall back to earth, a gust of wind caught it...perhaps Zephyros looking kindly on my pitiful attempt. The arrow sailed into the Colossus’ ear canal and rattled in his head with a clink, clink, clink like a pachinko machine.

2016!filodox: HOW MANY EX MACHINAS IS THIS ?! The dryads, the arrow, Percy, the enchantment, and THIS ?

One of my criticisms of Trials of Apollo in general is just that the stakes are so much higher and Riordan usually solves that problem by having his heroes win on long odds. The chances of them succeeding at like,,,anything they attempt are astronomical, but of course they manage. It’s not surprising but it does get a little tiring.

“Yo, Nico,” Leo called, “please tell me that’s it for the physical abuse.”

“For now.” Nico smiled. “We’re still trying to get in touch with the West Coast. You’ll have a few dozen people out there who will definitely want to hit you.”

2016!filodox: Oh I’d love to hit him. With the flaming, Imperial gold payload of an onager. Preferably WITHOUT the Pontifex Maximus attached to it -- unless of course you mean the false pontifex, Jason Grace.

Leo was the salt in the wound for this one, ngl. He rekindled my undying ire over Octavian’s death. As I said at the beginning of this, I was extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill after Heroes of Olympus. That sentiment sticks around for a while...

And we can call that a wrap!

Though it may seem like it, my annotations are not, in fact, a compilation of Nero’s greatest hits. There are a lot of scenes of his that I love (naturally) but I didn’t have anything to say about them when I first read the series. Maybe I’ll share those another time.

In any case, I hope you got something out of this ridiculously long post! Until next time! <3

#trials of apollo #toa #filodox!#I don't know what any of you were expecting but this is what I've got #no these are not all of my annotations #I tried to pick the best ones #oh also #I'm sorry to everyone with hard copies of the books #since I have ebooks it's no problem to search for quotes and page numbers are imaginary #if you want me to put chapters with the quotes I can

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nevermoremagic · 5 years ago

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aren’t you forgetting something? - jj maybank x reader

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write fics for JJ ever since I finished watching Outer Banks, but my writing is rusty as hell :) Nonetheless, I really wanted to post something, so here’s a fluffy little drabble!

It’s based on a prompt I found on @otpprompts ! Referenced in the notes at the end.

Pairing: jj maybank x reader

Prompt: You are about to leave for work. JJ asks you if you’ve forgotten anything, and you give him a kiss. JJ turns red and opens his hand to reveal your keys, saying “I meant this, but thanks.”

Warning(s): a bit of swearing, a lot of fluff and cheese

Word Count: 1k

“JJ… let go of me, please.” Only a piercing groan in response. Still, the muscular arms remain wrapped around your frame and the tufts of golden hair shoved into your face don’t move the slightest bit.

“JJ,” you whine, squirming in his hold. God, if you were late for another shift at Heyward’s, surely Pope’s father would have your head.

The culprit of your tardiness, the one whose arms have your body pressed tightly against his chest like an octopus, buries his head into the crook of your neck, moaning a mocking “(Y/N)” in response to your whine of protest.

“I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Yeah. That’s the point. So you stay here longer.” JJ’s chin hooks onto your shoulder, and when you turn to give him a pointed glare, he beams at you. The classic JJ smile. The one where your heart skips a beat at the sight. Your glare immediately melts, and instead you sigh and roll your eyes at the whining child you’ve unbelievably called your boyfriend.

Oh, you’d love to stay. In your experience, there’s nothing more blissful than laying in a hammock watching the sunset and feeling the sea breeze brush past you two. And JJ’s built like a furnace, always keeping you warm in his embrace during the windiest of days. It’s days like these where it’s hard to pry yourself away from him.

“Heyward’s going to fire me and I’ll be jobless and broke,” you warn JJ, but also make no move to escape his clutch.

He sucks air between his teeth and furrows his eyebrows, thinking of what you assume to be a solution to this dilemma of yours. Then, his eyes widen as a thought you were expecting to be ridiculous comes to him.

“I’ll be your sugar daddy.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. Your broke ass?”

He lets out an indignant squawk. “Broke? Who are you calling broke? Was the treasure hunt last summer for 400 mil a fever dream to you?”

“Oh?” Your eyebrow quirks. “You mean, the 400 million dollars that’s currently in the Bahamas? That’s the money you’re going to use to pamper me?” You smirk, fondly watching his soft blue eyes narrow at your triumphant teasing.

JJ quiets, shaking his head at the sight of your cocky smirk. Finally, he clicks his tongue, barking a “fine!” before unwinding his arms and springing out of the hammock in an instant, nearly sending you toppling onto the ground.

You gasp in shock, fingers frantically trying to find purchase in the netting beneath you as you cling for dear life. The snickers behind you serve as a reminder of the idiot that nearly sent you to your death. “Asshole,” you mutter, although it doesn’t sound nearly as resentful as you’d like it to be. You’re too whipped for JJ to truly be mad, and you knew it.

It takes a few seconds, but you find your balance and roll off the hammock with ease. You refuse to look at your boyfriend while you begin stomping towards your car, pettiness apparent. Your angry facade can only continue for so long though, as JJ’s happy laughs trail behind you.

“Hey,” he calls, and before you can guess what’s happening, his hands curl around your waist, holding you close. When you look up, you’re convinced you’re staring straight through heaven’s gates.

The last rays of sun peek through the tree leaves and cast a halo of light around JJ’s head, setting his golden tresses aglow. He looks angelic, and the sight sends bursts of love through you; so strong, they make your heart hurt.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he chuckles, still amused from earlier. His eyes crinkle when he speaks, exuding a boyish charm that you can never get enough of. But what were you forgetting?

“Huh? Oh, right.” Before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

You give him a soft and sweet peck on the lips, smiling as you pull away and watch his cheeks turn into a pale pink. It’s not often that you see JJ so flustered from affection, so you indulge in the sight of his blushing cheeks with satisfaction.

“Uh,” he says, buffering. “I meant these, but thanks.”

Your blood turns over in your veins when he holds out the car keys you left at the hammock in his palms, embarrassment flooding through you.

“Oh,” You say breathlessly, fumbling for the keys. “Oh, right, that.” You laugh awkwardly, still cringing a little from your sudden burst of affection. Too focused on berating yourself, you fail to see the soft smile adorning JJ’s face; eyes soft, heart soft. Too damn soft for the girl in front of him; whom he loves so easily, and who loves him just as much in return.

If you thought your heart could handle any more surprises today, you were definitely wrong. JJ pulls you impossibly closer to him, and he leans in and gives you another kiss on the lips; the kind only a playful, teasing-but-equally-loving-JJ could give. The kind you loved.

When he pulls away, you think you forget how to breathe. You and JJ have kissed too many times to count, and somehow, he still manages to sweep you off your feet every time.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmurs, face inches away from yours. You can only nod in response while your breath is - quite literally - stolen. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say, but it sounds too airy, as if your head was stuck in the clouds.

JJ grins at the sight of you - wide-eyed and a little spaced out. With a final peck on the forehead, he unwraps his arms from your waist and saunters back into John B’s shack, turning to shoot you a final wink before he disappears through the front door.

If anyone asks, you won’t admit it, but it did take you a few seconds to process where you were and where you were supposed to be. And like the typical lovesick fool, a dazed, euphoric grin adorned your face once you were reminded of the work shift you still had to cover. It was a happy grin that danced on your lips when you arrived at Heyward’s, a grin that Pope was quick to make fun of once you walked into the shop, because he knew there was only one person who was able to put such a lovestruck, happy smile on your face.

Notes:

lol the ending was shite

sorry if it’s garbage! again, I haven’t written in a while, so it might sound a little clunky.

thanks for reading anyways!!

Original prompt: Person A is about to leave for work [or insert any other suitable event/place]. Person B asks them if they’ve forgotten anything, and Person A gives them a kiss. Person B turns red and opens their hand to reveal Person A’s keys/wallet/etc., saying “I meant this, but thanks.”

#outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx #obx imagine #pope heyward #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

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I WATCHED TIMELESS BECAUSE OF YOU? UNSPOILED NAIVE AND FULL OF HOPE?ALWAYS LOOKING FOR MORE FLYNN CHARACTER ARC AND LUCY4S TOO AND TO SEE THIS SHIP BLOSSOM BECAUSE OF COURSE I STARTED TO SHIP THEM AND NOW I'M IN MIDDLE OF SEASON TOO? THE COUCH SCENE AND I CAN'T EVEN AND NOW I'M SPOILED AND I'M SO PISSED AND HEARTBROKEN FOR FLYNN AND GARCY LIKE WHY I DON T EVEN DARE TO CONTINUE TO WATCH IT S SO PAINFUL AND UNFAIR,WHYYYYYY,,? also lyatt endgame ? how to the no ? liked them as friends, whyyyy ?

Oh dear. You sweet summer child.

(Note: Below follows a bit of a Rant ™ on a two-season cable television show that was cancelled over a year ago. Feel free to keep scrolling, especially if you are a fan of the ship that ended up as endgame on said show.)

First off, I 2000% feel your pain, because I will legitimately never forgive the Christmas…. whatever that was (there’s a reason we call it the Abomination). It basically got the ball rolling on 2019 being the Year of Horrible Endings For Shows You Once Loved 11 days early, and yes, it was because of the hatchet job they did on…. pretty much everyone, but especially Flynn/Garcy. It was also spectacular in the way it forced Lyatt, which had always been a painfully obvious, predictable, the-writers-clearly-want-this-to-happen-but-whatever basic white het ship, at the expense of everyone, particularly their OWN GODDAMN HEROINE, Lucy Preston. Basically, at the end of season 2, they realized they’d written themselves to a place where Garcy had developed more naturally, far more interestingly, with many more layers of character dynamic, the COUNTLESS TIMES Flynn and Lucy had parallel moments, the unique connection they had with the journal, the extra layer of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, etc, and… junked it so they could Stick To The Original Plan (because everyone who watched the pilot knew they wanted Wyatt/Lucy to happen). Not only that, they comprehensively destroyed everything that had ever been special or meaningful to Garcy, killed Flynn in the lamest way imaginable, and turned Lucy into a Stepford Wife. This was because the last episode of the Abomination was by the one writer who was constantly up on Wyatt’s jock and insisting that he had never done anything wrong, even though he was a soggy-white-bread, pity-me, bland AF, undeveloped, whiny mess of toxic masculinity in s2 (after being inoffensive enough and mildly likeable in s1). And as a result, we got… we got that. It’s 9 months later and I still randomly just get these…. WAVES of pure fury if I think about it for too long. So yes. That is what happened.

(Also, Abigail and Goran had ten times the chemistry, while barely even touching, that Abigail and Matt did, even when they were Trying Really Hard to act explicitly romantic scenes. Oops.)

Anyway. That’s why I hate canon Wyatt with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns and can’t even stand him in fic unless he is a) not a whining douchebag and b) far, far, FAR away from Lucy in any romantic sense of the word. (It is to my own surprise that I actually have some feelings about him in the All Souls trilogy, but then, I can fix him. So yes.)

BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS….

THERE ARE OPTIONS!

First off, I do recommend watching episodes 2x06-10, because they have some of the best Garcy of the series (especially 2x06 which is like a Garcy fever dream). Then after you watch 2x10, “Chinatown,” do not touch the Christmas special, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Hasten ye directly to:

…. @timeless-season-three….

and BE HAPPY.

That is a full 13-episode season 3 which I organized and served as the showrunner and writer, and I can promise it will be what you want. Go explore the blog and click around, because it was run like a real show, with episodes dropping weekly on 8pm on Sunday night, a midseason hiatus, breaks for other events, etc. There is art, press releases, advance reviews, recaps, etc – in short, everything that you would get for a real show, as much as we could provide. The episodes obviously aren’t filmed, but they’re available to download and read in script format, it picks up directly from the end of 2x10, and develops everything as realistically as possible in the manner of an actual TV season (written by competent people, ahem). Season 4 remains a wanna-do-it-maybe possibility, if not one that will happen this fall because of my ridiculous workload.

Anyway. Yes. This is what you need. Trust me.

#timeless salt #timeless critical #wyatt critical #anonymous #ask

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deedeehazard · 4 years ago

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Circus of Freaks (CoF) OC

(This is gonna have mistakes and I just made this OC like minutes ago-)

Name: Chloe Ferrell

Gender: female

Sexuality: Bisexual prefers men

Height: 5'10 -keep in mind women back then were like 5'2 or so, so Chloe is like a giant during this time-

Weight: 148 LBS

From: Down in the South America

Accent: Southern but not thickly Southern

Outfit:

(I chose this dress because I wanted something similar to what I wore to a wedding as a child which to me was gorgeous and absolutely stunning) Chloe does not wear shoes she is looked down at by women and men for the way she is being barefooted all the time but she hates shoes can't convince her to wear any.

Hairstyle: Unlike other women with all the weird painful looking hairstyles and all the accessories they had in their hair Chloe didn't wear one accessory or had a fancy hairstyle she just left it down which most didn't mind since they're stunned by her natural curly wavy hair (and quite frizzy)

(Here's an example except her hair is dark brown colored)

Ethnicity: Mixed white and native

Since there was LOTS of racism back then (and still is) some people would avoid or look in loathe at Chloe mainly in the summer when she gets tanner and also darker making the native show more obviously but still she's more white than native she knows that for sure so she is more paler but peachy skin toned

Birthplace: Oklahoma which also known as Indian territory Chloe does not tell where she is from to people she only and always says "from the South" Or "From America" Since she's now in England with her older half sister living together

Age: 22

Eye color: brown

Wide lips with a little chubby body but slim and lengthy with a bit of curves and big bondongas (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

When Chloe was able to finally live on her own and away from her broken messed up family even though she loved them with all her heart she just needed to get away. But hearing from her older half sister Allison she decided to travel with her to England and live with her there. When finally arriving and getting adjusted Chloe hears about the freaky circus full of freaky people and "creatures" So she decided to stop by and look at the place. Once reaching destination she immediately sees the first freaky people Etch and Dalien the conjoined twins. When Etch flirts with her and telling her he could let her in for free if she gave him a kiss and astonishingly it worked she only kissed him on the cheek being the heart of gold and couldn't say no person she is she did (not to mention already taking a small liking to Etch by his voice and looks) When inside she takes her seat watching the show they gave seeing Half boy, Goat girl, Cannibal Twins, and knife woman along with Etch and Dalien she was very fascinated and stunned but tried best to keep the expressions she had not too obvious as she did see them freaks but more like just different from normal people and stood out she didn't pity or seen them the way others did. After the show the freaks did noticed that the rest of the audience seemed disgusted or thought of Chloe as a freak keeping distance away from her and whispering to one another since she seemed like a giant to women and even some men and for as a weirdo no shoes not really dressed like the people there. When everyone left Chloe stayed waiting for all to leave but was stopped by the conjoined twins as they asked and wondered if she would like to join the circus and surprisingly after persuasion and convincing words she did. They did take her back and had to mark her as in taking a tooth out which she actually needed a tooth removing having a bad cavity so she pulled out the bad tooth herself. Etch and Dalien haven't met anyone like her which no one has anyway, then things have turned now having to be kept in a cage with the others and all she did end up fighting back a bit not liking this a bit but gave in didn't want to cause no trouble anyway she stayed in a bigger cage next to the Cannibal twins and the Morgan twins. Chloe wondered what in the living hell are kids doing in here being locked up they didn't seem like the others but kinda thought they're probably hiding something that she doesn't know or can see.

After a bit at the circus being locked up and all now being told the truth of this place and that everyone here was a normal being that was turned into freaks by the brothers she was scared for her life. She was the easiest going out of everyone not much of a talker but when did her voice was shy and soft quite skittish. She didn't argue or say anything bad to Ringy, Tickets or the Michelson twins and went along with everything causing no trouble. She would be in the ticket booth with Tickets helping give out tickets to customers and would chit chat. Sometimes Ringy and Chloe talked a bit and even Etch would talk with her when at the ticket booth. Chloe would chuckle and have a little smile from Daliens terrible puns and the funny things Tickets would tell her, and when Ringy told her about the Michelson twins of how they were homeless and all she felt very sorry and terrible for them couldn't blame them for becoming like this since they had a terrible life so couldn't forgive what they done but give another chance and forgive them. Chloe was more interested and awe by Ringy which he also awed her finding her mysterious as well and stunning for the hair and the way she dresses differently and mainly for the size of her. Whenever locked up she would do her best to make the others laugh and smile and comfort the others mainly interacting with the Morgan twins, Halfy and the Cannibal twins she was seen sensitive and very sweet lacking backbone and a heart of gold by all the others. Goaty and Chloe didn't get along well both having anger issues and easily aggravated/irritated. She really loved Igor and Blake being the child and baby fever woman she is liking to interact with children. When they're fed Chloe had an amazing appetite eating like Dalien but didn't seem to gain a pound really and would even receive apples from Etch which would make her face and heart flutter a bit. When the Morgans asked about Chloe's story and all how she came here and England she told most some of her life which was got the others attention. As a child when only 5 her mother was murdered being motherless most of her life, then having a bit of the Cinderella story of father finding another woman the "step" Mother and step siblings a older step sister and younger step brother which she saw them as siblings but didn't see their mother as her "step" Mother only calling her by her name, her papa emotionally and mentally abused her and the family being a German and whatever else he was part of alcoholic he was but Chloe still loved him wholeheartedly and dearly for he was still a loving silly papa he was being the one that mainly understood him. And that the family was loving silly and crazy ofc but also broken and messed up growing up in violence seeing her own family members would argue and even fight as getting older. Was traumatized by it and also by a man when 15 that always liked to be too close to her and had to put his hands on her always staring at her and talk to her in creepy manner putting his lips on her face once and her hand(s) seemed to target her then her younger sister since Chloe was older. He was a crazy man too fighting and argue with the air and talk to literally the air when there's no one there. And grew up lonely and distant not really having friends and all and growing up in poverty close to being homeless. The freaks really were heartfelt and sorry feeling pity for her and so did Ringy and the etch and Dalien who overheard and stood by the tent listening. Chloe would sometimes even stay up whole nights or sleep not well like others having insomnia couldn't even stay asleep always waking up having dark circles under her eyes.

(SPOILER WARNING IF DON'T WANT SPOILERS DON'T CONTINUE!! THIS CCONTAINS CHAPTER 9 ENDING BUT DIFFERENT)

When the Morgans broke free out the cage and free the others Chloe kept guard and watch as she also had to distract them for the others as they all quietly escaped as knife woman stayed behind to get revenge on Tickets which she did Chloe had to fight back and persuade them they could live with her and her sister and have better lives and be happy she in tears also a bit blushing mess confessed her feelings to Etch and all wanting them to start over and that they could put all this behind them taking his gun throwing it away and hugging them trying not to sob a wreck from almost at death and from the overwhelment of what happened seeing what happened to Tickets feeling sad he's gone now, enjoying his company when she could. But she did convince them as they both had their moments being at finally peace and quiet ( (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)) then Chloe gets a smooch from Etch and yea romantic moment then yuh happily ever after they lived with Allison and Chloe living together happily as would visit and see the others after their escape to see how they're doing now. Happy ever after TEEHEE the end LMAO-

(please no hate I spend like 2 hours non stop on this!! -😭😭)

Circus of Freaks and all the characters belong to @kibadoglover45 ! Go read her comic and go support her Patreon if you can and see her other content!

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michelles-garden-of-evil · 5 years ago

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Episode 5 Review: In Which the Horror Begins (+ A Lesson on Irony)

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

We have reached the end of the first week of Strange Paradise and the real beginning of the fun. I hoped to get to this post a week or two earlier, but I kept having to postpone writing entries for this blog because life kept getting in the way. I’ve also been re-watching episodes from later in the Maljardin arc, because I actually re-watch, screencap, and write commentary on each episode twice before I review.

In the last episode, THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES, while possessing his descendant Jean Paul Desmond, brought Jean Paul’s sister-in-law Dr. Alison Carr to his private island Maljardin. (I find it amusing how these soaps introduce almost everyone with their full names each episode and include so much exposition about earlier events. I know that it was necessary at the time because most soap opera episodes only aired once and DVRs weren’t invented yet, but it still sounds silly.) In this episode, Alison discovers to her horror what we the audience already know: that her sister Erica is dead and sealed in the cryonics capsule.

The first half of this episode and the way it is written is a good example of dramatic irony. Nowadays, the concept of irony is often misunderstood because of the way certain hipsters in recent years have abused the word, to the extent that few people now know what it really means. The term “irony” actually refers to several distinct devices used in fiction, rhetoric, etc. which all involve a difference between the appearance of or one’s expectations for a situation and the reality:

There’s verbal irony, when someone says the opposite of what they mean: for instance, if Raxl were to sarcastically call Jacques an angel or I were to say that this show is as subtle as a neon pink sledgehammer to the skull.

There’s situational irony, when something goes differently to what we the audience expect: say, Jacques signing his name instead of Jean Paul’s on Dan’s documents while impersonating him, or no one but Raxl and Quito knowing about the temple despite its incredibly obvious “hidden” door. (Had it ever happened, Raxl calling Jacques an angel would also qualify, because she is always so upfront about how she feels about him.)

There’s historical irony, when history turns out to be the opposite of what one predicts: take this early ad for the show that boasts, “Don’t laugh. Wait until you see the ratings.”

There’s cosmic irony, when a character’s fate turns out the opposite to their expectations. This is what happens to the protagonists in the majority of deal-with-the-Devil stories, who are manipulated into signing pacts for things like unlimited wealth or magical knowledge and who trick themselves into thinking that their good fortune will last forever, but who end up damned to Hell when the Devil comes to collect their souls.

There’s Socratic irony, which means feigning ignorance to trick an enemy. This is Jacques’ usual modus operandi when someone tries to unmask him.

There’s romantic irony or metafiction, which is not present in this show at all. Strange Paradise is not meta; it takes itself too seriously.

And then there’s dramatic irony, which applies to the plot of the first half of this episode. Dramatic irony is when we the audience know something that a character does not, but which will influence their ultimate fate.

Alison came to the island to visit Erica, to ensure that she was alive and well. Jacques disguised as Jean Paul convinced her that Erica was OK and then repeatedly changed the subject and took her on a tour of Maljardin to distract her. Thinking that she must be somewhere upstairs, Alison starts to climb the steps and says, “I’m going to see her. Where is she?”

“She’s not upstairs,” Jacques replies, making Bissits Face™ as a mike shadow passes along the wall. “She’s”--dramatic pause--”below. In the family crypt.”

He looks so sincere. Not.

At first, Alison does not understand and laughs. “What on Earth is she doing in the-” she asks, but then it hits her. Then she realizes that he means that her sister is dead. “No, no, she’s not!” she cries.

“Only temporarily,” says the handsome devil.

“What kind of a man are you? Take me to her!”

He gives her directions to the crypt and then de-possesses Jean Paul, who blacked out while he was possessed and is therefore confused about what is going on. Alison calls for him and he joins her in the crypt. This is Part Two of the big reveal of the ironic twist to Alison, when she discovers the Cryonics Capsule. “You didn’t! You couldn’t!” she screams, thinking that her brother-in-law has frozen Erica alive.

"I love her too much to just allow her to die,” Jean Paul replies, but that does not reassure her. She accuses him of freezing her alive, but he denies it and reassures her that she was already dead. She starts crying and we get the first of many scenes throughout the Maljardin arc where these characters display affection for one another. And with that come even more feels.

Jean Paul/Alison is my OTP.

Jean Paul confesses that he no longer has complete control over himself. “I don't know what I believe, what I accept these strange days,” he says. “Sometimes I don't even realize what I am doing. Something drives me on, some power stronger than me. Some…evil force.” Cut to Jacques’ coffin in the crypt followed by his portrait, because this show’s directors don’t know the meaning of subtlety. “Raxl claims it’s the devil.”

Following this, we get some background information, first from Jean Paul about Erica’s death and then from Raxl about Jacques. I will probably end up referencing the former again in later posts, so I will quote it:

Erica hadn't been feeling well, so Dr. Menkin took some blood samples to the Mainland for tests. She was sitting on that couch just as you are now, when the first attack came. It was devastating. I have never known such fear. Dr. Menkin called it an eclamptic convulsion...Well, I got her up to her room and put her to bed. Dr. Menkin took over but there was very little he could do to ease her suffering...We lost [the baby]. But I couldn't care in that moment. About an hour later, when I was holding her in my arms, she cried out, "no, Jean Paul, no, don't let me go.” Her body felt like a steel spring under compression. It felt like it was almost ready to explode. When the spasm hit her, she arched. There was nothing I could do. Nothing!...All that beauty, all that life. My life, snuffed out as easily as a candle. How I loved her. How I still love her. My darling Erica, gone.

The latter is longer and contains some tangents, so I will summarize. That evening, Raxl reveals that, after Jacques’ wife gave birth to his son, he murdered her. Raxl and some unspecified others (she says “we”) avenged the death of Madame des Mondes by making the Conjure Doll and piercing its head with the silver pin, which she says “destroys all hope for salvation.” Then she tells Alison about how Jean Paul set him free and that Jacques possesses him. Alison refuses to believe her, saying that such things don’t happen “in this day and age.” That she doesn’t believe Raxl creates more dramatic irony, because, in case you haven’t already figured it out, Raxl and possibly Quito are the only good characters so far who understand what is going on. But Quito is mute and a zombie--meaning that he can’t say what he knows--and almost no one believes Raxl.

She is probably thinking something like, “Oh, Dr. Carr, you sweet summer child.”

Then they hear a scream outside and open the front door. Because this show had neither the time nor the budget to film more outdoor scenes, they stay in the Great Hall and watch as Quito carries the corpse of an old man inside.

Hmmm...I wonder who did it? Do you think there’s a slight chance it may have been that smirking man right there?

Raxl identifies the dead man immediately as Dr. Menkin, and rightly suspects Jacques. He, of course, feigns innocence, complete with more Bissits Face™ and barely disguised smirking, because apparently he thinks Raxl is stupid enough to fall for that. Here is his alibi, which is thoroughly unconvincing:

But she sees through this, because Dr. Menkin doesn’t drink, and gives him the lie. He makes her swear to keep his implied murder a secret, then orders her to leave. And then Jacques de-possesses Jean Paul, but not before plying him with booze.

I said back in my first review that this would become a common theme.

He has a fever dream that consists of Raxl shouting at him while making some seriously frightening facial expressions. Had I watched this as a kid, the faces she makes in this dream sequence would have given me nightmares.

Raxl: "Don't look! Otherwise, you may see the very man you are…the very man you might have been!"

This line--a paraphrase of one from the first episode--implies that Jean Paul and Jacques are reincarnations of the same person. If this is indeed the case, does Raxl know? Is that one of the messages she intends to communicate to her master in this bizarre sequence? That Jacques and Jean Paul are the same character is something that Ian Martin implies repeatedly but never confirms, and one of many plot points that later writers forget to explore or explain. I’m not one hundred percent certain he was planning to reveal that (I don’t have access to his notes or original outline), but it seems likely.

Anyway, Jean Paul, who does not yet know of Dr. Menkin’s death, wakes up and confronts Jacques’ portrait. He, too, has begun to see the reality and cosmic irony of his situation: that, by setting Jacques free, he may have condemned himself to eternal suffering:

Jean Paul: "You are the nightmare! Must I restore your evil life to have my darling Erica's life back? Damn you!"

“Or am I the one that’s damned? Must I be lost in Hell with you!”

This episode is the first episode of Strange Paradise to successfully invoke the feelings of terror that one expects from a horror show. Although I love this program, I have to admit that, when they try to make it scary, they often fail and end up making it unintentionally funny instead. They tried before in the pilot in the scene where Jean Paul announces “on this island...I am God,” but the drum-roll, dramatic music, and Fox and Lee’s overacting make it instead laugh-out-loud funny. Likewise, the suspense of the scene where he frees Jacques is ruined by ridiculous screechy sound effects and intersplicing with a bad cover of a jazz standard. I think that the Jacques scenes in Episodes 2 and 4 were intended to be funny and, if so, they succeeded. While Episode 3 is scary, it’s a different kind of scary than the classic horror sense, being about two powerful authority figures trying to prey on a helpless young woman: still a common theme in the Gothic genre, yes, but not what most people watch spook-shows for. No, Episode 5 is genuinely frightening and compelling in its Gothic horror, making it a good conclusion to the first week of this soap opera.

Stay tuned for a Bad Subtitles Special on Friday and join us again next week as we review Episode 6, including a detailed recap and analysis (with a side of bad costume roast) of the second flashback about the life of Jacques. I look forward to it, and I hope you do, too.

( <-- Previous: Episode 4 || Next: Episode 6, Part I --> }

#strange paradise #gothic soap opera #week 1 #episode 5 #maljardin arc #ian martin #review #analysis #cryonics capsule #bissits face #genuinely scary episodes #irony #jacques making jean paul drink #jean paul/alison #non flashback dream sequence #on this island i am god #raxl knows best

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seriouslysexytunes · 8 years ago

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Pussycat Dolls- Vocal analysis

For the longest time, I’ve thought of doing a Pussycat Dolls vocal analysis but I never thought anyone would be interested given most people don’t want to give them any credit for their talent, singing and dancing. I often felt the rest of the members besides Nicole deserved to have their talent recognized but for some reason I was never able to bring myself to actually do it- I think partly because at the time, I didn’t have any material from the other ladies to work with. Seeing as now, they’ve all had solo careers and I got a proper taste of their voices, and at the request of someone who has read my other analyses, I guess it’s about the right time to do it.

So, who remembers the first time they saw the mv for ‘Don’t Cha’? I certainly do, listening to that song full of sass and in-your-faceness and watching the video with a bunch of sexy women driving on an empty highway like sexy road ragers, jumping on trampolines, the blonde mohawk girl getting pulled ins some wild cage fight (poor Kimberly) ,dancing in girtty underground boxing rings like a bunch of savages. My first thought was ‘, wth is happening ? who are these women? why are they are they sexily angry? why are they angrily sexy? So many questions. They certainly caught my attention and they’ve given us many entertaining hits over the years so without further ado.

Nicole Scherzinger aka...

...'I’m the lead doll, hear me roar’ ***

There is no denying when Nicole sings she catches your attention, just listen to any PCD songs, no really, she sings 99.9% of them. She can make any kind of song come alive. From her time in Eden’s Crush, to her time in PCD and throughout her solo career, she has demonstrated that she can sing a variety of song types from pop, R&B, Jazz- she is a vocal chameleon, her voice can be sexy, sultrous, vulnerable, she can also display attitude and excitement. She also has good range; her low notes and falsetto notes tend to be soft but stable, when she belts her voice is very clear, when she goes higher though her voice strains a bit when singing live. Last but not least, I first heard her whistle note in the song ‘Let Me Know’ from Eden’s Crush album, that made the song and the album for me lol (besides everyone’s favorite ‘Get Over Yourself’ of course.)

I think the vocal producers who worked with the Dolls also suffered from the ‘ higher singing = better singing’ as Nicole was often screaming in some songs like this live version of ‘Don’t Cha’ and her prolongued ‘hey’ at the end of the dance break of ‘Beep’- which sounds great in the studio, live... not so much. She is the complete package as a true commercial artist in that she has the look, the talent and the sexiness to boot, her songs are catchy to listen to, her music videos are amazing and her voice is fantastic but in my opinion she lacks humility; she seems to be more focused on showing off her vocal skills (and making weird animal sounds) then connecting with her audience. She sings as if she were a world-renowed songstress who’s been on the scene for decades when really most people know her as the ‘lead singer of the PCD’ but not ‘Nicole, the artist, the person,” etc..

Speaking of connecting with the audience, the main thing that has prevented me from fully connecting with ther as an artist is that fake ebonics voice or accent she uses/used Example:

“Dawls. Let's daince. Ooh behbeh. I know you lahik meh That's why wheneva I come araound, she's all ova yoo! I know you won't it It's easy to see And in the backayo maaaaaind I know it should be on wtih me

Let's keep it friendlaaay Yah have to play fay ah See I don't caaaaaayy but I know she ain't gon wonna shay-ah" etc...

Omg, who sings like that? Whoever told this woman singing with attitude meant singing as if her jaw was dislocated needs to be ashamed of themselves. The style of singing doesn’t feel her own, she sounds like she’s imitating someone else and she comes off as dishhonest and try-hard. Compare that to times when she gives up the ‘accent’ such as 'I Hate This Part’, Sway and if you really want to hear a song when I can ‘feel’ Nicole, I advise you listen to her song ‘Run’, raw, pure, and goosebump-worthy. I’m not going to spend any more time on factors that may be affecting her career because this is about her vocal talent. To put it simply, anyone (including myself) can say whatever they want about Nicole and regarless of a few minor vocal flaws, her vocal versatility is off the chain and she is a vocal powerhouse, period.

Vocal range: Soprano- Best suited for: Pop, R&B, Classic, Jazz, Alternative and many more.

Listen to: I Hate this Part, Try With Me, Run, Poison, Don’t Hold Your Breath

Carmit Bachar aka...

...the fiery redhead

I just love the tone of Carmit’s voice because it’s raw, raspy and edgy. It sucks how fickle the industry can be given that singers with voices like hers don’t get much appreciation. For example, watch this performance for Carmit’s raw and edgy voice (also featuring Melody’s beautiful melismatic runs). Now though her edginess comes out mostly when she’s in her belting range but she can also soften up as she did here- although in that song I think she goes in and out of falsetto albeit very softly. In general though, she doesn’t seem to have an extensive range, the lowest I’ve heard her go is as far as this performance when she sings “you give me fever” a few times and her low notes are very quiet. Any higher than what her range is and she falls flat a bit like here; to be honest, she sort of all over the place but she tried.

One thing I noticed she did in that performance is how she threw her hand up as she was singing a high note. Like, girl, why? Many singers do this especially when they’re struggling to hit a note lol. You can either reach the note or you can’t, throwing your hand up is not going to save you from not hitting that note. Most of the time they come close(they shout it or scream it) but they don’t actually hit it lol. In any case, Carmit is/was the oldest member of the group but don’t let her age fool you, she is a joy to watch while performing and she dances with such passion. She’s also got some cool acrobatic moves in her skills and she’s also a ‘split’ master

though she didn’t get to showcase it often during her time in the group.

Vocal range: Mezzo-Soprano- Best suited for: Rock, Alternative, Indie, Pop, R&B, Jazz

Listen to: Tainted Love, Santa baby, Fierce, Keep on Smiling, Cream.

Kimberly Wyatt aka...

...the fiesty, edgy blonde.

Well, how can I put this lightly? Kimberly’s voice sounds...underdeveloped? I’m not quite sure which word to use but that’s the closest I can come up with. Her ‘Don’t Wanna Fall in Love’ solo for the Doll Domination album was..difficult for me to listen to; she almost souned like a chipmunk and her voice was nasal. Though after PCD, she formed a duo with Spencer Nezey called Her Majesty & the Wolves and in their song ‘Stars in Your Eyes’ she sounds like she has better vocal control but her voice forever sounds light and sweet. She sounds good during this performance but the backing track is so loud as if to cover the lack of vocal strength on her part; so take that and add the awkward dancing and it looks like she’s performing karaoke.

Kimberly doesn’t have a wide range but then again having a big range isn’t everything and it doesn’t mean with proper vocal technique she can gain even better control and help her voice ‘mature’ a bit. In ‘Goodbye, Goodnight’, she uses her falsetto which sounds cute, light and sweet but in this live performance, with that loud backing track again her voice does nothing for me at all and the woman looks like she is trying to sing. I. Just. Can’t. But during ‘Walking On the Sun’ her voice sounds beautiful; well controlled, cool with some nice subtle vibrato.

Apart from singing, many PCD fans love Kimberly for being a beast on a the dance floor. Watch this performance, and this one, she’s dancing as if her life depended on it, I LOVE it! She was also known mostly for her standing splits, so here’s ‘split’ master #2.

Vocal range: Mezzo-Soprano- Best suited for: Pop, Electro Pop

Listen to: Santa baby, Glaciers, Stars In Your Eyes

Jessica Sutta aka...

the brunette (turned redhead) with

THE

MOST

GORGEOUS

SMILE!

Before I start my analysis, I just want to laugh at PCD’s record label’s poor attempt at covering up the fact that Carmit had left group. Before PCD’s second album, rumor is (label, Robin Antin, whoever it may have been) had Jessica dye her hair red so maybe people or fans wouldn’t notice, now that’s what you call cutting corners! And are the members that repleaceable or unimportant? these people are sad. Anyway, moving on to better things.

My introduction to Jessica’s vocal talent was ‘If I Was A Man’ on the ‘Doll Domination’ album which to be honest, a child could sing. PCD’s record company must have really wanted to downplay the girls’ talents because if that song was all I ever heard from Jessica, then any time I heard her name, I would run in the opposite direction.

But THANK GOODNESS Jessica for showing us what sexy, sultrous and beautiful voice which was hiding underneath that sing-talking, nasal and whiny falsetto or whatever thing you had going on. I love the tone of her voice and she is also a vocal chameleon; she can easily portray different kinds of emotions and she has good voice control as well; not very powerful but defintely solid. Examples of her low notes would be in the bridge of ‘We Can’t Dance Anymore’, that rich tone in ‘Gotta get you’ also take note of her belt notes in that song. Other songs like ‘Shame’ demonstrate her mezzo range and she sings with vulnerability in the song. Not only that but if you haven’t heard her mixtape ‘Feline Resolution’ nor her album ‘I say Yes, Give them a listen, you won’t regret it! You’ll have jams for ‘dem nice cozy nights, chilly summer nights, rainy days, sunny days, romantic days, party days, days you wanna beat somebody up, days you wanna cry, whatever you have going on in your life, she’s got a song for you!

Vocal range: Alto, Mezzo-Soprano- Best suited for: Pop, R&B, Rock, Contemporary

Listen to: Show Me, Shame, Lights Out, Feline Resurrection, Gotta get you, We can’t dance anymore, Feel Like Making Love, Universe.

Ashley Roberts aka...

...the sweet and sassy blonde

I feel with Ashley I don’t really have much to say except for that she has a beautiful voice. Whatever she’s singing, she delivers and i think it’s because she knows her limits and knows her strengths. Her voice is sweet and light and sometimes raspy, her lower notes are hauntingly beautiful and she sings songs that are within her range so she always sounds beautiful lol. But I think in knowing her limits she limits herself a bit too much when she could have pushed on a little bit more. For example in ‘All in a day’, her voice is dark and raspy and I kept waiting for the part of the song that would bring an emotional high and take me to the Heavens but alas, it never came. Oh welp. In another song, she plays it way too safe then again I could listen to this while sitting on a cozy sofa while watching a sad movie.

Vocal range: Mezzo-Soprano- Best suited for: Country, Pop, R&B, Folk

Listen to: Clockwork, Lonely lights, Face of Love, All in a Day

Melody Thornton aka...

....’Baby Doll’

Two years after getting into the Pussycat Dolls, I see this video and nearly fell off of my chair, obviously from the shock of hearing Melody’s voice for the first time and wondering why the hell she wasn’t one of the lead singers. Well we all know now that the company wasn’t gonna have any of that. I’ll keep my analysis simple for Melody , she has a powerful voice, that’s all there is to it. ‘Baby Doll’ was her nickname while in the group because she was the youngest but who can forget her set of pipes? She made it into the group as a vocalist and we know why, it’s because of the runs, um...vocal runs that is lol, melismatic vocal runs. I bet you all PCD fans know her runs by heart because they’re so iconic lol. As far as range, her low notes sometimes fall flat so she sings better when she’s in her middle notes (belting chest voice), falsetto and head voice. She also has a strong vibrato which can get out of control during live performances, other than that, she has a solid voice.

Vocal range: Soprano- Best suited for: R&B, Pop

Listen to: Sway, Tainted Love, Buttons, Stickwithu, Bite The Dust, I don’t Need a Man.

In conclusion, my final rank is: Nicole, Melody, Jessica, Carmit, Ashley and Kimberly.

My favorite PCD & solo songs: Buttons, I Hate This Part, Beep (PCD), Don’t Hold Your Breath, Poison, Run, Boomerang (N), Show Me, Gotta Get You (J), Clockwork (A).

Credit goes to owner(s) of any article, picture, audio, or video mentioned or used. None of those belong to me.

Thanks everyone, leave comments, suggestions, discuss!

*Following Robin Antin’s de-facto motto about ‘every woman having an inner doll’ I included 2 picures for each member, 1 picture “represents’ the person and the other her ‘doll’ side. Feel free to disagree with my interpretation.

***Mini rant: I used stereotypical taglines for all the members not because I prefer to use them but because that’s the way most non-fans would remember them in case they read this analysis. Imagine how far they could have gotten if their record contracts didn’t suck? I don’t think the company really thought things through and the way they handled PCD makes the group seem like a novelty act with Nicole and the 5 nameless women behind her.

#Pussycat Dolls #pcd #nicole scherzinger #melody thornton #Carmit Bachar #Jessica Sutta #Ashley Roberts #Kimberly wyatt #vocal analysis #vocal abilities #pop music #girl groups

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sabrinafuadwrites · 7 years ago

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For the past God knows how long, I've been so demotivated and felt like I wasn't good enough for anything. A-Levels isn't easy, I've always known that. Back in my second semester, my Psychology teacher told me that this was the semester that students often fell into depression because of the pressure of the AS exams. I thought she was exaggerating but hell she wasn't.

I questioned my self worth over & over again, knowing that even though I didn't have sponsor requirements to meet, I had to do well enough to get into the universities I wanted. My family is insanely Asian mind you, always wanting me to do well academically and basically in everything & anything that I do.

I studied but I never thought that what I was doing is enough, I wasn't excited with how I sometimes couldn't answer what my friends or teachers were asking me in class, I wasn't ecstatic when I noticed how some people seemed like they had their shit together - cos hell nah did I have mine.

But AS came and went.

The day of results was nerve wrecking. I took four subjects at AS level, an extra subject as a back up. I remember how my hands were shaking as I typed in my username and password into the CIE website. When it finally loaded, my eyes darted at my grades.

I didn't get straight As.

My results were AAAB, which actually isn't all too bad considering that I only ever needed grades from three subjects for university applications but the Asian in me was crying, you know? I went home and my family were proud of me. I was happy too, I guess.

My dad being the Asian he is, however asked me to retake my fourth subject (in which I didn't get an A for) in the winter seating. My heart dropped because I was hoping that I could have just took the easy way out and dropped it, but also because the winter seating was barely a month away and in the month leading up to the exam, I would have the college's mid semester exams to sit for, plenty of events to prepare for and most importantly my personal statement for university applications to write & perfect. But nevertheless, I registered anyway.

I know for sure I didn't study enough for the paper. And I know that winter papers are usually more difficult than the summer papers. I came out of the examination hall not at all confident that my grades were to improve. I didn't think too much about it.

I threw myself into writing my personal statement. I started writing pretty damn late to be honest, but I spent almost every waking hour thinking about it. It was frustrating, knowing that this 47 lined essay was to represent me to the five universities that I was applying to. The night I sat to sit to write my personal statement, I only took 2 hours to finish it when most people took 2 weeks. But I didn't think it was good enough.

I spent the next month or so trying to make it good enough to me, regardless of how the people who read it told me it was amazing. I didn't want to settle with other people's opinions if I wasn't happy with my own work. To be frank, even on the day I pressed the "submit" button on my UCAS page, I still wasn't 100% happy with my personal statement. I continuously felt like there was room for improvement. But what seemed like a miracle, I received offers barely two weeks after I submitted my application. By the end of my third semester, I left college for the semester break with conditional offers from three out of five universities.

Since I'm planning to further my studies in Law, some universities in the UK required me to sit for another exam - the LNAT. The remaining two universities which I didn't hear from yet required me to do so. I didn't study too much for my LNAT. But heck, I studied enough for me to be down with what must have been the worst flu in my life to date. I went into the examination room with a runny nose, a spinning head and a fever. I really thought I screwed up because I could barely think.

A week after my LNAT though, I received another offer. That's four down, and one more to go. This last university was known to take their sweet time to make a decision, so it was always at the back of my mind. But it was my ultimate dream university, one that was selective of those who received offers to study there.

The new semester started and it's my last. I was sad knowing this, knowing that I would have to leave this college and my friends but at the same time work my butt off to meet university requirements. I was minding my own business and studying for a test in the library when a friend pulled a chair and joined me. He was planning to pursue Law too, and he told me he just got rejected by the university that I was waiting a reply from. I started to worry.

The next day, I was walking back to my room from the library at about 10PM with a friend when I accidentally pressed the Mail app button on my phone. I saw that UCAS emailed me, saying that there was an update in my application. I freaked out, my legs started to shake, because I knew that it was a reply from the university. When I finally had the courage to check my UCAS Track, I had my phone in one hand and another hand gripping tight to a friend's hand.

Then I saw that I received an offer.

Have you ever been given something you thought you never deserved? Do you know how it feels? Yeah, that was exactly what I felt. It was crazy surreal. I was crazy happy & felt a whole new motivation. It was always my aim since the beginning to receive offers from all five universities that I applied to, and I did. Thank you, God. All that was left to do was to study, hustle and meet my requirements.

Then A2 came.

It was pretty shit for me to be really honest, even though I know I studied. I’m the kind who always gets sick when exam season approaches, so I was trying my best not to get sick this time around because I didn’t want to be miserable when taking my papers.

My very first paper was absolute hell. I never in my life cried over exam papers before, but this time around I cried for three days. I wasn’t planning to go home the weekend after my first paper, because I had two papers the week after. But I went home anyway, I just needed to be around people who weren’t taking the exams either.

The exams were just, really bad - for me anyway. And somewhere deep down I knew I wouldn’t be able to meet my requirements for the universities I wanted to go to.

A few months later, it was A2 results day.

I was in shock, to be honest. And it wasn’t even the good kind of shock. I was shocked at how badly I did. I didn’t meet the requirements for both my firm and insurance universities, and it wasn’t even a near miss. I called up my parents and a really close friend, and for the first five minutes when they picked up the phone I didn’t do anything but cry. I didn’t say a word and I cried really, really badly. I felt like I was a lost child, I didn’t know what to do with my life, if I could even go to the UK for university, I felt that all the effort I put into A-Levels for the past two years was wasted. The day after, I was still bursting into tears randomly. I just couldn’t fathom how horrible my results were. To this day I’m confused as to why I did as I did. I was disappointed in myself to say the least, and I guess that’s really one of the worst feelings anyone could feel.

But I knew I couldn’t be crying over it for too long.

My brother’s wedding was just two days after results day and I was going to have to meet a lot of people over the weekend, so I tried to compose myself because I wanted to be the person that people knew I was. I had a really good time with my family and friends, and for a weekend I forgot about how sad I was. The people around me kept telling me that it was a rough patch and not a rough life, that maybe something good was going to come out of the situation. The weddings were a good distraction for me because after that my head was clear and I could think of a Plan B. I wanted to go to UK for university, I didn’t want to have said my A-Levels were a waste of my time & brain cells.

On the day Clearing opened, I called university after university to ask them about their vacancies and thankfully, I got a few offers. I was beyond relieved, the operators could hear it in my voice I’m sure. By that night, I already had a place in a university that I was happy with.

To be able to get a place in university after everything, I was insanely happy. It was such an amazing feeling, it felt crazy good to be excited about my future again. Even though it wasn’t what I originally planned, but thinking about it, there’s so many good things that came out from this situation. It has always been God’s plan for me to end up this way.

I guess my point in writing this is to remind myself that there’s always, ALWAYS a silver lining to every dark, gloomy cloud. It’s like God took something I wanted away from me to make sure I realise what I already have - an amazing support system. My family and friends believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself, and they made sure I was sane enough after A2 results day. They let me lick my wounds and cry my heart out but also reminded me that it isn’t the end of the world, that there can always be a backup plan. I received really heartwarming texts & calls of support and love from my friends, heck even my teacher back in college checked up on me every single day through email.

There really isn’t a way for me to properly thank everyone for all the love I got that week, it reminded me well that I have really great people in my life.

People always say that you have more friends when you’re happy rather than when you’re sad, but this rough patch showed me that I always have top notch friends when I’m at a low. I don’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for the company I keep and there isn’t any possible way to describe how much I cherish them.

I want to believe that what happened was for the best, and it made me realise that God always has my back, even when I feel like I don’t deserve it. Regardless of how much of my life I plan, God’s plans are always the best. It’s okay to be disappointed for awhile when things don’t go your way, but losing hope completely won’t really bring you anywhere. There’s always a way to achieve dreams and get what you want, it’s just a matter of how much you want it & to what extents would you go to get it. It might not have been the plan that you had in mind at first but sooner or later you’ll see the good in how it turns out. Believing that things always happen for a reason will help keep you sane and your hope in check. It did me.

I’m glad to say that by this time next month, I would be enrolled in law school in the United Kingdom and would have just started classes. I’m really excited but at the same time I’m really nervous but I think I’ll be fine. Hopefully, anyway.

I haven’t been this happy and content with life in a really long time, and it feels amazing.

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needcuddle · 8 years ago

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lyrics

Sober

Night, midnight, lose my mind/(When you get to my high, when you get to my)

Oh, God, I'm clean out of air in my lungs/ It's all gone/Played it so nonchalant/It's time we danced with the truth/ Move alone with the truth/ We're sleeping through all the days

I'm acting like I don't see/ Every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me

But my hips have missed your hips/So, let's get to know the kicks/Will you sway with me?

Go astray with me?/

We're King and Queen of the weekend/Ain't a pill that could touch our rush/(But what will we do when we're sober?)/When you dream with a fever/Bet you wish you could touch our rush/

(But what will we do when we're sober?)/These are the games of the weekend/We pretend that we just don't care/But we care

Oh, God, I'm closing my teeth/Around this liquor-wet lime/Midnight, lose my mind/I know you're feeling it too/Can we keep up with the ruse?/B-bodies all through my house/I know this story by heart/Jack and Jill get fucked up and possessive/When it get dark

Midnight, we're fading/'Til daylight, we're jaded/We know that it's over/In the morning, you'll be dancing with all the heartache/And the treason, the fantasies of leaving/But we know that, when it's over/In the morning, you'll be dancing with us/(Midnight, lose my mind, midnight, lose my mind)

Homemade Dynamite

A couple rebel top gun pilots/ Flying with nowhere to be/ Don't know you super well/ But I think that you might be the same as me/Behave abnormally

Let's let things come out of the woodwork/ I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies

Yeah, awesome right?/ So let's let things come out of the woodwork/ I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lines/ Seeing me rolling, showing someone else love/ Dancing with our shoes off/ Know I think you're awesome, right?

Our rules, our dreams, we're blind/ Blowing shit up with homemade d-d-d-dynamite

Our friends, our drinks, we get inspired

Might get your friend to drive, but he can hardly see/ We'll end up painted on the road/ Red and chrome/ All the broken glass sparkling/I guess we're partying

Our friends, our drinks, we get inspired/ Now you know it's really gonna blow/ Our rules, our dreams, we're blind

The Louvre

Well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue/ Our days and nights are perfumed with obsession/ Half of my wardrobe is on your bedroom floor/ Use our eyes, throw our hands overboard

I am your sweetheart psychopathic crush/ Drink up your movements, still I can't get enough

I overthink your punctuation use/ Not my fault, just a thing that my mind do

A rush at the beginning/ I get caught up, just for a minute/ But lover, you're the one to blame

All that you’re doing/ Can you hear the violence?/ Megaphone to my chest

Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom/ And make 'em all dance to it

Our thing progresses/ I call and you come through/ Blow all my friendships/ To sit in hell with you/ But we’re the greatest/ They’ll hang us in the Louvre/ Down the back, but who cares—still the Louvre/ Okay I know that you are not my type(still I fall)/ I’m just the sucker who let you fill her mind(but what about love?)/ Nothing wrong with it/ Supernatural/ Just move in close to me, closer, you’ll feel it coasting

Hard feelings/LOVELESS

(Go back and tell it)/Please could you be tender/And I will sit close to you/Let’s give it a minute before we admit that we’re through/Guess this is the winter/Our bodies are young and blue

I’m at Jungle City, it’s late and this song is for you

Cause I remember the rush, when forever was us/Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust

Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost/Well I guess I should go

Hard feelings—/these are what they call hard feelings of love/When the sweet words and fevers all leave us right here in the cold/Alone with the hard feelings of love/God I wish I believed ya when you told me this was my home

I light all the candles/Cut flowers for all my rooms/I care for myself the way I used to care about you/These days, we kiss and we keep busy/The waves come after midnight

I call from underwater/Why even try to get right?/When you’ve outgrown a lover

The whole world knows but you/It’s time to let go of this endless summer afternoon

Three years, loved you every single day, made me weak, it was real for me, yup, real for me

Now I'll fake it every single day 'til I don’t need fantasy, 'til I feel you leave

But I still remember everything, how we’d drift buying groceries, how you’d dance for me

I’ll start letting go of little things 'til I’m so far away from you, far away from you, yeah

“What is this tape?”/“This is my favorite tape”/Bet you wanna rip my heart out/Bet you wanna skip my calls now/Well guess what? I like that/‘Cause I’m gonna mess your life up

Gonna wanna tape my mouth shut/Look out, lovers

Sober II

You asked if I was feeling it, I’m psycho high/ Know you won’t remember in the morning when

I speak my mind/ Lights are on and they��ve gone home, but who am I?/ Oh, how fast the evening passes, cleaning up/ The champagne glasses

We told you this was melodrama/(Oh, how fast the evening passes Cleaning up the champagne glasses)/ Our only wish is melodrama

And the terror/And the horror/ When we wonder why we bother/ And the terror and the horror

God, I wonder why we bother/ All the glamour and the trauma and the fuckin'/ Melodrama

All the gun fights/ And the lime lights/ And the holy sick divine nights/ They’ll talk about us, all the lovers/ How we kiss and kill each other/ They’ll talk about us, and discover/ How we kissed and killed each other

Writer in the Dark

Break the news—you're walking out/ To be a good man for someone else/ Sorry I was never good like you/ Stood on my chest and kept me down/ Hated hearing my name on the lips of a crowd/ Did my best to exist just for you

Bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark/Now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart

I am my mother's child, I'll love you 'til my breathing stops/I'll love you 'til you call the cops on me/ But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power/ I'll find a way to be without you, babe

I still feel you, now and then/ Slow like pseudo-ephedrine/ When you see me, will you say I've changed?/I ride the subway, read the signs/ I let the seasons change my mind/ I love it here since I’ve stopped needing you

Supercut

In my head, I play a supercut of us/ All the magic we gave off/ All the love we had and lost

And in my head/ The visions never stop/ These ribbons wrap me up/ But when I reach for you

There's just a supercut

In your car, the radio up/We keep trying to talk about us/I'm someone you maybe might love

I’ll be your quiet afternoon crush/ Be your violent overnight rush/ Make you crazy over my touch

So I fall/ Into continents and cars/ All the stages and the stars/ I turn all of it/ To just a supercut

'Cause in my head (in my head, I do everything right)/ When you call (when you call, I'll forgive and not fight)/ Because ours are the moments I play in the dark/ We were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart

Liability (Reprise)

Whatcha gonna do?/ All of the dreams that get harder/ All of the things that I offer you/ And all of the shit that we harbor/ Make all of the kids in the choirs sing woo-hoo/ Maybe all this is the party/ Maybe the tears and the highs we breathe/ Maybe all this is the party/ Maybe we just do it violently

But you're not what you thought you were

You leave

Perfect Place

Every night, I live and die/ Feel the party to my bones/ Watch the wasters blow the speakers

Spill my guts beneath the outdoor light/ It's just another graceless night/ I hate the headlines and the weather/ I'm 19 and I'm on fire/ But when we're dancing I'm alright/ It's just another graceless night

Are you lost enough?/ Have another drink, get lost in us/ This is how we get notorious, oh

'Cause I don't know/ If they keep tellin' me where to go/ I'll blow my brains out to the radio, oh

All of the things we're taking/ 'Cause we are young and we're ashamed/ Send us to perfect places/ All of our heroes fading/ Now I can't stand to be alone/ Let's go to perfect places

Every night, I live and die/ Meet somebody, take 'em home/ Let's kiss and then take off our clothes/ It's just another graceless night

All the nights spent off our faces/ Trying to find these perfect places/ What the fuck are perfect places anyway?

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realedreform · 8 years ago

Text

Sick Days

On a recent Thursday afternoon:

I just called for a sub to cover my duties tomorrow.

My youngest, (of the three girls I have written so much about in the past) didn’t really want to go to school this morning, was clearly feeling not-right (just not bad enough for me to let her stay home). She made it through the day only to end up with a fever of 104 by about 4PM and collapsed on the couch to sleep through dinner time. So I went to call in a day to get a substitute teacher to cover me. Silly me, I lost the automated sub-service username and log-in code used for when dialing into the automated system. Man, it used to be so much easier (on the people calling in-not so much the sub caller or even the sub themselves).

But what to do? My wife had no flexibility for taking the time for tomorrow. Sometimes she can do some rearranging-but there was no way this time.

The same recent Thursday, but later:

Turns out that I remembered an old email from another district employee telling about a few days where she would be monitoring the call-in system and covering for the person who usually handles that. So I sent her a quick text to see if she could help me out. In the end it all worked out and I got someone to be me. And I got my username and log-in info now so it won’t be such a hassle should I need to do this again.

Also, guess who that substitute is going to be: one of the women in the family that heads the little Baptist church in the village; a church that students are released to for religious education on Thursday afternoons. No, I do not teach in a religious school-but I teach in a pretty religious little town. Anyways, she’s at the church, she does summer bible school, AND she drives bus when needed. On field trips, on regular daily routes... And you could never know a more gracious, caring, smiling, and perpetually positive person. She and her family are fixtures in our community.

And she’s me tomorrow! You don’t know the load it takes off a teacher’s mind when they find out that a reliable person and personality will be there in their absence to guide the students through the “have-to” , “do if you want”, and the “if nothing seems to be working, then do this”. Most teachers I know don’t really like being out, but guess what-life happens to teachers too. They get sick, they have bank business and lawyer business, they have families and parents and spouses and children and pets and cars...and all those things get sick too and taking care of them means taking some time off. Not only are these dedicated, professional teachers wrapped up in all the little, young, and grown up lives around them every day; not only are they in that room and in that building with hundreds of flu carriers and coughing, runny noses; not only do they become privy to the heart-breaking problems and respiratory-wrecking germs in that emotional and biological Petri dish called “school”... These teachers need a day off once in a while, and they earn it. Believe me. They are super, and I don’t mean the dramatized charter-promotional movie kind. I mean the real, quietly un-promoted, every-single day for long hours and many years, going above, beyond and outside the call of duty kind.

Again, they need a day off once in a while. This time I needed that day.

But like most teachers, I really don’t like being away from my students and colleagues, and at first I was only going to take a half day because my wife said she could get home and take over with our daughter. Then I found out that this particular sub would get called in, that she had bus duty and would be dropping kids off at school, taking the bus back to the bus garage, doing the shut-down/visual inspection stuff and then getting to school a little late. Not her fault at all, she does the job she’s given and does it well. But if I came in for an afternoon half-day, she would barely get in a couple hours in the school. Hardly worth the time, from her perspective, if a chance for her to put in a full day was to come up.

So I just took the full day. My little girl was so sad and feverish, and yes my wife could have pulled strings and made it home and I could have gone in...But I did the right thing. These benefit days exist out of respect for the fact that life happens, sick happens, even to teachers. And l have done the math to figure out that most teachers I know put in the hours beyond the school day, during the school year, to cover a summer vacation worth of school days and more. On top of that, the woman called in for me deserves to have her talents utilized beyond bus driving duty.

The very next day, Friday, and early:

I’d gotten up early to get to school around 6:30 AM, driving the snowy roads about 20 minutes to leave some hand-written supplemental stuff, then had to turn around and get back quickly to make sure my wife and other two girls could get out the door. Because I live in a rural area, and teach in a rural school with a fairly high level of poverty, there are resources and services available to our students at no cost to them. One is a physician’s assistant who has been wonderful, supportive, and understanding as our daughter (and our family) deals with the repercussions of PANDAS- a condition that virtually took my youngest daughter away from us quite suddenly and replaced her with a totally different child. Thanks to the diligent research of my wife, this school-based professional, and a diagnosis and course of treatment most traditional doctors still don’t accept-my daughter is much better. Still not entirely herself, but I can be thankful for how lucky we are.

But anyway, I return to school to bring my girl in a little after the start of the school day to minimize her contact with others and go straight to the nurse’s office for some poking, prodding, a throat swab (*gag*)... and the whole time I’m thinking “I’m so grateful my kids will get a good substitute who will get value out of the materials I left.”

Later Friday:

My wife actually finishes her Fridays in the same school our kids go to and I teach in, so when she came home she shared some news. My substitute was shifted to cover another spot. She was prepared to have my duties, and came dressed to teach. Instead, she was shifted to cover someone else, likely an aide or assistant spot, and she wasn’t prepared to cover an outdoor recess. When my wife caught her in the hallway and asked how it was to be me (trust me, it’s a daily struggle but I manage to get by) she found out.

When my wife told me, I was bothered on a few levels:

1) Yes, my family needs me and I don’t regret for a moment taking benefit time that I have been a part of negotiating for (as union president and as VP), that I have earned, that I deserve...But uncertainty regarding “What will happen if I’m away?” is one of the reasons teachers are tentative to take time even when it’s needed. I know the insolent sheep in the education reform camp like to throw out stuff like “Other workers don’t get paid sick days,” and “Teachers get too much time off already,” and all-but suck it up, buttercup. There’s a reason why I can do what I do and you can’t-and if you really thought it was such a sweet deal-you might be doing it instead of posing as an authority on how it should be done and what kind of time off any teacher needs or deserves.

2) I was bothered that my students had missed the opportunity to benefit from a quality person there in my stead. I don’t know who was there or if they even had someone...they may have cancelled my services for the day. I push in to support a few classrooms and pull students out for more formal intervention services but know that in a pinch services are cancelled if coverage can’t be found. In my opinion, recess coverage is less important (not that recess isn’t important), but I don’t know the technicalities of being the administrator or the specifics on who else might have not been in that day. Maybe I was deemed more expendable or more easily done without considering who else wasn’t in.

3) I feel like I have a debt to the wonderful person who should have been me, and should have had the chance to work with kids in the way she love to instead of freezing her cheeks, her nose, her fingers...The only reason I really took the whole day was because of the comfort of knowing I could because it would be her covering for me.

Well, Monday is a staff conference day (no students), so if she’s in I might have to get her some hot chocolate.

IndexO'�_�(ct

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