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mizjoely · 3 years ago

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Day 12: Office Holiday Party

I've gone more than a bit off piste with this ASiB redo, but it does start with an office party, so there is that...It's also a bit long so it's under the cut below. Enjoy!

Office Holiday Party

She doesn’t attend John and Sherlock’s Christmas party, even though John invites her. It’s the same night as the St. Bart’s party and she attends that one instead, a spur-of-the-moment decision that she makes after thinking about (brooding a bit) the fact that it was John that invited her, somewhat off-handedly, rather than Sherlock. While she waffled she’d bought gifts for the two of them, and one for Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, and even something for John’s new girlfriend (the ‘boring teacher with the dogs’, is how she vaguely recalls Sherlock’s description of the poor woman). She debates her decision long and hard, but in the end caution wins out over hope, and off to Barts she pops. She’ll deliver the gifts on her way home, she decides, if it isn't too late.

She wears a new dress - black, with black straps decorated in silver and a fitted skirt (she never learned the proper names of skirt shapes aside from “pencil” and “mini”). She carefully does her hair, letting it cascade down her back, and dons a silver bow in honor of the season; she drinks a bit too much rum punch and enjoys herself as much as someone who’s as socially awkward as she is can.

As she’s gathering her things preparatory to leaving - still of two minds whether she’ll go home or stop by 221B Baker Street - she hears a commotion by the doors. She looks over, surprised and a little disconcerted to see Sherlock Holmes in the company of a slightly older man she’s never seen before.

“Ah, Sherlock, good of you to join us!” Mike Stamford says, cheeks flushed with hearty good cheer - and more than a bit of that rum punch. He thrusts a plastic cup into Sherlock’s hand. “Toast the season with us, eh?”

Sherlock doesn’t take so much as a single polite sip, simply hands the cup back to Mike while his eyes scan the crowd. He stops when he finds Molly, their eyes meeting, and he beelines for her while Mike sputters a protest (and quickly downs the rejected drink) and the stranger follows in Sherlock’s wake.

She recognizes him when they get closer; she doesn’t know his name but she’s seen him around the hospital once or twice during government inspections. “Miss Hooper,” he says, his voice very much Government Official, “if you would be so kind, there’s a body we need to examine.”

She looks uncertainly at Sherlock - surely they don’t want her to perform an autopsy when she’s half in the bag! - and he offers her a curt nod. “We just need to look at it,” he says, his voice a bit rough with some unidentifiable (to her, at any rate) emotion. “To possibly identify it. Her.”

Molly stammers out her willingness to be of help and the three of them head down to the morgue. She finds the proper drawer and wheels the body out for the two men (who is the older man and how does he know Sherlock?) to examine.

The face is badly damaged, bashed in with some sort of blunt instrument so she’s not sure exactly how they’re going to be able to identify the woman - but then Sherlock whisks back the sheet and nods. “It’s her.”

He turns and leaves without another word, and Molly looks over at Mr. Government. “Who is she?” she asks. “And how did he identify her from...not her face?”

The man gives her a rather pitying smile, then leaves without answering either question.

She puts the body back and heads out, only to find Sherlock waiting for her. He smells of cigarettes but she can hardly blame him for needing some sort of crutch, not tonight. “Share a cab?” he asks, then escorts into the one that arrives at his hail, climbing in next to her.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

He shrugs. “How was the party?” he asks, obviously changing the subject.

She shrugs back at him. “It was all right, I guess. Lots of booze and people getting a bit too chummy with each other, if you know what I mean.” She laughs somewhat self-consciously. “Of course you know what I mean, what was I thinking, putting it that way.”

“What about you?”

“Pardon? What about me?” she asks, confused.

He’s looking straight ahead, not at her, and his jaw is clenched. “Did you get ‘a bit too chummy’ with anyone?” He reaches out, still without looking, and fingers the fabric of her skirt. “That’s a new dress, a bit fancy for an office party, don’t you think? And that shade of lipstick, such a bright red!” He glances critically at her bag of gifts - gifts for him and the others who’d attended the party at 221B - and adds with a sneer, “It matches the ribbon on that top gift, the one you’ve taken so much care to wrap. For your new boyfriend?”

Before Molly can do more than gape at him - her cheeks reddening in humiliation, he continues, his lip curling in a sneer, “Judging by your appearance, Miss Hooper, it’s obvious you have lurrrve on your mind.”

She wants to slap him. She wants to slap him three times, so badly that she balls her hands into fists to keep from doing so. “Are you finished?” she asks when he finally falls silent. “I know you’ve had a shock tonight, but that’s no excuse to take it out on me!” She shakes her head. “You always say such terrible things.”

They remain in cold, uncomfortable silence almost until they reach Molly’s flat. As she starts to get out of the cab he stops her with a hand on her arm. “I am sorry,” he says softly. “Forgive me.” Then he leans forward and drops a kiss on her cheek.

“Why?” she asks, ignoring the cabbie’s grumbled complaints of ‘you gettin’ out or not, miss?’ from the driver’s seat. “Sherlock, what’s going on? Who was that woman?” She draws in a deep breath and asks him the question she’d asked the other man at the hospital. “How did you recognize her from not her face?”

Sherlock responds by handing the annoyed cabbie the fare, then ushering her out of the cab and joining her on the pavement. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” he says, indicating her front door. Still a bit dazed, Molly unlocks the door and waits until they’ve shed overcoats and shoes (no wet shoes on her nice clean carpets, thank you very much!) and settled on the sofa.

“Not what I would have expected,” he says, glancing around and taking in the clean, cool colors and lines of her minimalist first floor.

“I had a decorator in,” she says with a shrug. “I need someplace calm to unwind after a hectic day’s work and...Sherlock,” she interrupts herself, daringly placing a hand on his, “please. Tell me.”

So he does; surprisingly, he tells her even more than she’d asked. Irene Adler is the woman’s name - no, The Woman, she thinks with a pang. She can hear the capitalization, the importance of this client, in the way he speaks, sees the pain he’s trying to hide in his eyes. “You look sad,” she blurts out as he finally falls silent. She ignores the silent rejoicing in her heart at his description of his and John’s first meeting with Irene and her nudity, instead giving his hand a slight squeeze of sympathy. “I’m sorry, she must have meant a great deal to you even though she was a client.”

A client and definitely an adversary of sorts; just the sort of woman to pique his interest, she thinks sadly. Not like me at all.

“Stop that,” Sherlock says sharply, and Molly looks up at him, startled. She’s even more startled to realize that their hands are still clasped; when she tries to pull away he makes an irritated sort of growling noise and holds her tighter. “You’re thinking far too loudly, Molly. There’s no need for you to be jealous. Yes, I admit, she caught my attention, she was a challenge but don’t ever feel you need to compare yourself to her.”

With a flash of insight - that she prays isn’t just her hopes, however forlorn, getting the better of her - Molly breathes out a soft “Oh” and says, “You don’t have to be jealous either, Sherlock.” She reaches with her free hand into the bag of gifts and pulls out the top one with its red bow and careful wrapping and hands it to him. “Go on, read the tag.”

Brow furrowed, he does so, remaining silent for a long pair of minutes before finally speaking. “Dearest Sherlock, love Molly,” he reads, then looks up at her. “Girlfriends aren’t my area, Molly.”

She nods. “I-I understand.” She can feel tears clogging her throat but she’s never been one to cry in front of anyone, especially not a man. Certainly not this man.

She tries to pull her hand away again, only to let out a muffled squeak as he suddenly hauls her closer, until their faces are only inches apart. “I’ll be a terrible boyfriend, Molly, but perhaps...you’d be willing to give me a chance?”

Then he kisses her, and she kisses him back, and all she can think is that if she’d just gone to his party in the first place, maybe they could have been doing this that much sooner. Or perhaps not; either way, she’ll never know, but she’s happy enough with the way things have turned out not to care.

#dis is mine #sherlolly #fandom christmas in july #mizjoely writes #mizjoely's fics

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kafka-ish · 4 years ago

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stuck between a rock and a hard place | s.u.

after one fateful night, stan uris finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place when him and his friend like the same girl.

word count: 5,428

warnings/included: pining, love triangle, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “could you write a bill denbrough, reader, and stanley uris love triangle? maybe where they’re always trying to one up each other for her attention? ty”

“I don’t get what you see in her.” Stan was eyeing y/n from across the cafeteria while Bill droned on for what must have been the fourth time that week about how amazing she was.

“Wuh-well, you wouldn’t under-st-hand.” Bill shook his head. He wasn’t about to try to convince his friend how amazing she made him feel. It was just how he felt.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t get it.” Stan squinted at the girl’s figure. Sure, she was pretty, but looks aren’t everything. “And I don’t get why you insist on sending her things anonymously.”

“If yo-you liked some-someone, wuh-wuh-wouldn’t you want t-to sh-show them?”

Stan’s gaze which was previously fixed on y/n switched to Bill. He gave him a glare because he didn’t understand. “If I liked someone, I would tell them,” he scoffed.

Bill could see where Stan was coming from. The only issue was that he was just too nervous to tell y/n, let alone talk to her. The two shared chemistry and a study hall period together but Bill still hadn’t found an excuse to talk to her. He also hadn’t found a way around his stutter. He wanted his moment with her to be perfect; no stutter, no embarrassment; just the two of them sharing a mutual conversation about whatever… and her finally realizing he’s the perfect match.

He shrugged at Stan’s remark. So, what if his friend didn’t understand? That only meant less competition.

“Hey guys!” Beverly drew both boys’ attention away from Bill’s crush. “There’s a party tonight. Whatd’ya say we all go together?”

“Count me the fuck in!” Richie was the first to reply, enthusiastically at that.

“I have a test tomorrow.” If Stan had a nickel for every time the Losers wanted to do something irrational, he’d be loaded.

“All the more reason to get drunk off your ass.” Richie Tozier had a grin on his face that there was no use wiping off.

And if Stan had a nickel for every time the Losers had convinced him into doing something stupid, he’d be stupid loaded.

The party was at who-knows-where’s house serving who-knows-what.

“Stanny! Stan the Man!” It was Richie Tozier, the convincer himself. He slurred Stan’s name and tripped his way over to the corner Stan was huddled in. “Yougottatrythis.” Richie’s words were incoherent and if he hadn’t been friends with Stan for so long, or were shoving a red solo cup full of something Stan didn’t want to know was in, Stan may have never guessed what his friend was trying to say.

“No thanks—”

“C’monnn.” Groan. “Don’t act like you’re above us, just cos yer sober.” Richie gave him a mopey look that Stan was sure was just another way to mock him.

‘Stan the Man’ did eventually take the cup. Not because he wanted to, but because of the way Richie was jerking it so much, he was afraid some of the contents may spill on his shirt, which he just pressed. Curiously, he brought the plastic cup closer to his nose so he could examine the contents inside better.

His nose twitched at the scent.

It reeked of stale beer, vodka, and was that someone’s mom’s wine?

And although the thought of drinking alcohol before an important day was tempting… Stan knew better. Making an appearance at a lame party rather than studying would be the worst of his crimes tonight. He held the cup away from his face, as far as possible, and started watching the morons around him.

They were drunk to their stomachs; happily grinding against each other to the beat of the music that blasted on the radio. They wouldn’t remember this night if they tried.

Stan, however, would remember. He would remember every detail of this boring party, where no one talked to him; where there’d be throw up in the pool to clean out the next day; where the cops would show up in an hour because the houses next door called in complaints. And Stan would be able to pass his Algebra test with ease the next day while everyone else would be using what was left of their braincells to remember how to factor an imaginary number.

“Hey!” Oh god. It was y/n. What was she doing next to him? The two barely knew each other. In fact, if Bill hadn’t taken a liking to her, or if Stan weren’t friends with Bill, he doubted he’d even know of her existence.

“Hi…” Stan looked skeptically at the girl who was practically throwing herself at him. “Do you need something?”

y/n only hummed in response. She was swaying to the song playing in the background, but her movements didn’t match the beat at all, and she looked just as wasted as the rest of the room.

“Do you speak English?” Stan’s eyebrows furrowed. He leaned down to meet her height. His eyes widened with surprise when she, once again didn’t reply, but wrapped her arm around his neck. Her touch was velvet and she smelled like roses.

Until she opened her mouth.

The potent stench of that cheap alcohol potion, Stan had briefly been intrigued by, hit his nose. He wanted so desperately to get away from her—pass her on to Bill, or something. But she placed a sloppy kiss on his lips just in time.

He’d been embarrassed to admit that was his first kiss.

You were supposed to have your first kiss with your girlfriend, or the girl next door, or best friend. Not with a stranger at some raunchy house party you were dragged to by your idiot friends. And certainly not with the girl your friend liked. But here Stan was, breaking all the rules.

There was something encapsulating about her cherry lip gloss which was smeared from when she kissed him and the way she stumbled terribly because of her inebriated state. Maybe Stan did understand.

y/n’s arm was still wrapped around his neck and her lips were dangerously close to his. He thought she was about to go in for another kiss until words made their way from her lips.

“Take me home?” Stan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This girl who he’d never met before was taking a chance on a total stranger to take her home, trusting that he wouldn’t kidnap or murder her.

“I don’t even know you.” Stan tried his best to look bored when, in reality, this offer was tempting.

“Pleaseeee.” She was now clinging to him for dear life. “I think all my friends left me.” Her pouty expression was the final catalyst to Stan’s reaction.

“In that case… How could I say no?” It was as if his whole personality flipped a switch. His once stone cold and albeit, annoyed, features washed away, revealing a kindhearted guy only the Losers really got a chance to see.

A drunken giggle left her lips and y/n’s arm removed itself from Stan’s neck only to find itself tightly coiled around his arm. This was y/n’s signal for Stan to start making his way through the crowd in order to search for the front door. A task the boy already knew would be horrible.

He started awkwardly shifting and contorting himself just so he wouldn’t have to feel the sweaty bodies surrounding him. He also made sure not to lose y/n, but that task served pretty much impossible due to how fixed her grasp on his arm was.

It didn’t take long for Stan to finally reach the front door (which was somehow trashed). Thank god his shoes, and none of the other items on his being, for that matter, had come into contact with sticky liquid or bodily fluids. But the doorknob was covered in a substance that made Stan visibly cringe when he touched it.

“God, what do people do here.” y/n, still lazily hanging on was about to open her mouth. “I don’t want to know,” Stan said, quickly, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

A laugh so pleasant it made puppies look like beasts fell from y/n’s perfect lips. The longer Stan spent with this girl, the more he found to like about her.

A crisp breeze blew its way to the two of them and Stan wondered how it was this cold already when just last week it reached the seventies. The transition from summer to fall always bewildered him, no matter how many times he’d experience it.

“How far did you park?” She grew impatient and Stan couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t even want to stand. Fortunately, he could see the hood of his car peeking out from behind a someone’s Ford.

“Only a few more steps.” Stan reassured. His pace picked up and before another complaint could slip out of y/n’s mouth. “Oh, look at that, we’re already here.” He opened the door for her, but she didn’t budge. “Are you… gonna get in?” Stan waited rather impatiently for the girl who was lollygagging in front of the open door.

Wordlessly, she turned to face him and held her arms open and Stan understood.

Even though he sighed, Stan still picked her up and placed her gently in the passenger seat of his car.

“Such a gentleman,” she mumbled into his neck before he parted from her. Stan couldn’t help but smile at the remark.

It took awhile for him to find her address. y/n was too out of it to form any coherent sentence besides “you must be the coolest guy ev-ur” and what happened to be the lyrics to Highway to Hell. But after (uncomfortably and frantically) rifling through her purse, after asking where her house was and y/n only pointing to inside her bag, Stan had found the tag of the purse marked with her address in pink sharpie also signed with a heart.

Neither said much on the drive there. Stan was inexperienced with talking to drunk girls, besides Bev, and y/n looked like she was inexperienced with talking. Nonetheless, he tried to make the best of it. He turned on the radio to his favorite station and let the songs carry him through the night.

“Thanks—thank you.” y/n said once Stan had arrived at her place. He walked her up to the porch; her figure stabilized by his arms. Her eyes burned holes through his under the moonlight and Stan was rendered speechless. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She started to sway again like she did at the party, but there was no music to dance to.

“You’re welcome.” Stan had finally mustered the courage to say, but he scolded himself internally for how lame he probably sounded.

“Well… goodnight.” y/n giggled drunkenly before her lips grazed his left cheek softly. It blossomed pink once she touched him. Could it even be considered a touch? It was so light, almost feather-like, and if Stan weren’t watching her like a hawk, he would have missed it.

The door shut with a slam and he cursed in his head for doing this to Bill and he cursed in his head the next day when his mind drew a blank on his functions test.

This was just great.

He scratched his head, as if that would somehow release the numerical knowledge he needed in order to at least get a sixty percent. Alas, it did nothing but relieve the itching on his dry scalp.

He silently racked his brain, yet nothing came. The only thing that came to mind were the events of last night. Are you kidding?

The bell rung.

Stan looked down at his paper only to find his name written neatly and compactly on the line reserved for it in dark lead and a measly ten questions out of the twenty answered. He pressed his lips together so hard, he thought they may bruise. Everyone else was already out the door, except for the slower kids in the back who took their sweet time.

“Uris.” The hairs on Stan’s arm stood to attention when he heard his name being called. He looked around to find the classroom was empty except for him and Mr. Burgess.

“Yes?” Stan looked up to the authority figure and he was wondering if he should pathetically ask for extra time on his test during another period or if he should turn it in as is.

“Don’t you have another class to get to?” Mr. Burgess was patient, but there would be another round of students filing in any minute now.

“Yeah.” Stan stood up and gathered his things. He was hasty but took enough time to put each item in their designated place. “I didn’t get a chance to finish.” Stan was aware third period was now replacing the empty seats and he lowered his voice.

“I see…” Mr. Burgess eyed the paper, both front and back, and then set it on a stack of papers from Stan’s class. “You can finish tomorrow. Either come in early or stay late.”

And at that, Stan was on his merry way to Mrs. Baker’s World Civilization class- or would be. He stopped dead in his tracks when his path crossed y/n’s, a detail he never noticed. Her hands were covering her face to hide the blush that quickly raced to the apples of her cheeks. She was admiring something in her locker, but he couldn’t tell what. One of her girlfriends was standing with her, sharing the same giggles and same look of awe in her eyes.

Stan soon found out her blush was the work of Bill Denbrough’s when the Losers met up at lunch. They were sitting together like they always did, too engrossed in conversation to worry about what the lunch ladies’ specialty was today.

“I h-h-hope y/n luh-likes wh-what I g-guh-gave her,” Bill said all too suddenly.

“I’m sure she will,” Beverly reassured.

“What’d you get her.” It was hard for Stan to contain the jealousy that leaked from his words and instead of a question it sounded more like a demand.

“W-wuh-well usually I ju-just stick a skuh-skuh-sk-hetch in there or-or flow-flowers or something st-stupid an-and sm-small.” Bill cleared his throat as if that would rid him of his speech impediment. “Bu-but thi-this t-t-time I told her-”

“Did’ya sign your name?” Richie inquired. Usually he wouldn’t be interested in this sort of sappy stuff, but he was eager to see the development between Bill and his crush—rather, if Bill would ever grow the balls to reveal himself as y/n’s admirer.

Bill swallowed and kept silent.

“So, no.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised.”

Bill gave his friend a skeptical look. He was confused. While Stan was usually the most passive aggressive of the group, he was never this… insolent. But he shrugged off the countless possibilities for why Stan was acting this way.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” Richie seemed about just as annoyed as Stan was.

“Wh-when the t-t-time’s ruh-ruh-right.” Bill looked to both Stan and Richie sternly, but the two knew better than that. When the time’s right.

Yeah right.

Stan thought back to the scene at y/n’s locker from earlier. The morally sound thing to do would be to tell Bill. Tell Bill how y/n and her friend gushed at the sight of what was inside of her locker. Tell him how y/n’s knees were practically weak while she hid her face furiously with the sleeve of her shirt.

But nothing came out of his mouth. In fact, his mouth never opened. Stan stayed quiet for the last fifteen minutes that the Losers all had together. He stayed quiet as he stared at his salad and thought of y/n.

The y/n who was in an inappropriate state when he took her home. The y/n who was his first kiss. The y/n who was Bill’s crush.

Stan sat on this fact for a while.

He was at his desk, his eyebrows furrowed, and nose scrunched, while thinking this ridiculous inner conflict over. Something in his gut told Stan that Bill was never going to tell y/n how he felt. Bill Denbrough was not someone you’d label a coward, but god, when it came to girls, he was a pussy. On the other hand, there was something else that twisted his insides in another manner, telling Stan even if Bill never told y/n how he felt, that doesn’t mean he should swoop in either.

Stanley Uris was in a pickle.

His lips, once again, pressed against each other tightly, so tight he could feel bone. The mental wheels in his mind were turning, but no matter how far they spun, he still reached no conclusion.

An hour had passed when Stan finally looked at the analog clock that stood on the edge of his desk.

“If I tied a noose around my neck, I bet I’d come to a better conclusion,” Stan said darkly under his breath. He was still staring at the clock. It was getting late, but Richie Tozier would say that’s just when the fun’s starting.

Personally, Stan liked getting a head start on his bedtime routine. The other Losers made fun of him for it, but it kept him sane. He stretched, still sitting down and a yawn left his mouth. He padded his way to the bathroom just across the hall so he could brush his teeth and then change.

When his head full of curls hit his wrinkle free pillowcase and his arms pulled over his comforter to his chest, he assumed all thoughts of y/n would be gone. He would go to sleep, leaving the unconscious to take over his mind and body and he would forget.

He would forget the flowery scent that lingered on his shirt that night because she pressed herself so close to him. He would forget the feeling of her fingers that swept against him in the gentlest way and he would forget how he ever longed to feel them against the rest of him. He would forget that she kissed him—twice. When he would wake, he would have no recollection of that night and for all he knew, he’d never been kissed.

But Stan woke up to the burning want—no. The burning need to tell y/n how he felt. He knew he’d only known her for a fleeting moment, and it was absurd to catch feelings for someone you barely knew. But telling her would be the only way to ease the funny feeling in Stan’s stomach which seemed to be in knots lately.

At least that’s what Stan told himself as he walked up to y/n’s locker during the five-minute passing period they had between second and third period.

Luckily, y/n was there, and he wasn’t just about to confess to a slab of metal. She was chatting up the same friend from yesterday and the same glow lit up her eyes as she was explaining something to her.

“Isn’t it so thoughtful?” Stars replaced her pupils and she ran her fingers over the inked piece of parchment that was slipped into her locker from today.

“There’s no name,” her friend deadpanned. She, too, was looking at the note with y/n. But instead of fawning over the piece of work, she stared unimpressed—bored, almost.

“So?” y/n huffed. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“I think it would count more if you knew who it was from.” Stan wanted to smirk and tell Bill I told you so as he overheard their conversation.

“Yeah but—” y/n’s friend was waiting for her to finish but she stopped once she recognized the boy in front of them. “Hi!” She smiled at Stan and it was now his turn to say something.

“Hello.” He looked between y/n and her friend to which her friend then spoke up.

“I guess I’ll be going now.” And then three became two.

“What’s up?” y/n was oddly cheery considering it was eleven a.m. on a school day.

Where should I start?

Stan looked to her awkwardly and scratched his shoulder. He then noticed the piece of paper that most likely Bill had slipped in her locker that morning. It was a landscape drawing of Main Street, but there was a hidden message written within the building signs. Stan couldn’t quite make out what the message said, but he was sure it said something along the lines of: my heart beats for yours. Something Stan would never understand.

“Can you make this quick? Or maybe you can tell me at lunch?” y/n offered. The drawing was now out of sight—either back in her locker or tucked away in her backpack which was slung over her shoulder.

“I’ll tell you at lunch.” Stan felt his toes curl in his shoes and his heartbeat quicken under his skin.

y/n nodded and walked off. They didn’t need to say goodbye to each other because they’d be meeting each other in an hour, give or take.

y/n would be sitting by herself at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria. Stan spotted her easily because ever since that night it was as if the image of her was ingrained in his brain.

“I’ve been on the edge of my seat ever since you came up to me at my locker,” y/n admitted. There was sort of a shyness that carried itself through her voice that Stan didn’t recognize. She was different under the influence. Confident. Bold. Affectionate. Different. But here she was, in front of him; hunched over, exposing her insecurity of the situation. The fact that she had told him she was anxious for this moment was big for her.

“Really?” Disbelief marked Stan’s face. Girls didn’t usually jump at a chance at Stan and Stan didn’t usually jump at the chance at girls. His studies took too much time away from his social life and the Losers proved to be enough social interaction for him, no matter how many times they’d encouraged him to get out there.

Bill, Stan, Eddie, and Richie were all hanging out in Bill’s room. Richie leaned against the cracked window while he smoked and Eddie sat next to him, taking puffs from his inhaler similarly to how Richie took breaths of the cigarette. He was cautious of the secondhand smoke he feared would enter his lungs. Bill was busy messing with his new record player.

“Record players are so old.” Eddie’s nose scrunched when The Cure started playing but no sign of malice could be detected from his voice.

“Sh-sh-shut up.” Bill laughed and joined the other three, crossing his legs as he sat.

Stan faintly recalled him then going on about y/n and he could sense the others internally groaning with him.

“T-today, her h-h-hand brushed uh-against mine when we were g-getting beakers… ff-for our lab.” His lips curled into an even bigger smile just thinking about it. But he was always smiling at the thought of her. He was now laying on the hardwood floor. His fingers were laced together and stretched behind his head.

It was just a simple interaction, but Bill remembered every detail. He felt his body transport itself to dream world.

Bill was sitting at the lab table with his two other partners—a football player named Jack and a blonde girl named Stacy. He knew as much about them as they knew about him and it wasn’t in his plans to make buddy-buddy with the two. He took the cue to leap from his stool when their teacher announced that one person from each group gets supplies and y/n y/l/n was the designated supplies-getter.

Hastily, he walked over to the cabinet where the beakers were stored. There was already a crowd of unenthusiastic students lined up to get their share and luckily, they cleared the air soon enough. It proved no difficulty for Bill to reach the top shelf, as he had done many times before, but he found it hard to breathe once another, smaller, hand came into contact with his own. Her nails were filed perfectly and painted a deep shade of blue that were chipped to infinity, reminding him of Richie. A silver band hugged her ring finger that felt cold compared to the rest of her hand that pressed against his.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, and Bill gladly stepped aside.

“You can be a sap sometimes, Big Bill,” Richie said, shaking Bill from his daydream.

Bill rolled his eyes and sat up. He wasn’t in the mood to make a jab at Richie, but it would’ve done him good. “I-ih-t’s called having a h-h-heart. You sh-should t-t-t-try it sometime.”

“Oh, it hurts me that you think I’m heartless.” Richie sighed and leaned a little too close for Eddie’s liking. “You don’t think I’m heartless, do ya, Eds?” He started making kissy faces before he doubled over into his lap.

“Shove off.” Eddie pushed him so his side was pressed into the floorboard as he continued to laugh.

“Wuh-wuh-what ab-out you Stan?” Bill turned his attention towards Stan who was listening quietly. His back stood straight, and he hadn’t changed his position since he sat down.

“What about me?” Stan wondered. He was sure this conversation was going to lead into some sort of back and forth girl talk that he had no business being apart of. It wasn’t like Stan wasn’t attracted to girls. He just hadn’t found the right one yet.

That was, until now.

The sound of her backpack unzipping made his ears perk. She was digging for something Stan couldn’t see. Maybe if he was at a different angle…

“You did this, right?” She shoved the neatly folded drawing from earlier in front of his face.

“Wait, what?” Stan looked at her incredulously and took the paper in his hands. Carefully, he unfolded it and smoothed the wrinkles out—not like there were many. He studied his friend’s work. It was obvious Bill had put great effort into it; into liking y/n. To take his credit would be a new low, even for him.

“You’re the one who’s been putting stuff in my locker!” y/n insisted. “I wasn’t really sure until a few nights ago…” Her eyes broke contact from him, all the sudden becoming nervous. “You know… When you took me home?” She faced Stan again and this time Stan was too nervous to look at her.

“No,” He finally said. He wasn’t looking at her so he couldn’t see her confused expression. Stan passed the paper back to her.

“No?”

“I mean…” Stan was wondering how to word this. He didn’t have all day, but he also didn’t know how to get himself out of this dilemma.

How do you tell someone you like them, but you’re not their secret admirer—your friend is?

“I’m not the one who’s been sending you stuff,” Stan said smoothly. Like that.

“You… aren’t?” y/n’s voice started to falter but was soon swallowed by a chuckle. “Well, this is embarrassing.” She haphazardly shoved the parchment into her bag only for her to smooth it out later in the day when she got home.

“No, it’s not.” Stan’s monotone voice served no reassurance for y/n, no matter how much she wanted to hear those words. But she didn’t say anything, only cocked her head, prompting for him to continue. “I’m not the one who’s been putting stuff in your lockers but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

y/n’s already tense muscles relaxed at this, but she was still left with a problem.

“I was so sure of it,” she said in a mumble so low Stan almost didn’t catch.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked. “I like you. Don’t…” Embarrassment crept up the back of his throat as the next sentence spilled out. “Don’t you like me?”

y/n nodded but didn’t say anything. She readjusted herself on her seat, robbing him of an answer.

“Do you remember what happened that night?” Nothing bad happened. Nothing even remotely, as Richie would put it, hot, happened. But it was the night that changed everything.

“Yeah.” y/n sucked in a deep breath as she remembered.

y/n hadn’t planned to get so drunk off her ass that she couldn’t walk. In fact, y/n hadn’t even planned to go out. But there she was, on a Tuesday night. Her friends had left her to suck the skin off each other’s faces and y/n had become a little too good at beer pong.

Whoever was in charge of the alcohol had no taste buds, but she needed all the liquid courage she could get, because tonight was the night. Tonight, was the night y/n y/l/n was going to face Stanley Uris.

Of course, she had known of the boy. She’d gone to the same school as him ever since she could remember. It wasn’t until this year when she was aware of his existence.

He usually stayed behind the scenes; his nose burrowed in a textbook whenever she saw him alone and when she didn’t, he was usually hanging out with the same group of friends from middle school.

Lately, however, something about him just seemed to make sense. The idea of her and him together made sense. Coincidentally, her infatuation with the boy had picked up around the same time anonymous drawings and knick-knacks had found their way in her locker.

Was it so wrong to believe that it was destiny working its magic?

Or maybe the belief of Stan being anonymous was just the workings of her silly little school crush.

Either way, she took the chance; finding the perfect time to fall into his arms. If she had confessed to him any earlier, she would’ve gotten an unwanted response.

“Can I ask?” y/n started, but Stan knew she was going to ask the question afterwards anyway. “Do you know? Do you know who’s been sending me the stuff?”

Stan swallowed. He swallowed so hard his throat burned. He didn’t want what they had to end like this.

What they had. They didn’t have anything.

“Bill Denbrough.” He looked down even though he had nothing to be ashamed of. “Do you like me or do you like the person who’s been sending you the stuff?” Stan asked. It was a fair question. An easy question. But y/n, for some reason, couldn’t tell the difference between the two.

It was clear as day that Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris were two different people. y/n just couldn’t fathom Stan not being her secret admirer—as cocky as it sounds. For two months, she’s imagined him as the one sending her landscape sketches and confessing his love for her. Her heart couldn’t help but fall into an endless pit, also known as the void.

“I guess I just thought of you as the person sending me the stuff,” y/n answered honestly, and an odd sort of sadness washed over Stan when she said that. They were truly stuck in a catch twenty-two and he still failed to understand how he got there. “Do you like me?” The question was ridiculous, but it was reasonable for her to ask.

“Yes,” Stan said, but he was hesitant. His mind couldn’t help but track back to Bill and the countless times he had swooned over y/n. Stan may be the one telling her how he felt but he wasn’t the one who never failed to stutter her name in conversations and make googly eyes at her from across the room.

What Stan had felt these past few days was what Bill felt these past years.

If y/n were stupid she would have accepted Stan’s answer. She would have given him his third kiss right then and there and proclaimed they were dating as they left the lunchroom. But she wasn’t stupid. She was anything but.

“I really like you.” Stan swore this was something she’d said before, but it wasn’t. It was new. It seemed as if everything was new. “Or… liked you,” y/n spoke again, and maybe the rose-colored glasses she was wearing were coming off.

Stan nodded. He knew what this meant and stood up from his seat. There were only five minutes of lunch left when he looked at the clock that hung from the brick wall and he was going to make perfect use of it.

“Good news.” Stan walked up from behind Bill who was sitting with the rest of the Losers. He ignored Beverly’s where were you’s and took a seat facing his friend. “y/n likes you back.”

#it 2017 #it2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it x reader #it imagine #it fanfic #it fic #stanley uris #stan uris #stan uris x reader #stan uris x reader fluff #stan uris x reader angst #stan uris imagine #stan uris fanfiction #stan uris fic #stan uris fanfic #stan uris fluff #stan uris angst

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tuscanwalker · 3 years ago

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August 29, 2021: That Most German of German Cities

Greetings from Nuremberg. Caught the train around 10 this morning after a hotel breakfast that brought back memories. Kim and I always load up on fuel at breakfast as we rarely have a place to buy lunch. Today I had the typical walking breakfast of breads, deli meat, cheese, a boiled egg (or two), muesli with yogurt (never milk), juice, fruit, some raw veggies and coffee. If I don’t start walking soon, I will be rolling down the trail.

I arrived in Nuremberg to find my hotel (Victoria) was right beside a major gate through the old city wall (most of which is intact). Built in 1898, the Hotel Victoria is unspeakably old and beautiful outside, yet sleek and modern inside. All of this for about the same price as Air Canada charged me to choose an exit row seat on my flight here.

After dropping off my luggage, I headed out to explore, orient myself and grab some lunch. I spent about 5 hours simply wandering about, with a bit of little guidance from Rick Steves and Larry Bailer. It was interesting to me that, as the old town was almost totally destroyed by bombing in WWII, the residents have restored only those buildings that were realistically salvageable while replacing the rest with modern but architectural sympathetic structures. All in all, this has created an almost Disneyesque, but still very attractive, ambiance. It was also interesting that, for a clearly tourist oriented town, it seemed very quiet today. I don’t know whether this is because of COVID or because many things are closed on Sunday.

For lunch, Mark Lisac (who knew that so many people I knew had been to Nuremberg?) recommended that I try a “3 im weckle” (3 finger sized nuremberger sausages on a bun). Locals swear by them and I must admit that they are mighty tasty, but I only hope that I don’t have a coronary from all the cholesterol.

While there is no Cathedral in Nuremberg (no Bishop), there were several churches that were suitably impressive. Like all the churches and many public buildings here, the sculpture is breathtaking but instead of marble like Italy or France, here they are carved from wood.

The 15th Century Church of St Lawrence was one of the first churches to renounce Catholicism during the Reformstion. When it was decided, the city fathers (who paid for most of them) made it conditional on retaining its beautiful Catholic artworks. In other churches, they were destroyed for being icons (graven images that “thou shalt not worship”).

The 13th Century St. Sebaldus is named for the patron saint of the city and is a Romanesque Basilica style church (no transept) that was later modified to include Gothic elements.

Next I visited the Imperial Castle (the Kaiserberg) which was LGB’s very good advice. This was one of the homes of the Holy Roman Emperor who moved among a string of Castles keeping his eye on the Empire and his nobles. He kept his Imperial Regalia (crown, orb, lance etc) in Nuremberg for over 350 years, but the original is now in Vienna with only a copy here. Unfortunately, while it is large and impressive, one can only visit a very limited numbers of rooms and, as his furniture travelled with him, it is unfurnished and somehow less Imperial as a result.

Along the way, I saw a lot of other interesting things like the Chain Link Bridge, great public art, the Holy Ghost Hospital and the home of Albrecht Durer (Renaissance Artist and native son). For me, the most fun was the aptly named Schoner Brunei (Beautiful Fountain). Fun because pulling one down on one of the gun barrel-like tubes diverts water from the spray and creates a drinking fountain. I even had my picture taken beside it to counter my wife’s frequent complaint that I never appear in the blog or our photo albums.

Anyway, I have bored you enough today, so I will leave you with a little teaser. Tomorrow is museum day and I know how much all my friends love it when I hit the geek button and wax lyrical about some obscure historical event or artifact🥱. I hope you are looking forward to it as much as I am😂.

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bondsmagii · 4 years ago

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Moving to london soon and very nervous bc a lot of people love it but also a lot of people hate it and I'm afraid of hating it so would you hype me up pleaseeeee also cheap places for a drink?

man there’s a lot about London that’s easy to hate or get frustrated by, but no more so than how there’s always gripes about a major city. even with the stuff that annoys me about London, I find it’s kind of an endeared annoyed. I think a lot of the people who hate the place probably feel somewhat the same way, and even if they don’t, there’s still a kind of “I can bitch about it but everyone else fuck off” kind of thing going on. there is a lot to dislike about London, if you look at the crowding and the poverty that the government doesn’t give a shit about and also the fact that breathing the fumes will actually try to kill you with its bare hands, but you know. that’s living in the city, baby.

I find London more than makes up for the things that annoy me about it. thanks to the current situation it’s been over a year since I was last there, and I don’t actually have any place in the city anymore, which kind of feels like part of a limb got amputated. I know it’s not for forever, but still. London, for me and for a lot of people, is one of those cities with an incredibly unique atmosphere. it’s an old city, an absolutely ancient city, and the vibes so much history leaves behind is incredible. everything seems possible there. so much is going on. so many different kinds of people from all backgrounds and interests and cultures are all existing in the same place, with all of their passions and talents co-existing, and it gives the place a kind of life I’ve never seen replicated. you can really do anything and be anyone you want there. there’s no such thing as being bored, or at least there never is for me. it’s the only place on earth where I’m never bored for even a second.

I think the biggest complaint about London is that it’s damn expensive, and yeah, it really can be. rent is pretty extortionate no matter where you are, and travel adds up. having said that I’ve found so many places to hang out in that costs absolutely nothing. most of the museums are free. the parks are free. wandering the streets is free, and I can walk 10-12 miles a day just looking around and taking in the atmosphere. I’ve spent what probably amounts to whole months of my time in the Waterstone’s on Piccadilly. and there’s so much great food to be had for less than you’d think if you’re armed with a smartphone. when you’re living there and you have all the time you need, you can find a lot to do that costs absolutely nothing. just the museums alone equal weeks and weeks of exploring to do.

I’ve never come away from London without a) knowing a little more about myself and what I want and b) having met a ton of new people. it’s impossible not to meet new people, and it’s refreshing as hell. I’ve just... got talking to strangers on a train and the next thing you know we’re going out together even though it’s already 1am. I’ve been at the pub and got talking to a friend of a friend and suddenly the next day we’re drunk in her kitchen co-hosting a dinner party. it’s an absolutely wild city full of impulsive and adventurous people, and I have a different adventure every time.

having said all this, I still haven’t found a cheap place to have a drink. cheapest I’ve found is St James’s Park, after I’ve spent £7 on a bottle of wine and £1 on some plastic cups 😂

#disclaimer if you do want to bitch about london or mention that you live there and think it's garbage maybe do it on your own post #as anon has specifically asked to hear nice things #and also i don't want the vibes #i love this city i don't care if she's a mess she's my mess #anon #asks

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years ago

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“What was the thought process?!”

“I don’t know any more than you do, Shaw! The Quiet Council put this mission together!” Somehow, even when they should have been commiserating, Sebastian managed to make his complaints sound like accusations. Well, absolutely no damn part of this was Pyro’s fault.

“Of course, that pack of simpletons can’t be bothered to do things properly. It wouldn’t matter if it was just you, but I will not be treated like a cheap lackey.”

“Will you kindly shut the fuck up for five minutes, Shaw?” Pyro demanded, looking at the map. Sebastian, for all his complaints, had not deigned to take charge of it since they’d come through the gate 30 minutes ago. “There’s the mountain. Our contact should be somewhere around here.”

The mountain loomed dark and ominous over the grassland, with an actual black cloud obscuring its peak, like something out of a cartoon. There was obviously something nasty up there that needed to be dealt with. Strange dark tendrils curled down the rocky cliffs, and there were reports of eerie wailing at night. It wouldn’t be Krakoa’s problem, except there was a mutant living nearby who refused to relocate to the safety of the island. So they either had to deal with the problem, or convince the mutant to move out of harm’s way.

Except the mutant in question was nowhere to be found. Just peaceful grassland as far as the eye could see, with the mountain swelling up from the landscape like an ugly blackhead. Off in the distance, Pyro could see a group of horses grazing contentedly.

“Our contact couldn’t be bothered to meet us at the gate. We should have just turned around and gone home. I don’t know why Krakoa should lift a finger for a mutant that refuses to come to us. He chooses to remain on the outside, he should accept the responsibilities of – “

“Hey, fellas!” A shout interrupted Shaw’s rant.

Striding up to them was the most heart-breakingly beautiful young man that Pyro had ever seen. White-blond hair, perfectly formed features, and obvious muscles bulging under his flannel shirt, he looked like he’d strode right off the cover of one of Pyro’s own novels. Usually Pyro preferred his men a little more rugged-looking, like Dominic’s wonderfully rough features, but he was suddenly fantasizing about this young man emerging from a lake in a see-through white shirt.

Oh shit, what if he was a telepath? What if he was yet another Frost sibling? Pyro shoved the image out of his mind, and thought very hard about a Youtube video he’d seen earlier of a penguin falling over.

“I suppose you’re the contact?” Sebastian demanded. He was walking right up to Eros-given-mortal-form while Pyro stood transfixed, and it was like watching an ogre charge an elf. Pyro had to fight the urge to leap between them and drive the beast back with a flaming sword. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to inconspicuously smooth it down.

Fucking hell, Allerdyce, get ahold of yourself. Shaw will never let you live it down.

“That’s right,” said the cup-bearer Ganymede, who would surely be carried off by Zeus soon. Even his voice was beautiful, his Southern accent giving his words a musical lilt. “Sorry I wasn’t right there at that big funny-lookin’ gate, I got worried about the herd. Whatever’s up there is bad news. I’d check it out myself, but I don’t want to leave the horses. Who’d take care of them if something happened to me?”

“Yes, yes, of course you have a noble reason for cowardice,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively.

“And anyway, it’s our job, that’s why we’re here,” said Pyro, stepping forward. He realized that he had put himself just slightly between Shaw and Paris of Troy. “We’ll get it all sorted out for ya,” he added, giving the young man a friendly smack on the shoulder.

“Well, that’s a doozy of an accent, isn’t it? Where you from, England?” Thankfully Prince Charming had missed, or chosen to ignore Sebastian’s completely unecessary dig.

“Australia, actually,” Sebastian interjected before Pyro could speak. “And I imagine you’ve greatly offended Allerdyce’s national pride by mixing the two up.”

“Shucks, I’m sorry – “

“Oh, no!” Pyro exclaimed. “Not at all. Very similar accents, easy to mistake.”

“You’re the ones who say g’day, right? Like Crocodile Dundee!”

“Yes, exactly!” Pyro beamed. He’d started bar fights over being called Crocodile Dundee. Or being called British. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m Pyro, by the way, and Oscar the Grouch over there is Sebastian Shaw. You don’t have to be nice to him.” He shook the young man’s hand.

“Anyway, I’m your ride,” the Adonis said,with a shy smile. “I can get you up to the top of that mountain, lickety-split.”

“Oh, teleporter, are ya? That’s right handy,” Pyro said.

“Or he could be a speedster, let’s not jump to conclusions, Allerdyce,” Sebastian put in.

“No, it’s something a bit different than that,” said the divine creature carved from marble and bathed in Apollo’s fire. He shifted suddenly, his torso stretching and changing in a way that reminded Pyro of Mystique. And then there was a winged centaur standing in front of them, and Pyro wondered if he’d fallen into Narnia. Or maybe that one book, with the kids and the Tesseract.

“My mutant name is Eques, but you can call me Danny if you like.” Pyro tried not to gape. Somehow, the winged horse form had made the other mutant even more attractive, and Pyro wasn’t even into horses…but he was starting to understand the teenage girl obsession with them. “Danny’s” clothing had disappeared as he shifted (one of the X-Men’s unstable molecule suits, no doubt), and now he was….basically naked. Horse form meant all the important bits were hidden, but still. Pyro pinched the inside of his wrist very hard and tried to think about cricket.

“Oh, shape-shifting,” Sebastian said, sounding mildly bored. “I suppose that’ll do. But surely there are more practical…and larger things that you can change into.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Danny, biting his lip and pawing with one hoof on the ground in a way that was positively adorable. “It’s a very specific mutation. I can turn into this and only this. But don’t worry, I’m strong enough to carry you both. We can fly up.” He flapped his wings for emphasis.

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“Really? Have we crossed over into some children’s cartoon?”

“C’mon Shaw, he’s here to help us. Of course, you can walk up the mountain if you prefer,” Pyro said.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare leave you alone with him,” Sebastian said, smirking at Pyro, who scowled back. “Who knows what you two would get up to? Besides, it’s better than the hike. Marginally. Let’s get this over with.”

Before Pyro could protest, Sebastian had lifted him up by the shoulders and plopped him unceremoniously on Danny’s back, then climbed on behind him.

“Sure we aren’t too heavy for ya? I know Shaw here must weigh a ton.” Pyro leaned in to speak in Danny’s ear, and tried not to notice how centaur’s thick, shimmering hair, radiant in the sunlight and making Pyro’s own golden locks seem like tarnished brass, smelled faintly of eucalyptus.

Should I compliment his hair? Maybe ask what shampoo he uses, pretend like I want advice? God damn it, St. John, snap out of it and act normal!

“Not all, fellas!” Danny exclaimed, with a bright, guilless smile. “I’m strong as a horse, too, this is nothing. But you’d better hold on as I take off, wouldn’t want you to fall.”

“Where should we, uh….” Pyro faltered. Much as he wanted to slip his hands over Danny’s muscular chest (for safety!) he didn’t want to be a creep. Also, if he wasn’t careful, his….interest…would start to become noticeable in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh, anywhere’s fine, just hang onto me as best you can,” Danny drawled. Before Pyro could lift his hands, Sebastian reached forward, wrapping his arms around the centaur’s waist and squishing Pyro between them.

“Get off me, Shaw!” Pyro squirmed, pressed against Danny’s back, with Shaw’s massive, unyielding bulk behind him. God damn it, he was now dangerously close to being caught between a rock and a….hard place.

“Stop whining, Allerdyce, this is the best way to ensure we both stay on. I certainly don’t trust you to hang on with those weak arms of yours. We are secure, Eques. Proceed.”

“Why’d you even take the back, then?” Pyro demanded, but his question was answered as Danny leaped into the air, flapping violently. The wings beat hardest around Pyro’s head, powerful back muscles twitching uncomfortably against him. Well, at least having Sebastian Shaw’s gross, sweaty body pressed up against him, smelling faintly of fuck-you Rich People Cologne, was enough to kill his would-be boner quite dead. Especially with Sebastian’s no-doubt obscenely hairy crotch up against his rear, with –

Wait a minute. What was that?!

“Shaw, what the hell?” Pyro turned slightly, but Sebastian gripped Danny tighter, pushing him back forward. The hard object pressing against his ass shifted.

“It’s my cell phone, Allerdyce, for God’s sake. No need to jump to conclusions just because you’re all hot and bothered.”

Pyro wondered whether it was possible to set Sebastian on fire without hurting Danny. Just a little bit on fire. And then if he fell, it wouldn’t be Pyro’s fault, right?

“Gosh, this is kinda fun, fellas!” Danny yelled above the roar of the wind. “I’m always out here with the horses, and that’s just how I like it, but it does get kinda lonely. I don’t get to see other mutants very often.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d get a warm welcome if you ever came to join us on Krakoa,” Sebastian said. Pyro slammed an elbow back against him, but Sebastian just gripped tighter.

“Don’t even think about it, Allerdyce,” he said in Pyro’s ear. “I’ll take you down with me, make no mistake of that.”

“Say, Eques,” Sebastian called up in a louder voice. “Have you ever met Emma Frost? Let me tell you all about her, I’m sure you’d have a great deal to…discuss.”

Pyro fumed quietly, and fantasized about Sebastian smashing into the jagged rocks below for the rest of the trip.

(OOC: I don’t know what Eques should sound like, but I saw he was from Texas and wound up writing him like Cannonball. Since he’s always so isolated with his horses, I could imagine him being very naïve, but also very friendly.

Pyro is intensely thirsty, and failing to play it cool, but can you really blame him?

I have no idea what’s on top of that mountain. Let’s just assume that Pyro, Sebastian and Danny are going up to Midnight Castle to fight Tirac with the Rainbow of Light, and if you understand that reference you win a million 80’s nostalgia points.)

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linkbumble796 · 3 years ago

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If you do not have the renewal notice, a plate number would be helpful, along with a form of ID.

REMINDER: Current Insurance information is required for any registration or title work.

Mail the renewal notice to: Waseca County License Bureau 300 N State St. Waseca, MN 56093

Please use our drop box on the West side of the License Bureau (East Annex across from courthouse) for registration renewals. Include your full renewal notice, your current insurance info (company name, policy number and expiration date) and a phone number.

If you mail or drop off your renewal notice we will return them in the mail the next business day. Please make your check payable to the Waseca County License Bureau.

Proof of Identity

In many cases you will be required to show proof of identity. Acceptable documents include a current or prior driver's license or identification card, certified copy of a birth certificate, original naturalization certificate, or alien identification card.

Dating A Guy In Waseca Minnesota High School

If the applicant's current name differs from that shown on the document presented, a certified copy of the name change must also be presented. Accepted documents include certified copies of a court order, divorce decree, or marriage certificate.

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

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January 10: ST VI The Undiscovered Country

Did not write today and I’m still feeling a lot of anxiety about this, like a lot, but time moves on I guess. I have new things to worry about now.

Anyway, I did watch ST VI: The Undiscovered Country.

I was pretty prepared to hate this movie, I’m not even entirely sure why--out of defensiveness/protectiveness for ST V, I guess? Also just a general uneasiness about Klingon-centric plots.

Objectively it’s not a bad film. It has an interesting idea, and it provides a fitting ending for the TOS cast: on a character level (getting ready for retirement, K and S wondering if their biases make them unfit to continue working), a universe-level (ending the TOS era with the end of hostilities with the Klingons seems appropriate, like a new era is dawning etc. etc.), and a meta-level (having a show that was initially created in the shadow of Vietnam ending its extended story with the end of the Cold War). The mystery was a weird genre to include but pretty fun. And it followed along at a pretty good clip.

I also like the K/S moments, especially Spock putting a tracking device on Kirk (and Kirk just somehow knowing this even though they could not have discussed it), their quiet little confab at the end of the hall, and especially the scene in Spock’s quarters, where Kirk just shows up and Spock just lets him, even though he’s meditating in the dark and you know he’d never let anyone but his husband in while he’s being all emo like that.

I also thought their little unexplained tiff was interesting--a mini-TMP. Imo, it looks like Spock is planning his post-Starfleet career, but while Kirk will probably just retire, Spock is going to go on to diplomacy, and since he and Kirk have never been fans of diplomacy, perhaps he was a little uncertain about telling him? Especially pro-Klingon diplomacy?

Nevertheless, I didn’t really like the movie much as a whole. Even more than ST V, it felt like it was not really Star Trek anymore. I don’t like all this Klingon stuff, this idea that they’re SO important, both as a Federation enemy and as Kirk’s personal nemeses (the second part can be explained by The Search for Spock but the first is just a straight up retcon--if you watch TOS, the Klingons just weren’t that big of a deal). I find them very boring, plus I’m bitter about the sidelining of the Romulans.

I also don’t really care about Federation politics. As I said before, I like the discovery part of ST more than the world-building part necessarily. I realize this is sort of hypocritical of me given some of my complaints about AOS, but it’s not so much that I wanted all of ST XII and ST XIII to be about the political, economic, and social ramifications of Vulcan’s destruction so much as I wanted those things to be mentioned, or woven into the larger stories, and they really weren’t. But anyway.

I did not recognize Kim Cattrall as what’s-her-face but I DID recognize Christian Slater and then I laughed for a long time. I did recognize Iman and I was super attracted to her.

Uhura was delightful in this film. But I felt really deprived of Scotty/Uhura content tbh.

I loved Captain Sulu on the Excelsior. It fit in well with him liking that ship in the previous films and it was great to see him in command. I also liked how clear it was that once you’re Enterprise-family, you’re ALWAYS Enterprise-family.

The retconning of David as some kind of, I don’t know, good person, was understandable but hilarious. The Klingon representative saying Kirk validated her father’s hope or whatever made sense. But Kirk saying she validated his son’s was like???? Your son the unethical scientist who accidentally made the most powerful weapon known to the universe while attempting some Icarus-level hubristic terraforming shit?? Yes he represented hope I guess.

I don’t really think any more films were necessary after The Voyage Home. I think The Search for Spock basically finishes up the story nicely and then The Voyage Home is a fun little epilogue, which also answers some outstanding questions about how Spock recovered from being reborn, and how the crew got off Vulcan, etc. I don’t hate ST V or ST VI but they’re superfluous to me. They’re more... universe expanding stories than necessary stories. In other words, you can ALWAYS add, as long as your characters are still alive you can find more stuff for them to do, but constructed narratives should have end points, and I don’t see what ST V or ST VI really bring to the story. They both have good moments, especially all the Triumvirate stuff in ST V, but they seem a little tacked on to me personally, at least given my interpretation of the narrative, and thus also less Trek as I define it.

The only move left to potentially rewatch is Beyond... I’m still not sure I can do it. I’m just not sure!

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek tos #star trek tos #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: star trek

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eltanin-malfoy · 5 years ago

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Get A Grip III - Epilogue

pairing : draco/fem-y/n

word count : 3.3k

warning(s) : mentions of healing/PTSD/war/sex, lots of fluff.

requested : sort of??

a/n : i just wrote this in one sitting! lol. i hope this is satisfying?? i know a lot of my stuff ends on cliffhangers so I decided not to do that for this one. give me some feedback pls! love u! hopefully this doesn’t come off as rushed??

tag list : @kaibie @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @socontagiousimagines

Part I II

Y/N’s life as a healer was nothing short of tedious on paper. But she still loved it.

After having received specialised training for treating those impacted by war, trauma and violence post her basic healing certification, her schedule remained full, full, full, thanks to the Second Wizarding War, of course. Everyone and their mother was impacted and gravely so. Thanks to the Ministry’s work towards spreading awareness about the mental implications of war and trauma, everyone had been encouraged to seek support.

Her ward at St. Mungo’s remained constantly occupied, with the people who were permanently disabled as a result of the violence of the war taking up beds and pretty much being forced to spend the rest of their lives there. It was heartbreaking, but she had to keep her head up high and help them move on. She’d been lucky enough to be able to cool down the impacts the war had had on her in time enough to complete her schooling and be able to work towards achieving the goal she had desired ever since her seventh year at Hogwarts.

Her clinic times were full as well, with her having to both counsel and treat afflicted patients. There were some familiar faces here and there, old friends and teachers and classmates from Hogwarts. And also, the others who’d been in the cellar along with her. Sure, a hospital wasn’t an ideal destination for her to meet others, but it was the only place she seemed to have time for. The little time she got off, she’d stay home, reading up and attempting to expand her knowledge of post traumatic stress disorder based on Muggle research. (Someone had to put in the effort for the rest of the Wizarding World, right?) Romance wasn’t something she put effort into anymore. Sure, she’d had a few affairs, but.. she wasn’t actively looking for something, not when she was so busy.

But sometimes, the best things come when you least expect them to.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, writing off yet another prescription of Potion for Dreamless Sleep (something that was so greatly helpful to those suffering with mental illness, you’d never have thought!) for a previous patient. She soon finished writing notes about the frequence of the dosage they were permitted and charmed the parchment to go to the patient’s hand.

She checked her list and almost froze as she read the name of her next patient.

Malfoy, Draco.

Age : 27. (D.O.B. : 5th June, 1980.)

Blood Status : Pureblood.

Nationality : British.

Ailments :

Diagnosed with PTSD at 18. Now mostly recovered.

Suffered severe physical damage and faced Cruciatus curse at a young age, has some sensitivity to loud noises, flashing lights, etc.

Suffered dark magic curse at 16, left with minor scarring on abdomen. No other permanent effects.

Hereditary concerns : skin hypersensitivity, family history of osteoporosis.

Prescriptions :

Potion for Dreamless Sleep. (Taking regularly for 10 years.)

There was a name she hadn’t seen in years. She’d thought about him, sure. But they hadn’t stayed in contact at all. She usually learned the most about him through the Daily Prophet, where she’d recently learnt he’d been seen talking to a woman at a party. Huh. There really wasn’t much to report about anymore, it seemed. Maybe that was something to be grateful about?

Most of what was on his sheet was expected, when she’d last seen him, at Hogwarts, during their 8th year, which most of the others in their year had chosen to forego, she remembered he was still taking the potion. The only oddity was his continued prescription.. most patients would basically be ‘weaned’ off of it by their fourth or fifth year of treatment.. why had Draco been taking it for twice that long?

Either way, she kept staring at her door a bit nervously, awaiting his entry. There was a soft knock at the door and she bit down on her lip. “Come in.” And then.. He.. walked in.

She offered him a smile and ushered him over to the chair in front of her desk.

“Hello, Draco.”

He was wearing dark robes, his height still prominent as he stepped into the room. His hair seemed to be a bit longer than she remembered it, a few pale strands covering his forehead but still styled meticulously. He seemed obviously more mature, and a bit less skinny than the boy she remembered. There were slight wrinkles on his face, under his eyes, which could again be traced back to the stresses of war, most likely.

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “I.. I recognised your name but I didn’t know whether it was really you. I should’ve brou-” For some reason, she forced out a slight giggle. “That’s no-no problem at all, really. I was a bit surprised when I saw your name too.”

“I usually have my check ups with uh.. Healer Bole? I thought it was him again, but the name on the door confused me.” “He’s taken some time off these past few days. That’s why they must have assigned you to me instead.” “I suppose…”

Y/N looked straight into his eyes as an awkward silence rose into the room. His grey pupils stared right back at hers, blinking very slowly. What were you supposed to talk about with someone you’d been close to ten years prior?

Oh, right, she was supposed to be healing him. Thank god there was no need for any actual small talk between them.

“So, what brings you here today? If you need counselling or anything, I probably shouldn’t do it since we know each other personally an-” “Oh, oh, no. I just needed to refill my prescription.” “For Potion of Dreamless Sleep?” “Yes.” “Right.. Before I do that, could I ask you about it..?” “Um, sure?”

“Well.. I wanted to know.. how come you’ve been taking it for so long? I don’t know if you know, but patients are only recommended to take it regularly for a maximum of five years.”

“I.. I need it. I can’t sleep without it. The nightmares are still awful.” “But you’ve been.. taking it regularly ever since th-”

“I have.” “So.. how do you know the nightmares are just as bad?” “Well.. um.. I’ve tried sleeping without it, it didn’t work out well for me.” “For a night?” “Yes.” “Well, I’d like for you to try it again, for a few nights. We can send in a nurse for you, if you want.”

He looked at her with a slightly pained, irritated expression.

“Must I..? Bole would give me the prescriptions just fine.” She hesitated for a second, then thought through what he’d just said. “Bole was.. making a mistake, I think. Did he know you’d been taking it for that long?” “I’ve been seeing him all along.” “You’re kidding!” “I’m not..”

Wow, had she just discovered her colleague had been engaging in medical malpractice? Taking the easy way out of a complicated situation? Surely, there had to be more to this, right?

“Did he never ask you to try..?” “He did, but after I told him it didn’t go well the first time he seemed fine with just continuing to prescribe it to me.” “I see..” Hmm. Bole had definitely not done the right thing. It sounded terribly lazy. He was risking Draco developing an addiction just so that he wouldn’t have to put in actual effort to heal him. When dealing with a case as such, patients were often kept in the ward for observation, but obviously Bole hadn’t even brought up the possibility of the same to Draco. A complaint was going to have to be filed, it seemed.

“I hate to inform you of this, but I feel Bole might have done the wrong thing in this case.”

“Oh..?” “Yes, I will again insist you try to forego potion for a few nights. There are major potential implications of using it for as long as you have, and we can avoid any actual damage if we can have you give it up soon.”

“But.. Y/N.. I..” “Come on.. “ She bit at the inside of her cheek. “Like I said before, we can have a nurse come in for you and observe. And also.. It’s Healer Y/L/N to you, Mr. Malfoy.” He smirked at this and set his hands on his lap, taking a deep breath.

“You know what, Healer Y/L/N? I might be willing to try.. but.. I don’t want a nurse to come in. I want you to.”

Her eyes widened and she reached for the quill on her desk, fiddling with its fibres. When an ex challenged you as such, were you supposed to take it? The feelings he used to stir inside of her had long faded and she was sure the both of them had moved on as much as the other had, it was a mutual break up, in the end. Was this supposed to be related to that..? Was he.. Actually interested? Or was he just playing games?

Did it even matter? Life was getting a little boring. Something a little out of the ordinary for her would be fun, for sure.

“You know what? Sure.”

***

It was seven o’clock on Friday evening when she finally finished up with all her work at St. Mungo’s and headed home, ready for the night that lay ahead of her.

She slipped out of the lime green uniform robes she wore to work and went through her wardrobe, confused. What the hell was she supposed to wear? Definitely not something inappropriate, not something overly casual, and not something too fancy either. In the end, she was going over to his place to watch him sleep, and hopefully manage to sleep herself, not to sleep with him. (She was quite tired, admittedly.)

In the end, she decided to wear a pair of pyjamas (white with purple stripes!) just out of spite. Would it be a turn off? Huh, possibly. Would it be funny? For sure. Would it be embarrassing? ..maybe, but hopefully not.

And so she did exactly that and apparated to his home. One she’d only visited years and years ago.

It was just as grand as it was then. Probably a bit more wellkept now. Obviously so, since it had been 10 years since the war had struck.. since she’d been trapped inside that very cellar. And for a second, she just stood there, processing her memories. She was not going to let the sight of this house cause her to relapse, absolutely not. It had been years. Many years since then. She’d gotten over it. She didn’t need to think about it.

Slowly but steadily, she made her way through the gate and into the estate. The hedges were gorgeous, trimmed to perfection and even with the sun down, the lamps set every few steps along made everything look even more.. perfect. Draco really did live in the lap of luxury. He always had.

She walked to the door and used the snake-shaped door knocker (Christ!) a couple times, staring up at the tall hardwood door as it suddenly opened.

And of course, it was him. Him. In a blue cotton button up shirt and silky pyjamas. Cute.

“Good evening, Healer Y/L/N. Do come in. Nice outfit.” He took a step back and held the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” She stepped in, looking around curiously.

It was all different. Draco had switched up the layout considerably. Gone was the dark and gloomy aesthetic that had presided over the interior of the house before. Everything was white now. Off-white, perhaps, like the color you’d call marble. The palatial chandeliers still hung from the ceilings, but that was all that remained the same. Everything else was brighter. She was glad to see it was so.

“Having a look around, are we?”

“Well, what do you expect, Draco? It’s been.. so many years.. It looks beautiful, by the way.” “Thank you, interior design by yours truly.” “I thought as much.. your taste has improved a bit, I’d say.” She smiled up at him.

The change was definitely helpful towards her not feeling panicked at the sight of the place. It actually looked.. inviting, to some extent.

“Glad to hear you think so, Healer.” “Right, so, were you going to get to bed?” “This early? I thought we were going to have dinner first.” “I.. had some dinner at work. Quite a bit, actually.” “That’s too bad.. I just had Golby set out the table for us. Nice food too.”

“You can have it, if you like. I’m just here for work, am I not?” “.. Y/N..” He rolled his eyes. “No formalities between us, please.” “It’s not a formality. It’s protocol.”

He set his hand on her shoulder and she almost winced. “Please? For me?” “Ugh.. fine.”

***

Sitting beside him on the table brought back memories. Pleasant ones. Of all the times they had together. The first true ‘moment’ they had between them wasn’t one she liked looking back at all that much. It was unpleasant and could still trigger an anxiety attack.

But everything after..

She could remember the joy that had filled her upon seeing Draco stumble into Shell Cottage that same day. He was wounded, badly, but he was alive. He could be healed. She’d helped Fleur as much as she could with all the healing after that point, and she took up a mattress right next to where Draco had been put to sleep, and she took care of him, personally. He was beyond grateful, as he’d told her a few days later.

And she was beyond grateful to Harry and Ron. They’d actually listened to her when it would have been so easy to just ignore her. She knew they’d hated him like anything at school, and it had truly elated her to see Draco again, actually alive.

They’d spoken to Draco and he was actually willing to help them. He told them of the plans he knew the Death Eaters were working on. It wasn’t quite a lot to go off of, since apparently, You-Know-Who had begun to distrust the Malfoy family, but it was still helpful. Draco even told her he basically saved their lives by lying for them, and they’d basically returned the favour. She wasn’t sure about the specifics, really. All she knew was that they’d somehow balanced out what they owed each other.

They’d spent a while at Shell Cottage before being moved over to a different safe house. Draco was the Death Eater’s biggest target at that point, and he had grown very, very scared. For some reason, it was decided that the two of them would go to the Tonks’ house. To Andromeda’s house. To Draco’s estranged aunt’s house. He felt even more afraid.

She’d been shunned out of their family! All because she’d eloped with a muggle born. He was afraid she wouldn’t take much of a liking to him, but.. it was completely different to what he’d anticipated. She welcomed with open arms, treated him like her own son. Everything was just fine. Or at least that’s what it seemed like.

The ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ came to fruition before them and the two of them stayed far from it, the lack of wands rendering them useless in such chaos. Obviously, after the conflict, they were off in search of their families. Draco’s was glad to have him back alive, as was hers. They’d apparently fled from the country the instant they realised she’d been kidnapped by the Death Eaters.

But.. of course.. she was then forced to spend quite a lot of time at St. Mungo’s. PTSD. Thankfully, she was far from alone. Practically every other person even partly involved with the conflict was also undergoing some sort of treatment post war. And right after a particular therapy session, when Draco’d asked her to join him for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron, was when repressed feelings came out into the open and she kissed him.

And that was that, really.

They were inseparable for the next year. The ‘eighth years’ at Hogwarts, which consisted of several students looking to get the NEWT’s they’d missed out in the year prior, were banded together most of the time, and Draco and Y/N seemed to be joined at the hip. Well, until they weren’t anymore.

It was a mutual agreement. Neither of them were treating it very seriously and they had things to focus on. It ended on a positive note, with a little giggle between them and a hug. They were teenagers, after all.

But now, ten years later, she wasn’t sure why all those feelings were coming right back. Making her blush when he spoke to her. Goddammit. Why did Draco have to get cuter as he got older?

Soon enough, it was time for bed. They’d chatted for nearly an hour just at the dinner table and Y/N suggested he try sleeping earlier than usual, just for observation’s sake. And so he led her into his bedroom, shutting his door behind the two of them.

“Should I.. get you a mattress?”

“That would be nice.” “Actually.. wait... I..” She stared up at him curiously, smoothing back her hair. All of a sudden he grabbed ahold of both of her hands and pulled her forward, closer to him.

“Draco, I-”

“No, I have a confession to make…” He took a deep breath. “I might have had.. intentions.. calling you over here. Doing all of this, really.” “You.. what?” “I asked them to schedule my appointment with you instead. I kind of.. missed you.” “..Oh?” “I totally get it if you don’t want anything.. romantic with me. I’m fine just being friends. I.. I don’t think you’re in a relationship, but of course, I could be wrong.. I just.. I.. we were so good together, you know?” “We were.” “We just.. got each other. You were so kind to me. Why did we even.. end us..?”

“It was a mutual thing, remember?” “I know but.. I like you, you know?” That made her cheeks flush more than she’d care to admit.

“You do?” “I do. I.. didn’t really need the potion when we’d.. sleep together. You’d just.. I don’t know how you did it.. But I’d feel calm with you. Around you. There’s no better candidate for a healer, really. I was thinking that you’d be very, very good.. and I was right, you were. You.. did the right thing, didn’t you?”

This was so out of nowhere. She should be more shocked, shouldn’t she? But why was she feeling like she was on cloud nine?

“I like you too.” was all she could manage out. He looked at her for a second before giving her a wide, wide grin.

“I can’t believe you pretended you didn’t know it was me! Was that just because you couldn’t be arsed to get me chocolates or something?”

“Uh.. well.. Maybe.” He laughed and she did too, playfully hitting the side of his arm. “I’ll get you some if you want them so badly. I have.. better gifts to offer you.” He winked.

“Draco!” She shook her head.

“Fine. As you wish, Healer.” She just rolled her eyes at him and stared at him with the most sincere smile she could manage. He pulled her even closer towards him, bringing a hand up and setting it on her cheek. His eyes were suddenly on hers and she leaned up towards him, puckering her lips.

And then their lips met. It was the most familiar feeling in the world and yet the most electrifying. Everything was soft and sweet and perfect. All their wounds were healed and they knew anything that still hurt would only get better.

All was well.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco #hp #draco imagine #hp imagine #draco malfoy imagine #fluff #romance #draco x female reader

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years ago

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You can do better than that; Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x reader

*Author’s note*

Alrighty my dears, this one was a bit of a challenge because apparently I don’t do well with ‘play hard to get’ so I apologize in advance if some of the dialogue or writing is too cringy but I tried my best cause I got too deep into this fic. So I hope to the anon who wanted this request ends up happy with the result and I thank you for being sooo patient with me :) Not really any big warnings just swearing, mentions of being played, but there’s mostly fluff.

_______________________________________________________

*March 1st, 1971*

It wasn’t easy but I managed it. Making the big jump from moving out of my home country of America to here in England was tough and of course the homesickness hit after the first couple of weeks but somehow I managed. I knew I needed to be here in Britain because it had so much more potential for me than America ever did.

That is of course when my noisy neighbor isn’t banging away at what sounds like a drumkit at the early stages of the night. I never really got to meet them because for the past several weeks, I’ve been trying to get interviews for some record companies so that one day I can become the first ever female record producer since I’ve had an ear for talent. But until then I’m stuck with two jobs in order to pay the bills, by day I work as a waitress at a nearby restaurant then twice a week by nightfall I work at a local bar—or I guess I should call it a pub since that’s what they call it here in England, as a bartender near the University.

I had just gotten in from a seriously long shift at the restaurant since one of my coworkers thought I would be the perfect candidate for covering for him while he takes his girlfriend out on holiday for their anniversary or some shit. So 12 long hours instead of my usual 9hr has made me not only exhausted but irritated and hangry.

After finding me some cookies to chow down on, I collapsed onto my bed, not even bothering changing out of my uniform and tried to sleep. Just when I thought I could finally fall into a deep sleep; my noisy neighbor once again began banging on those blasted drums.

“That’s it! I can’t take this anymore!” I got out of my bed and left my apartment and went over next door. I banged on the door to give this guy a piece of my mind. Because for the past few days they would be drumming till the but crack of dawn which made it impossible for me to try and go to sleep, especially when I would have a double shift to work at. I banged my fist to the door and cried out, “Hey! Open this damn door right now!! I’ve got just a couple things to say to you yah bastard!!”

The door opened and standing there was a cute—okay handsome man around my age maybe a year or two older with long blonde hair that went past his shoulders, and he had the bluest blue eyes.

*Roger’s POV*

I was practicing my solo for Brian’s new song ‘Keep yourself alive’. I’ve been trying to perfect this solo for weeks now and just the other day I managed to get the solo to the point where I was happy with it. After practicing it a few times around, I knew the crowd was going to like this.

But as I was practicing, I heard several hard knocks at my door and I heard a female voice say.

“Hey! Open this damn door right now!! I’ve got just a couple things to say to you yah bastard!!” I set my drumsticks down and hurried over to the door and opened it. But I was shocked to see that such a beautiful woman was standing before me. Her long (h/c) hair gently waved past her shoulders, she wore a waitress uniform that looked like she worked at “Bill’s coffee shop”.

It then also occurred to me that she also served as a bartender at the pub where my band plays. I’ve always admired her from a far but never once got the balls to go over and say hello, well now it looks like I get the chance to do it now.

*My POV*

As I kept staring at this guy, it suddenly hit me that he was the drummer for that band that performs at the pub I work at. I think their name was Smile?

“May I help you?” I snapped out of my daze and said.

“Yes I would like to file a complaint.”

“Ahh I see, and what may I ask is the complaint in regard to?” he said with a grin as he leaned against the door.

“The noise. You do realize it’s 12:30 in the morning and some of us are trying to sleep.”

“My apologizes love.”

“Listen buddy. It’s late, I’m tired and all I want to do is fall asleep. So can you please try to keep the noise down. I don’t want to come back here and argue at this point.”

“I’ll try. Though I hope you don’t mind me asking, you’re not from around here are you?” he asked me.

“No I moved here a few weeks ago from America.”

“Ahh an American girl.”

“Yeah now I got to get back to sleep so can we please put this discussion to an end?” I snapped not wanting to get into a discussion about this when I had to be up by 6am for my 7:30 shift tomorrow.

“Alright love, I promise I’ll keep it down.”

“Thank you.” I then headed back into my apartment and fell right back asleep.

*Roger’s POV*

As I watched the cute girl go back into her apartment, I knew that now I had to talk to her at my next gig. Maybe I would suede her to go on a date with me.

*My POV*

A few days later it was now my double shift at the bar. I was getting drinks for people when the band soon came up and following the curly-haired guitarist was my noisy neighbor.

“Hello everybody, we’ve got—we’ve got a few fresh faces here. This is John Deacon our new bass player. And our new lead singer Freddie Buls-Bulsara. Freddie Bulsara.” I then took notice of the long haired bass player and the new lead singer who didn’t look like he was from Britain, he looked Middle eastern, maybe from India or something. But there was just something about him that looked right about him.

“That’s right.” The lead singer nodded.

“And of course Roger, biggest member of them all.” The guitarist spoke into the mic and I could hear a girl cry out.

“Hi Roger!” Some of the students cheered and that’s when Freddie spoke into the mic.

“Hello, all you beautiful people.” Of course one asshole had to be a racist as he cried out.

“Where’s Tim!? Who’s the Pakkie?” I rolled my eyes. See it was people like this that made me leave America, especially when you live in the Southern states, it was even worse. Some of the crowd agreed with the guy and that’s when the band began playing their set.

Freddie seemed to struggle with the microphone stand and I cringed as it made that horrible feedback sound. I hide my face for him until he finally just broke the mic off of it’s stand and the song began. I’ll admit hearing them all play together and Freddie’s voice, it was—unlike anything I’ve ever heard from any band. I bopped my head along to the song and kept my eyes on a certain drummer, without having him notice of course as I kept serving the drinks.

The band kept playing for about another hour or so, and I’ll also say that Freddie the new lead singer has made everyone in the room feel important, it was like he was reaching out to everyone in the audience, no matter who they were and made them feel important, even I felt that pull and would sometimes drift away from the bar and just stand amongst the crowd (which didn’t make my boss happy).

After the show I was cleaning up the bar when I heard a familiar voice say.

“So what did you think?” I stopped mid-cleaning and turned to see my neighbor leaning against the counter and I said.

“The band or are you just asking about you?”

“A little bit of both.” He smiled as he leaned further in towards me. “I saw you watching me.”

“How do you know I wasn’t looking at your lead singer?”

“Please love, if you were you’re head would’ve been moving around too much, you stayed standard right on me.” I rolled my eyes and said.

“You have quite an imagination.”

“Only when it involves you.” He said. Okay I get what he’s doing. He’s trying to smooth talk me, charm me and woo me till he gets his way with me. I grinned and leaned towards him and said.

“You know what?”

“What?” he said as he leaned closer towards me. I decided to toy with him a bit placing my hand on his bicep which was pretty buffed probably from years of drumming but I tossed the thought out of my head as I continued.

“You should come back later when you’ve learned a better pickup line.” His grin vanished as he looked like a kicked puppy as I leaned away from her and continued my work.

“So southern girls have a more fight to them, I like that in a woman. I find respect in that.” He said as he came around toward me.

“I hope you’re not trying to insult me.”

“Not at all, just making conversation. How long have you been here in London?”

“A couple weeks now. I only just started working here last week.”

“Does my southern bell have a name?” I looked up at him and he just looked at me with a gentle tilt of his head, like a golden retriever puppy.

“Why so keen on knowing my name?”

“I just figured since we’re neighbors and all, and since I was so rude as to not notice it before and not give you a proper British welcome, I would like to know the name of the cute neighbor next door.” I tried to hide my blush as I said.

“(Y/n) (l/n).”

“That’s a beautiful name, I’m Roger. Roger Taylor.” He said as he extended his hand out for me to take. Even though I was playing hard to get, it’d be rude if I denied a handshake so I took his hand, but instead of a handshake, Roger kissed my knuckles and I swore I felt my heart skip a beat, but of course I wasn’t going to tell him that.

A couple years went by and in 1973, I finally heard back from EMI about a position for their company, however the downside was that I was nothing more than a secretary to the main producer Ray Foster. So that meant just organizing papers, getting the coffee, boring stuff, never really get to touch anything music related, unless its passing him the records.

I was currently going through some papers at the front desk outside Ray’s office when I got buzzed in and the boss’s voice soon spoke up.

“(L/n), John’s bringing in my new signing band coming in today, make sure they’re all present before bringing them up to my office.”

“Right away sir, I’ll send them up once they’ve arrived.” I got up from my desk and walked towards the elevator and pressed the down button.

“Hold the elevator!” I held it and in walked in my good friend Mikaela. Now as I’ve stated before, I despised racism so when most of the people at EMI mostly the men never gave Mikaela the light of day, I decided to reach out my hand in friendship.

Since we’re both women in the workforce we might as well stick together.

“Thank you (y/n).”

“Anytime Mimi, so what have you got to do.”

“Gotta get these checks mailed out, how about you?”

“Boss man wants me to bring up a new band that EMI has signed up with.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“No idea, but they must be good if Ray signs them up, or if they come straight from John Reid himself.”

“Really?” I nodded as I hummed. Soon the elevator dinged as we reached the ground floor and as we walked out she said, “So we still on for our Happy hour?”

“Absolutely. After the week I’ve been having, I deserve a few drinks.”

“Alright, see you Thursday night.”

“Will do, pick you up at 7?” She nodded and then we went our separate ways. As I walked along the lobby I saw John Reid sitting at the lobby with a group of familiar boys. “Oh god, tell me this isn’t happening.” I muttered to myself.

Because amongst those boys was none other than Roger. Ever since the pub performance all those years ago, every day whenever he could whether it was at the pub or even when we would pass each other in the lobby or the hallway, he’d try to flirt with me trying to make me swoon like every other girl he’s screwed around with.

Of course every chance I turned down all his pickups and advances and now it seems like I’ll never escape from him. But not wanting to risk getting fired for keeping Mr. Foster waiting, I sucked it up and approached Mr. Reid.

“Mr. Reid.” He turned to look at me and I said, “I’m (y/n) (l/n). Mr. Foster’s assistant I was sent down to collect you and the band.”

“Ahh yes Miss (y/n).” He stood up from the chair and the two of us shook hands with each other. “Pleasure to meet you, I’d like to introduce you to Queen, EMI’s new signup.” I waved to the boys and that’s when Freddie spoke up.

“Wait, weren’t you a bartender at the pub near the University?”

“Yeah I was.”

“Oh darling you have got some explaining to do because this boy would not shut up when you had left the pub! Could not get him to stop talking about you.” Freddie spoke as he pointed to Roger.

“It was sickening.” Piped in John Deacon.

“Bugger off the lot of you.” Roger muttered.

“Alright enough you four, now then let’s not keep Ray waiting any longer, we’re ready to meet him when you are Miss (l/n).”

“Right this way gentlemen.” As we headed toward the elevator, my attention turned to Roger.

So he’s been talking about me huh? Never did I think he’d still be on me even to his bandmates. He’s definitely persistent I’ll give him that, but at this point I’m just not looking for a relationship at the moment.

Once we reached Mr. Foster’s office, he allowed me to come in saying that it was important that I stay for one big announcement that involved me. At first I thought it would have to do something of a promotion, like finally being able to work the controls of the booth but instead I got the news that I would be Queen’s assistant, which meant I had to check in on them day to day along with some guy named Paul Prenter.

My heart dropped but I swear I thought I saw Roger’s face perk up as he turned toward me.

“Sir are—are you sure I’m capable of doing something like this? I mean surely Queen doesn’t need two assistance……”

“I think it would be a wonderful idea.” Exclaimed Freddie.

“I surely wouldn’t mind it.” Brian soon spoke up.

“It’d be nice to have better company than these lot all the time.” John Deacon spoke up.

“In fact—she can be my personal assistant.” Roger piped in. Oh hell no.

“Seems the band agrees. You start tomorrow Miss (l/n).” John Reid said. Internally I was deflated more than anything of what I was hearing but I knew better than to cause a scene as I said.

“Can’t wait.” But it was spoken with a hint of sarcasm.

A few months go by and if I’m being honest, it wasn’t half bad being with the boys. I got to know them as they truly were and they were a bunch of really cool guys. John or as I’ve been allowed to call him, Deacy with his knowledge of electrical engineering, Brian’s love for astrophysics as well as animal rights especially for badgers, hedgehogs and foxes, Freddie I envy him because he’s given me such beautiful sketches and I wish I could draw half as good as he can.

And of course there’s Roger. Who continues to try and flirt with me but thanks to Deacy and Brian I can get back at him due to his major of being a dentist. But I’ll admit one thing, Roger does have his moments when he’s not trying to be Casanova like this one time when I was helping the boys get ready to preform on Top the Pops for their newest hit song ‘Killer Queen.’

I was with Deacy adjusting his jacket. Once I saw it was good enough I said.

“Alright, you’re all set.”

“Thanks (y/n), we’d be lost without you.”

“Oh stop it. Save that for Veronica.” Besides Fred, Deacy’s opened up more to me when it comes to relationship and lately he’s been seeing this girl named Veronica and I’ve wanted to hear every single detail of how they met and how each date has gone. Sometimes I even give him advice on how to act around her since poor baby he’s so terrible shy when it comes to dating, especially since he’s told me he really, really likes her.

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told you about her.”

“Oh come on then who would you go to for advice?”

“Touché, you make a good point.”

“Listen chaps it is going to be playback. Lip-sync is all that is required.” One of the BBC producers spoke up.

“We do know how to play our instruments.” Roger spoke up.

“You want me to lip-sync?” Freddie spoke up as he got in the producer’s face which made him back up just a bit but still hold his ground.

“I just don’t understand why we simply can’t perform live?” asked Brian.

“The audience will never know the difference.”

“We’ll know the bloody difference.”

“This is the BBC that’s how things are done around here. Don’t be a nuisance.” He then walked away.

“Well then you lads will have to make sure no one can tell if you’re faking it.”

“The way things are done here. We’re bolly old chap.” Roger mocked the producer as Brian then mocked out in a posh, snotty tone.

“This is the BBC.”

“I’m relieved.” Deacy spoke up.

“Yeah you would be.” Brian muttered.

“Like perfect performance.”

“Oi (y/n) if you’re done playing groupie get off the stage, they’re about to start filming!” Paul cried out. I turned towards him almost about to snap back a retort at him when Roger beat me to it.

“Prenter! You outta look into the mirror and say that to yourself, cause if anyone here is the groupie it’s you yah wanker!” At that comeback I actually laughed softly at the insult he gave to Paul. He turned his attention toward me and he bragged, “A smile and a laugh. Guess I’m getting close huh?”

“Please Taylor. One chivalrous deed doesn’t suede me to admit anything.”

“But I still managed to get you to smile, I count that as a win.” I rolled my eyes at him and said as I got off the stage.

“Just play your fake drums drummer boy.” And even though it was beyond my control, a light blush came across my face.

Even with it being a ‘fake’ performance, the boys gave it their all and the song became a huge hit, especially in Japan where the boys did their tour there. Then there was the tour of America which the album ‘Sheer Heart Attack’ hit the charts back home.

I told the guys about my hometown and they tried to convince me to let them see my home but I told them that we had too tight a schedule but next time when there was time, I would show them where I grew up.

Now came time for another album to be recorded and after getting the approval from Foster about the new idea that Freddie had for the ‘A Night at the Opera’, we were on our way to a nice secluded recording studio out in Wales by the summer of 1975.

A few days after getting settled in, I was walking along the outside of the fields, having flashbacks of my grandparent’s farm when I heard a piano playing inside the studio. I walked in and I saw Deacy playing an electric piano and I could hear him softly mutter to himself.

I leaned by the door and kept quiet so that I wouldn’t disturb him as he kept muttering the lyrics and writing them down. Even though Deacy’s always said he’s not a singer, I can’t help but admire what he was humming and muttering to himself. I guess he must’ve seen me because next thing he did, he jumped up startled.

“Sorry, but you don’t have to stop on my account.”

“Just how much did you hear?”

“Heard about enough. It’s beautiful Deacy.” I walked inside the studio and sat down beside him and said, “What’s it called?”

“‘You’re my best friend’. I wrote it for Veronica.”

“Awww.” I awed as I placed my hand over my heart.

“But I doubt the lads will want to play it. Not really rock and roll enough for them for what I imagine it to be.”

“Don’t say that. Maybe they will, hell you play this for Fred and he’ll be on your side and make it go on the album.”

“Thanks (y/n).”

“Plus I know that once Veronica hears this, she’ll fall even deeper in love with you.”

“Oh come off it….”

“I’m serious. Sure some people think it’s cliché and maybe corny but to some girls that just proves a guy really cares about a woman. Especially if that guys a talented songwriter like you.” I said as I sat down beside him and playfully shoved his shoulder with mine.

“I just—wanted to do something for her. I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend to her, especially being away from her this long. I just want her to know that I’m always thinking of her.”

“And she will.” I sighed deeply.

“Okay what’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“No one sighs like that unless there’s something bothering them, so c’mon out with it. You’re always getting me to spill my guts, now it’s your turn missy.” I playfully scowled at him but caved in because I can never say no to Deacy’s adorable face so I said.

“Okay, there’s—actually it’s been going through my head for the past few years now. I mean I don’t know whether it’s this place, being away from the city but I……” my heart raced and my palms felt sweaty as I finally muttered, “I—I think I love Roger.” Deacy remained silent before finally saying.

“About bloody time you said it.”

“What now?”

“(Y/n) no offense love but you’re not as discreet as you think you are. There’s been so much sexual tension between you two that it’s unbelievable about how thick it is.”

“Well I can’t just get up and tell him how I feel?”

“He’s been trying so hard to get with you since day one, even before we met you last year he’d always talk about the cute neighbor next door to him. Why can’t you just put the poor boy out of his misery.”

“There’s…..there’s more to it than that.” I said solemnly as I fiddled with my nails. Deacy’s eyes became concerned and he said.

“He didn’t do anything wrong to you, did he?”

“No it’s just—” I sighed heavily and said as I fully turned to face him, “Okay, you know how I told you guys the reason why I moved to America was because of the problems going on?” he nodded and I said, “Well—what I’m about to tell you, I’ve never told anyone else, so you have to promise me you won’t tell a soul. Not even Veronica.”

“You know you don’t have to tell me,”

“I know but—I’ve been holding it in for so long, and you’re the most trustworthy person I know. So promise me Deacy.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” I sighed deeply and said.

“Okay. Back in college I…..I once knew a guy that was exactly like Roger. He loved to flirt and give out pickup lines. He wasn’t bad looking either, dark brown hair and green eyes. Well, one day during a break in class he came up to me and started flirting with me. And not having a boyfriend before, I—I fell for the pickup lines and the flirtation and soon we started dating.”

“And then he cheated on you?” Deacy asked. I scoffed out a laugh and said.

“I wish, what happened was way worse.”

“Oh god he—he didn’t……”

“No, no not that worse. Don’t worry Deacy.” He sighed with relief for a brief second before listening once more, “Well we dated for about a year and a half and it was our anniversary so I decided to make him some cookies. I went up to the frat boy house he was in and just before I knocked on the door, I heard him and his friends talking.” I trailed off as tears filled my eyes.

I tried to keep them in as I looked up and laughed out icily as I continued,

“Apparently they were all having a contest to see who could get the biggest loser on campus…..and he won. My picture was plastered everywhere all over campus. He stopped talking to me and turned on me by calling me ‘desperate’ and ‘naïve’ for not seeing it earlier. He never loved me; I was nothing but a joke to him.”

“Oh (y/n).”

“The entire student body was against me. So much so that I had to drop out of college and I had to move here. Because even when I wasn’t in school, the teasing and harassment still happened whenever I was out in public. So I moved here where no one knew who I was.” I felt Deacy wrap his arms around me as he lent his shoulder for me to cry on. “Since then, I’ve vowed to close my heart to any flirting or any guy that would try to hurt me again…..and knowing Roger with his groupies I—”

“I get it. What that bastard did was unforgiveable and I can understand where you’re coming from. But you do know that not all guys are like him, right?”

“Of course I do. You, Bri and Fred are the proof of that. Sometimes Rog is also in there but, I’m just—afraid that, even if I do admit to him my real feelings for him……”

“I know. Sometimes Rog can be—a bit much, but when he sets his mind to something he won’t ever stop. No matter who or what gets in his way. Like remember the day you got the stomach flu?” I nodded recalling when he came over and helped take care of me, “Well you may not have known this, but we were in the middle of recording with Reid checking in on us. He actually fought to try and leave just so he could take care of you.”

“He seriously did that? He—he just told me you guys were rehearsing, not recording.”

“Well we were. He may not seem to want to appear soft on most days, but when it comes to you, he’ll drop anything just to make sure you’re okay.” I softly smiled and wiped away my tears and said as I separated from him.

“Thanks for listening Deacy, you’re the best.”

“I know.” He said with a shrug. Before grinning cheekily and chuckled softly which made me chuckle.

“Now you promise not to say anything to the guys?”

“Say what?” He had this twinkle in his eye that told me that he was only playing and I smiled and thanked him once more before leaving the studio to tell him that I needed to get dinner started if the guys were gonna eat on time before they dove too deep into the recording and they end up missing another meal.

About a week later I was sitting outside on the porch swing looking out into the field. It was a nice cool summer day after all the rain we’ve been having the last three days so it was a nice change of scenery weather wise.

“May I join you?” I turned around and there stood Roger.

“I don’t mind.” He then sat himself down just a couple inches away from me on the swing.

“I’ll admit I at first didn’t like this place but it’s growing on me.”

“That’s the thing with you city boys, you just don’t get it.”

“And what would you know country girl?”

“My grandparents owned a farm down in Arkansas. I used to always visit them every summer and Christmas before they both died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss (y/n).”

“It’s fine. It was over 10 years ago when they died, but I appreciate it Rog.” The two of us sat there for awhile softly swinging on the swing until I finally broke the silence, “Hey Roger,” he turned to me and I said, “I—I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well ever since I moved here, I feel like I haven’t been all that nice to you. And I…..I just want to make sure that you’re not mad or anything.”

“No, no in fact, I wanted to come out here and apologize for some of the things I’ve said to you. It wasn’t right of me to just flirt with you right out of the blue. Also I apologize for keeping you up all night with my drums.”

“That apology I can accept.” We both softly chuckled and I said.

“So do—do you think we can start over?”

“I’d like that. I’m Roger Taylor, nice to meet you new neighbor.” I smiled at him and said as we both shook hands with each other.

“(Y/n) (l/n).” With the hatchet buried and a new bond forged, I thought it was safe to say that Roger and I were now starting a new relationship.

We stayed outside for a good while when I finally turned around to look at him and just like the night we first met, my heart raced at seeing his blonde hair shine like the sun. It was like if Adonis and an angel had a baby, then Roger Taylor would be the end result of their bond. As he turned toward me, I quickly looked back out toward the field and I heard him softly laugh.

“I saw that.”

“You’re so full of it Taylor.” The two of us softly laughed and I broke the silence, “But you are right earlier. This view, this place it’s just so beautiful. I’d love to live in a place like this. No noise from the city, perfect view of the sunrise and sunset. And nothing but greenery for miles and miles ahead.”

“You know I’d be willing to buy you a house like that.” I turned to him and we looked at each other.

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Why not?”

“Well the well earned money is yours, and I’d rather not take what you and the boys have worked so hard to get.”

“And I can do whatever I want with it, and if I want to buy a country house for a dear friend of mine, then I’ll do it.” I smiled softly and said.

“Thanks Rog, I appreciate it.” I then felt his fingertips softly touch mine and I looked straight into his blue eyes and he looked back at mine.

“(Y/n) I—I know I’ve been hounding you for years on the subject, but that’s because I—I’ve never really known how else to talk to a girl. I know you must think of me as some pigheaded flirt but—I just never knew how else to talk to you. So I…..I hope I don’t ruin this newly formed friendship by say that…..I like you. I really, really, really like you (y/n). These past few years with you have just been…..a blessing to me. And—god now I’ve gone and fucked this up hadn’t—”

I stopped his rambling by placing my lips against his. I felt his right hand go to my waist while his left cupped the side of my face as we deepened the kiss. I slowly lifted my hand and allowed my fingers to comb through his soft blonde hair, we gave each other a couple more pecks and I said.

“Congrats Taylor, you finally got me the right way.”

“You mean—”

“Truthfully I’ve had a crush on you since the night we met.”

“So I was right?” he teased.

“Now don’t go getting a big head drama queen. I just….Can you promise me something Roger?”

“Anything.”

“I—Can we please just take this one day at a time? Back home there was something that really hurt me, I’d rather not talk about it to you just yet, cause I feel like I won’t be able to be stable as I say it.”

“I won’t pressure you for anything (y/n). We can take this as slow as you want.”

“Also, I know how you are with your hookups with groupies. I—I just need to know that you won’t cheat on me or break my heart.”

“I promise (y/n). The only girl I want hanging around my arm is you. I wouldn’t be this persistent if I didn’t want anything more than a hookup with you.” I leaned my head against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around me and I felt him kiss the side of my head. “I love you so much (y/n).”

“I love you too Roger.”

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jadejedi · 4 years ago

Text

So You Hate The Last Jedi (part two)

Part One- Theme Part Two- Luke Part Three- Rey Part Four- Finn

Part Two- Luke Skywalker

My main complaints that I originally had about The Last Jedi were about Luke Skywalker, and I know that this is true for many fans. Luke is my favorite Star Wars character, and has been since I was a kid. I felt like Johnson had done him seriously dirty.

My complaints:

-Why is he so jaded and bitter?? What is up with the throwing of the lightsaber and the drinking of the green milk??? That is not the Luke we know at ALL.

-Why is he both wanting the Jedi to end AND protecting the ancient Jedi texts???

-Why would he be able to see the good in his father but not in his own nephew??? Luke already faced the darkside in RotJ, how could he have done this to Ben???

So, to start, I want to ask a question: who is the main character of the main Star Wars Saga, if there is one at all? Maybe when there were just six movies, you could argue pretty easily that it was Anakin. The prequels told the story of his fall, and the original trilogy told the story of his redemption. But, now, with the sequels, I would argue that the saga is now definitively *Luke’s * story. Not Anakin’s.

I would argue that Luke is basically the audience insert character, through whose eyes we see the story unfold, not just in the original trilogy, but in the entire saga. He experiences Star Wars in the same order that we as an audience did with the chronological release of the nine films (8 that are relevant to our discussion), and is basically the voice for the fandom at large. First the original trilogy with its hopeful message about fighting fascism and looking longingly back on the days of the Jedi and the Republic, wanting to bring them back. And then, sometime between the OT and the ST, learning about Palpatine, and the Clone Wars, and the fall of the Jedi Order.

While many Star Wars fans, including myself, love the prequels, the world as a whole has a complicated relationship with the prequels. Or maybe it isn’t that complicated. People hate them. For a lot of reasons, but I think that the most interesting reason is that people hated the Jedi Order for being boring bureaucrats. Obi-Wan described them as defenders of peace and justice, and they are literally out here using a slave army, fighting for no other reason than some planets want to split away.

While we don’t know exactly how much Luke knows about the Clone War era, he knows enough to know about the Jedi’s role in Palpatine’s rise to power. Like us, the Luke we see in TLJ is disgusted at this aspect of the Jedi, thus why he wants the Jedi to end. But at the same time, like us, he still believes, in his core, in that idea of the Jedi as protectors of peace and justice, which is why he hesitates to destroy the ancient texts. I would also say he kind of represents a certain kind of Star Wars fan, the kind that is so attached to the lore and trivia in Star Wars, that he hates the idea of anything changing or messing around with it, like Rey.

So why is Luke so bitter and angry at the beginning of The Last Jedi? Because, coming into the sequel trilogy, so were many of the people who have watched and loved Star Wars throughout the years. He felt betrayed by the image that Obi-Wan painted of the Jedi, just as many fans did.

In part one, I mentioned that I would be discussing another major idea running throughout this movie: grappling with a shared dark history. This is where that comes in. For this section, I will be drawing upon the ideas of literally my favorite YouTube video in existence, Quinton Reviews’, “Putting the ‘War’ in Star Wars- A Prequel Analysis”.

Beyond the large-scale, metatextual reading of Luke’s character in The Last Jedi, there is also what is explicitly happening in the text, which parallels what is happening on that metatextual level, which is that Luke is grappling with the fact that his history, the history of the Jedi, the history of the Republic, and even his own family’s history, is darker and more complicated than he originally thought, even by the end of RoTJ.

According to George Lucas, the prequels are the story of how fascism comes to power in a democracy. “Because democracies aren’t overthrown; they’re given away.” That is the point of the prequels. Palpatine didn’t become emperor by overthrowing the Jedi and the Republic. They handed it to him, through the GAR, through emergency powers and weakened term limits, and through a commitment not to ideals, but to a government.

The original trilogy is a fanciful look at war. In the OT, war is not complicated. There are good guys, and there are bad guys. We don’t need to think too closely about how those bad guys came to power in the first place, oh no. We just need to fight them to restore the Republic and the Jedi. No need to examine those too closely either. The prequel trilogy pulls back the curtain on war and its complexities, which, again, I think is a big part of why people hold such disdain for them.

In The Last Jedi, Luke is dealing with the fact that the New Republic and his new Jedi Order failed, and they failed because they *didn’t* learn from the past. (Going back to the theme of learning from failure!) He, the galaxy as a whole, and us as the audience, are all learning that in order to deal with something like facism, you have to actually look at where it comes from, and realize that it didn’t come from nowhere, and if not properly dealt with, will be back.

Now, the last point about Luke’s character in The Last Jedi. Like I said in part one, Luke’s failure with Ben is a major part of the movie’s theme, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it makes sense for the character. I want to argue that it does. If you watched Shaun or Jenny Nicholson’s videos that I linked in the previous part, then you have already heard what I am about to say.

Luke very much did try to kill Vader. Like, multiple times over the course of two movies. While I would disagree with the assertion that Luke *only* tried to redeem Vader because he couldn’t physically defeat him, it certainly was a factor when it came down to it by the end of RotJ. With Ben, he could sense the darkness in him, and after having been through a whole lot of bad stuff already, thought for a split second that he could prevent future horrors. As Jenny says in her video, he had the thought. He didn’t spend several minutes desperately trying to kill Ben. He walked in there, ignited his lightsaber, and immediately realised ‘wtf am i doing?!’.

Going back to the idea of dealing with facism, Luke failed because he thought that he could deal with fascism by killing one dude. But facism is more than that. It’s always going to be more than one person; it’s an ideology.

And as for Luke having already confronted the darkside- that’s not how temptation works. It’s not a one and done thing. And yeah, he failed. We will all have a moment in our lives where we fail, and again, failure is what this movie is about. The fact that Luke eventually learns from his failure, by teaching Rey about the history of the Jedi, so that she can learn from his mistakes and the mistakes of the Jedi as a whole, makes his character arc a hopeful one, in my book.

For me, it is Luke’s journey in TLJ that ties the whole saga together. In this, we finally get to deal with the implications of the prequels and wrestle with what that means both in and out of universe.

#star wars #star wars meta #luke skywalker #the last jedi #sw meta #tlj #sw #hannah talks #so you hate the last jedi

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erinptah · 5 years ago

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The Secret Commonwealth review: It was...pretty underwhelming, mostly

Finally got the audiobook of The Secret Commonwealth checked out from my local library!

(Here’s my review of its predecessor, La Belle Sauvage, if you want to start there.)

It’s 20 hours long. Whoof.

As for the contents…look, it was well-written prose. I didn’t get bored while listening. (Rereading that last review, I realized I’d written the same thing about the previous book, too.) But in retrospect, there sure was not a lot that happened in those 20 hours. Some notable action bits, in between a lot of padding.

And my reactions mostly consist of…complaints. Not “this is hideous, time to ragequit the series, this is an unqualified anti-rec” complaints, more a low-level churn of frustration.

(There’s one scene I know has made someone else outright refuse to read it, though, and I think it’s totally reasonable. More on that later.)

So I’m gonna try to unpack a bunch of it here. Hopefully in enough detail that, if you haven’t read it yet (and don’t mind spoilers), it can help you make an informed decision about whether it’s worth spending 20 hours of your life on.

Spoilers start here!

The Story

We open with Lyra as a 20-year-old student at St. Sophia’s, a women’s college in Oxford. She’s made some kinda-friends, including former booty calls that she’s still on good terms with, but she’s badly estranged from Pantalaimon.

Their rift is exacerbated by a couple of books she’s read that are popular with young intellectuals lately. One is a philosophy book, one is a novel, both of them seem broadly Ayn Randian in the sense that “teens/college kids get really into these books and decide it’s smart and fashionable to adopt their moral framework, ignoring both the logical failures and the ways in which this turns you into a horrible person.”

She’s been staying at Jordan between semesters, but political drama forces her to move, and that’s when Oakley Street swoops in to make contact. They’re the secret Magisterum-thwarting spy organization that Hannah Relf worked for in La Belle Sauvage. Employees now include Alice Lonsdale and Malcolm Polstead, who fill Lyra in on the events of the previous book.

Lyra crashes at Malcolm’s parents’ inn for a bit, but her fighting with Pan gets so bad that he takes off, leaving a note. He’s going to confront one of the authors of the fashionable/terrible books — who lives in Germany, so this could take a while.

Since Lyra can’t just hang around and go through the motions of a normal life while her daemon is visibly missing, she takes off too. First on a detour to the Gyptians, then on a sorta meandering cross-continental journey of her own.

Along the way, both Lyra and Pan keep uncovering new details about this ongoing side plot:

It turns out there’s a place, I think somewhere in the Middle East, where daemons can’t go — same as the area in the North that witches use for separation ordeals. If a human crosses that area, they arrive at the growing-place of a type of rose that won’t grow properly anywhere else, whose oil has the same effect as the seed-pod sap used by Mary Malone in the mulefa world — you can use it to make a Dust-viewing lens.

This rose oil can also be used to make all kinds of super-cool products, like the World’s Best Perfume and the World’s Best Rosewater, so it’s valuable for lots of reasons. But a few researchers have caught on to the Dust-viewing power, and the Magisterium has caught on that some dangerous research is happening with roses, so they’ve started destroying every rosebush they can find in the general region — wreaking havoc with the global economy in the process.

(They’re also trying to convince the general population that God Says Roses Are Immoral now. If this book had come out 5 years ago, I could’ve made some great connections with “there’s widespread successful Magisterium propaganda about how nobody should like or respect the work of botanists.”)

And there’s a related plot where Lyra’s uncle (she actually has one! Mrs. Coulter had a brother!) is playing a long game to re-consolidate as much Magisterium power as possible under a single individual. It gets us some good dramatic sequences…which I feel no need to break down here, because they’re exactly the ones you would imagine, with exactly the outcome you’re already expecting.

One of Uncle Wannabe-Pope’s employees is Bonneville Junior, the son of the miniboss from La Belle Sauvage. He’s a trained alethiometrist, but is more interested in his personal vendetta against Lyra than his actual job. Takes after Dad in that he’s not very deep or complex, just a straightforward fun-to-hate villain.

Pan eventually makes his way to the Terrible Author’s home, where he discovers that things are weird and creepy, but not very specific. Doesn’t achieve anything in particular, either. Disheartened, he sets off for the Region of the Weird Roses, with the idea he’ll meet Lyra there.

Lyra, meanwhile, has a notebook they recovered from an explorer who went to the Region of the Weird Roses. It includes a list of other (non-witch) people across the world who’ve been separated, because apparently they’re more common than you’d think, and have a secret support network. So she visits a few of these people along her trip, with an endgame goal of Weird Roseville.

Malcolm also makes his own journey toward Weird Roseville. I think it was part of an Oakley Street investigation into “what does the Magisterium have against roses these days?” In the middle of it, Bonneville Junior confronts him (Junior is having trouble finding Lyra, but has a secondary vendetta against Malcolm for killing his dad, so this is almost as good). Malcolm talks him down.

At last Lyra, Pan, and Junior all hit the same “creepy deserted town in the general area of Weird Roseville.” But none of them manage to interact before the book ends.

…In my LBS review, I said it had serious middle-of-the-trilogy syndrome, a whole lot of setup for no payoff. TSC spends very little time following up on any of it. To be fair, the Original Trilogy has happened in the meantime and this book also tries to address some of the events from that, but the vast bulk of it is even more setup for no payoff.

Complaints, Broadly Organized By Theme, In Loosely Chronological Order

Lyra at St. Sophia’s:

I really like how the opening sequence involves Lyra noticing a friend is in distress and helping her out! (Friend’s dad is in the rose-using business, and his company is going under.) And then…that’s the last we see of any connections with female friends her own age. In the entire book.

One of the Terrible Rationalist Books is spreading the idea that “daemons are a collective hallucination.” This is not a “rational” idea in this world! It would be like saying that faces are a collective hallucination!

And Lyra is the least likely person in this world to buy into it, because she’s visited a world without visible daemons, and got empirical proof (via Will’s and John Parry’s separation ordeals) that even under those conditions, they still exist!

I can appreciate the idea of Lyra and Pan being traumatized and scarred and having trouble, but this, specifically, is a nonsensical thing for them to argue over.

The book also gestures (not very hard, thankfully) toward the idea that Lyra is doubting the existence of magic in general. Which, again, is the equivalent of someone from our world deciding it’s rational to doubt the existence of weather.

Also, it seems like Lyra/Pan haven’t had any contact with witch society through these years. Why not? If anyone’s going to have sympathy and understanding and support groups for their separation-related trauma, it’s the culture where every single member formally goes through the same thing! And I’m sure Serafina would be delighted to see them! But they don’t even consider the idea.

Lyra and Malcolm:

Yes, they’re being telegraphed as a future couple, and yes, it’s just as creepy and unappealing as the internet has been saying.

And, look, I’m not going to say “20-year-old Lyra is too young to date anyone she wants.” Not after we got through all of Original Flavor HDM without saying “12-year-old Lyra is too young to go on an interdimensional journey with no adult supervision and save the multiverse.”

But he was one of her teachers when she was 16, and his POV includes remembering how he had to actively shut down sexual interest in her then, and here in the present Lyra still thinks of him as kind of a distant authority figure, and that’s weird, okay?

They only have a couple days’ worth of actual interaction before being apart for the rest of the book. That’s not enough time to believably develop their dynamic into something believably-potentially-romantic. So the narrative doesn’t try.

…but it still has multiple people ask Malcolm if he’s in love with Lyra afterward.

The foreshadowing on Lyra’s side is all in how she keeps thinking about how similar he is to Will. (Cat daemon, killed someone when he was a tween, etc.) Because that’s what we all want for Lyra’s romantic future, a knockoff Will-substitute, amirite?

Separately: Malcolm and friends tell Lyra the whole backstory about the magical boat trip from La Belle Sauvage, but it doesn’t seem like she tells them anything about “that time I went on an interdimensional journey, built a group of allies from multiple worlds and species including literal angels, killed God, and permanently rewrote the nature of death.” I feel like that should’ve come up!

General daemon stuff:

There’s a moment in the early chapters when Pan, wandering alone at night, considers eating some small critter (the kind that an ordinary pine marten would eat). It’s not like he’s going through a species-identity crisis, either. It’s just written as…a thing a daemon might do. So that’s weird.

In the original series, daemon separation is a major, improbable ordeal. Under normal circumstances, a human and a daemon being dragged apart past their distance limit will just kill them. At Bolvangar they figured out a severance method that would leave you physically functional, but dead inside. Witch-style separation only happens at this special daemon-repelling place in the North (you don’t have to be a witch to use it, see John Parry, but they usually don’t tell non-witches it exists), or on the shores of the World of the Dead. So far, so good.

In this series, we find out that there’s another place on this Earth with the same daemon-repelling properties. It’s also remote and isolated and associated with Cool Weird Stuff (the cities in the Northern Lights vs. the Dust-revealing roses). Again, so far, so good.

…And then we find out that random people can just kinda do a separation ordeal anywhere. Okay, it already happened to Malcolm in La Belle Sauvage, but now it’s all over the place. Lyra keeps spotting people on the street without daemons! Pan teams up with a kid who got dragged apart from her daemon in a shipwreck, and it didn’t kill them! It’s too easy. It’s unsatisfying. It undercuts so much of the monumental feeling separation had in the original trilogy.

It also makes it even weirder that nobody was able to hook Lyra and Pan up with a support group. Oakley Street couldn’t suss it out? Her friends among the Gyptians couldn’t catch an underground rumor and pass it on?

Related: when we saw daemonless kids in The Golden Compass, they were treated like horror-movie monsters. Like zombies, ghosts, bodies walking around without heads. But when people clock Lyra as being daemonless here, they treat it like it’s something immoral. Like she’s walking around topless and needs to cover it up.

There’s just a general pattern of rewriting HDM’s established rules about daemons, and not for the better.

And speaking of rewriting established rules…general alethiometer stuff:

There is a New Method for reading the alethiometer. It involves pointing all three hands at the same symbol, which already seems like a gimmick, not a useful way to frame a question.

And somehow, that gets you the answers in the form of…magic visions. No intuition or interpretation needed! The sights and sounds just get funneled directly into your brain!

The reason this isn’t a Plot-Breaking Hack is because it makes the user super-queasy. You can only use it when you’re in a position to be sick afterward, and people would rather not use it at all.

Lyra spends most of the story with the alethiometer, and without all the symbology books that go with it. She avoids using the New Method because of the nausea, but she also avoids using the Classic Method, on the grounds that it apparently can’t get her anything without the books.

She’s been studying these books for years now! Couldn’t she at least try to read it, and make her best guess at the interpretation? Maybe sometimes she gets it right, maybe sometimes she’s wrong and things go sideways and she realizes in hindsight which of the symbols she misread, maybe sometimes she gives up and gets depressed and puts it away without drawing a conclusion at all…but nope, she just flat-out doesn’t interact with it.

Midway through the book, Lyra gets a tipoff about a kind of truth-reading cards. That’s fine; we know there are other methods of truth-reading in the multiverse, including the I Ching and Mary Malone’s computer. Makes sense as a new tidbit of worldbuilding.

But towards the end of the story, someone helpfully gifts Lyra a deck of the cards. And she spends some time trying to infer answers from how the pretty pictures on the cards fit together. More time than she spends trying to infer answers from how the pretty pictures on the alethiometer fit together.

The alethiometer didn’t need a New Method or a total replacement in the narrative…but apparently it’s getting them.

And what was the point of Lyra dedicating herself to studying those symbols, for years, if she can get better and more-accurate data from a set of symbols she’d never seen before until this week?

Pan’s international voyage:

This all started when Pan got the idea that Terrible Author had “put a spell on Lyra and stolen her imagination.” Which sounds like a figure of speech at first, but no, apparently Pan thinks this guy is literally magic.

And yet, somehow, not magic enough to be dangerous, even for a single lone daemon whose only plan is “confront him directly and demand that he fix it”?

Most of the trip is uneventful, since it’s a long string of Pan successfully keeping out-of-sight.

There’s one clever part where, once he’s in Terrible Author’s hometown, he finds a school for the blind to ask for information. That way he can say “my girl is totally standing right over there, don’t worry about it, now, any chance you know where Terrible Author lives?”

…of course, the first person he asks has exactly the right answer and is happy to share. Convenient, that.

As mentioned, Terrible Author’s setup is suitably creepy and off-putting, but Pan doesn’t figure out anything about why. Doesn’t investigate. Didn’t come up with any kind of plan beforehand about how to coax Terrible Author into undoing his evil spell. Pan just confronts him, demands he fix Lyra, realizes this hasn’t fixed Lyra, and leaves.

There’s a bombshell much later on when Lyra finds out that Terrible Author is separated! And, although there’s a daemon who hangs around with him, they don’t actually belong to each other! This is fascinating and disturbing and would’ve been so much more satisfying if, you know, Pan had figured this out and was actively trying to bring the information to Lyra. Or, heck, if anything had been done with it at all.

Shortly afterward, Pan runs into this girl who just happens to be separated from her daemon, and is available and happy to team up with Pan, so they can head off to Weird Roseville together. Convenient. Again.

Lyra’s Bogus Journey:

Lyra has a much harder time staying out of sight than Pan, so she gets a lot more interaction along her trip.

Most of it is a long string of the same convenient “running into people who are helpful and friendly and have exactly the information she needs to move the plot along.” (More details on that below.)

When this happened in the original trilogy, it was the alethiometer deus-ex-machining her in the right direction, which worked! But here it seems to keep happening by accident. (She brings the alethiometer, but, as mentioned, she doesn’t use it.)

The Conveniently Helpful People also keep telling her (with minimal prompting, and what seems like total honesty?) whole backstories. All of which are more interesting than the actual narrative she’s going through.

They also occasionally mention God/the Authority, and Lyra doesn’t have much of a reaction. I wish, just once, she had snapped “it doesn’t matter what the Authority thinks! Or rather, what he used to think, since my boyfriend and I killed him when we were 12!”

The convenience also could’ve worked if Oakley Street agents were being cool and clever and actively tracking her journey in order to help. She does run into a few of them, but that seems to be by accident too.

And it could’ve worked if there was other magic steering her along — she keeps dropping the phrase “the secret commonwealth,” meaning the world’s hidden population of faeries and other supernatural creatures — but as of the end of the book, none of Lyra’s friendly helpers have been revealed to be anything other than human. (Some are modified in exotic ways, but they were human to start with, at least.)

Even farther towards the end of the book, after this long string of people being Conveniently Helpful For No Reason, she ends up in a train car with…and I wish I was making this up…a bunch of soldiers who are Inconveniently Attempted Rapists For No Reason.

That record-scratch moment your brain just did? That’s how it feels in the book, too. The attack comes out of nowhere, there’s suddenly a big action sequence with Lyra fighting back, their CO shows up and makes them let her go, and then she leaves the train and heads almost directly to the next bunch of Conveniently Helpful People.

If anyone wants more detailed spoilers, either to be prepared before reaching the scene or to decide whether you’ll read it at all, let me know.

To be blunt about one thing: from the in-scene descriptions I would’ve said none of these guys actually managed to get their dicks out, but a few days later we get the book’s first and only reference to Lyra having periods. And she doesn’t think “oh, thank republic-of-heavens, I’m not pregnant,” which suggests she knew it wasn’t a risk, but the whole Narrative Reason you write that in after an assault scene is because someone is afraid it’s a risk, so, what are you even doing, Pullman??

Okay, switching tracks.

Some of the people Lyra encounters, usually with personal stories that are way more interesting, and I wish they’d been [part of] the actual main plot:

A guy who meets her at a train station, says he has a friend who needs her help, leads her out into a maze of city streets where she explicitly thinks about how risky this is because she’s totally lost…but she does the mission and it’s fine and he leads her right back to the train station afterward.

The friend is a human who’s been modified by “a magician” to be some kind of fire-elemental person, and wants Lyra to help find his daemon, who was modified into a water-elemental form — a mermaid! This is cool and fascinating and scary and raises so many questions —

— and they get killed immediately after Lyra reunites them, and we never find out anything more about it.

The killer is the magician, who had been holding the water-sprite daemon captive. (And is possibly also the guy’s father? Finally, someone who can beat Marisa and Asriel in a “Bad Parenting Juice” drinking contest.) Which, again, is fascinating and evocative — how do you become a magician? Or are they born, like the witches? How many are there? What kinds of things are they doing in the world? —

— yeah, we don’t find out anything about that either.

Murderous Magician Dad just gives Lyra some helpful plot information, then sends her and the train-station guy off on their way.

A couple of guys who intervene when Lyra is being harassed at a bar.

They steer her outside, she’s prepared for a fight, but they hold up their hands and say they’re friendly, and also, they noticed someone steal the alethiometer bag off her earlier, so here, would she like it back?

They give her some helpful rumors, too. Don’t remember which specific ones, but they lead her to the next plot point.

A rich elderly princess who’s on the Daemonless International Support Group list, because her daemon fell in love (!) with another woman (!!) and eventually ran off with her (!!!).

Lyra thinks to herself that she’s seen other situations where a daemon and their human have different feelings about a romance. Just thinks it in passing, and then it’s gone. I want to see these situations! I want on-page exploration of multiple ways they can work! How do they correspond to the feelings of people in worlds where all the daemons are internal?

As for the princess, I already knew it was going to be a big scandal — two human women in that day and age could never be a couple, at least not in public, and A Literal Princess is a very public figure —

but then, in spite of the scandal, the princess moves in with the woman! And they travel together, they work together, they share a bed, she explains to Lyra that she played the role so thoroughly she made herself fall in love with the woman!

…and then it falls apart for some reason, and the princess leaves, but her daemon insists on staying. So that’s how they get separated. Deliberately walking away from each other.

There’s a brief reference to the idea of him wishing he was the other woman’s daemon, instead of the princess’s. How does that work? How do you get so disconnected from yourself, and in such a skewed partial-match with someone else, that you end up with that kind of yearning?

In case you can’t tell, I want to read this novel. I would trade the entirety of The Secret Commonwealth for this novel. No question, hands down.

Instead: Princess says “if you run into my daemon, tell him I’d like to see him again before we die?” Lyra says “sure, can do, thanks for the brunch.” And then, you guessed it, that whole scene is over and done with and we never get any follow-up on it again.

A pair of agents from Oakley Street, who say “hey, Lyra, have you considered using some basic disguise techniques, like dyeing your hair and wearing glasses?”

And then they give her a lovely haircut and a dye job and a spare pair of fake glasses.

This isn’t anywhere near the beginning of Lyra’s journey, by the way! This is more than 80% of the way through the book. There’s no special reason she needs it more after this point.

It’s like Pullman suddenly realized a disguise might help, wrote the scene at the point he had reached, and then never went back and edited to put it in a more meaningful location.

The stranger on a train who shows Lyra the deck of “exactly the same as an alethiometer” cards, gives her a demonstration of how to use them, and then leaves the whole deck behind for her to keep.

A married couple who don’t share any languages in common with Lyra, and don’t seem to have a lot of money…but feed her and let her stay at their house overnight, for free, even daemonless as she is. They also give her a free niqab so she can move around less conspicuously (she’s still injured from the fight with the soldiers).

A priest who invites her into his church, isn’t bothered when she takes off the niqab, helps treat her injuries, and gives her a motherlode of useful details about highly-illegal dealings he’s not even supposed to know about, but will unveil to this total stranger who just wandered in, because she needs them for the next plot point.

This when Lyra finds out that someone in this region has resurrected the Bolvangar method. But this time they aren’t kidnapping random children for it. No, they’re paying for it. If you’re poor enough, and desperate enough, and can’t spare any more kidneys, these people will buy your daemon to sell on the black market.

The city has a whole secret underclass of illegally-severed people working in the sewers.

Meanwhile, rich people who’ve been deserted by their daemons can purchase a stand-in. This is what Terrible Author did. Of course, it’s not a true replacement, but the dealers boast about their ability to make an excellent match.

There are also people who buy separated daemons for other scientific/experimental purposes. Details left to our imaginations.

This is a horrifying sinister mindblowing discovery, as much of a bombshell as the original Bolvangar was. I mean, it would’ve hit harder if Lyra had uncovered it by spying, or tricking someone into revealing the information, or anything more elaborate than “asking straightforward sorta-related questions and getting this whole sordid story infodumped by the first guy she asked,” but it’s still big.

So it’s gonna shake things up something fierce, right? Maybe Lyra won’t go full-on “calling in the cavalry to tear the place down” until Book 3, but this would be her new “stepping through the doorway into the sky” moment — where the horror of what she’s learned galvanizes her into making a pivotal decision, where she starts laying the groundwork for the revolution —

— no, of course not, this is where she starts going around to the hideouts of various undercover daemon-sellers and asking if they can help her find Pan.

Come on.

And this brings us to the end of the book. One of the black-market daemon-sellers guides Lyra to the creepy abandoned town where the final scene takes place.

In these last moments, the audience (but not Lyra) finds out that this guy has ulterior motives. Which would make it the first time in the whole book when “Lyra or Pan takes a Conveniently Helpful Person at face value with total credulity” turns out to be a bad idea.

(And, I mean, he’s a black-market daemon-seller. If anyone on that list was obviously an unethical scumball who shouldn’t be counted on….!)

Finally, a few things that don’t fit into any neat lists, but annoyed me enough to mention:

1) People curse in this book. Which is notable because they didn’t in HDM, and it wasn’t just the adults watching their mouths around tween Lyra — we got plenty of scenes that only had people like Mrs. Coulter and Lord Asriel in them. Those two would definitely be dropping f-bombs if it was a routine part of their world’s language, and this book reveals that it is.

So every time it happens it breaks your immersion, pointedly reminding you “this isn’t a real world, it’s a fake story where the author can switch the profanity-filter on and off at will.” Does it enhance the narrative in a way that’s worth the tradeoff? I don’t think so.

2) Before I read the book, I’d heard vague spoilers about “a character with a mermaid daemon,” and figured it was someone from a cool magical species — hopefully more expansion/exploration on the fairy from La Belle Sauvage whose daemon appeared to be “a whole flock of butterflies.”

But no, it’s a magically-modified human. His situation doesn’t get explored that deeply before he dies, or connect with anything else in the story. The fairy, meanwhile, does get mentioned when Malcolm tells Lyra about meeting her, but she doesn’t reappear or get any kind of follow-up.

In spite of the title, the only explicit appearance of any members of the “secret commonwealth” is some little glowing spirits, basically wights, that Lyra watches over the side of a gyptian boat one time.

3) There’s a scene where a bunch of people gather in a meeting hall to protest the Magisterium sabotaging their various rose-related livelihoods. A couple Magisterium reps are there. Malcolm is also there, and his POV basically goes “huh, looks like all the exits have gotten the doors shut. And barred. And suddenly they each have an armed Magisterium agent standing in front of them. That’s weird. Gonna keep quietly observing to find out what happens next.”

This guy is supposed to be a cool experienced anti-Magisterium spy! This is basically a giant neon sign flashing COMING UP NEXT: MASSACRE! (It is not a misdirect, either.)

And Malcolm sees it, but doesn’t read it, or take any action to try to subvert it, or even move to defend himself — it’s just like any cheesy horror movie where the audience is shouting LOOK BEHIND YOU at the unwitting character who’s about to get murdered.

Wrap-Up Thoughts

Whatever happens in the final volume of this trilogy, it might reveal things that redeem some of the problems in this book. But I’ll be honest, I’m not holding my breath.

And when I think about reveals that would address these problems, everything I come up with is stuff that should’ve just been in this book.

For example: let’s say the Fair Folk are directly involved after all, intervening to steer Lyra and Pan down the most convenient paths. In particular, the guy on the train who only appears long enough to give Lyra a set of alethiometry cards + a tutorial on how to use them — I really want him to be Fae. It’s so contrived and random if he’s not.

But the readers should know about it! Back in HDM, we would get scenes about the plans and activities of all the other factions at work. It might take a while to discover the exact details of (for example) the witches’ ultimate goal that Lyra was part of, but we knew they had a goal, and were supporting her in service of it. If the Secret Commonwealth is actively involved in the plot, we should’ve gotten that by now.

Semi-related: I feel like, if the rest of the book was better, then I’d have no trouble explaining a lot of the Lyra-specific issues as “she’s super-depressed, not in a place to make great choices or take a lot of decisive action.”

But it’s not like she’s drifting around in a trauma fog that hampers her ability to get things done. Her journey, while not perfect or threat-free, still comes together with improbable smoothness — as if the writing hasn’t noticed that she’s not being proactive and prescient and well-coordinated and overall super-competent about it. Meanwhile, other characters are underwhelming in the same way. (Looking at you, Malcolm “I Can’t Believe It’s Now a Bloodbath” Polstead.)

So it doesn’t seem like a conscious narrative choice to write Lyra this way. It just seems consistent with the complaints I have about everything else in the writing.

…let’s be honest, I’m almost certainly gonna read the third book anyway. I’m enough of a completist that it’ll bother me not to, I don’t have a lot of hard-stop dealbreakers that would make me bow out anyway, and, well, I do a lot of work that requires time-passing listening material. The Secret Commonwealth is nowhere near the most-frustrating audio I’ve used to fill that time.

But it hasn’t left me excited or optimistic or Shivering With Anticipation, either.

Mostly I just anticipate getting some useful stuff done while I listen, and then having a final set of reactions to work through in another one of these posts.

#His Dark Materials #HDM #The Book of Dust #The Secret Commonwealth #tsc spoilers #review

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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 6 years ago

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

Requests:

Hi can you write something with bellamy blake that's like angst and fluff based on the song Somewhere only we know by Keane thank u <3

Requested by: @marvelgladers

Hi! Can you please do something with Bellamy Blake where it’s fluff and then the reader gets hurt or dies or something and Bellamy is having a hard time dealing with it? I love your writing so much! Thx

Requested by: Anonymous

Omg don’t even care what it’s about but I just need more of you writing for Bellamy! You’re so good that doc literally made me so happy oml 😂

Requested by: @ferrisxbueller

Paring: Bellamy Blake X Reader

Word Count: 2,274

Post Date: 4-20-19

Warnings: angst, fluff, death, no happy ending 😢

A/N: Thank you all so much for your support! I love writing for you guys and I’m having such a great time with all the requests! Also I love writing for Bellamy because he’s amazing and I love The 100. Well, I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as you did the last ones! Also it’s based on the song Somewhere only we know by Keane and let me tell you, I had never heard of this song before and then I started listening to it for this and I instantly fell in love with it.♥️ I’m hoping I get the main gist of it correct for you all and that I do it justice because it is such a beautiful song. But you know it’s mainly in my head and how I felt writing through this song. Please go listen to it if you haven’t heard it before! This has got to be the longest story I’ve written, and I tried guys. I really did. Songfics are hard.😂 Love you all!

Also, idk if anyone reads this or not because it’s long as hell, but thanks if you do and keep requesting!

- Ria

*Based on Keane’s Somewhere Only We Know*

*Song lyrics are in bold*

*Not my Gif*

I walked across an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

I felt the earth beneath my feet

Sat by the river, and it made me complete

“Bellamy!” You call searching through the tents for your best friend. “What!?” He grumbles as you finally find him in his tent tying his shoes for the day. “Bellamy, I’m bored! I want to do something and as my best friend, I’m your responsibility to entertain. So. Entertain me.” You say as you plop yourself down our his mattress throwing your arms and head off the side, Bellamy chuckling looking at your upside face. “Fine smalls.” He says sarcastically using the nickname you hate causing you to roll your eyes, he calls you that because even though your one of the oldest people you’re also one of the shortest. He’s still chuckling as you flip yourself over on the bed getting your way, “you want to do something? Then come with me on the hunt.” You stare at his smirking face with wide eyes. “You, Bellamy Blake, are actually letting me, Y/N L/N, on a hunting trip? Am I dreaming or did I die because there is no way you would actually let me do that.” You smirk watching as he rolls his eyes. “Fine, don’t go if your just gonna act like this.” He starts out of the tent before you quickly pull him back simply apologizing then grabbing your spear. A few hours later, and a lot of joking complaints on your part, you and Bellamy decide to head back to the camp. Before you get to far Bellamy stops walking, causing you to run right into him since you weren’t paying attention, causing you to stumble to the ground. “Careful Smalls, you don’t want to hurt yourself there.” He laughs as he sticks his hand out for you to take. “ oh shut up Bell.” You snap back at his amused expression. “Why the hell did you stop? Did ya get scared of your shadow?” You joke as he lifts you to your feet gently pushing you a little when your feet are finally planted, letting out a laugh st your pretend shocked face. “I wanted to show you something before we go back, found the place the other day and thought you’d appreciate the ‘beauty and whatnot’ of it.” He says with finger quotes as yougot excited. You could always find the beauty in anything, that was one of the things Bellamy had always loved about you. When you all first came down to the ground, you were the only person besides Octavia who could make Bellamy laugh and smile like he felt when he was younger. He drags you away from the path into a huge field with flowers and a river going through it. He glances over to watch your reaction, smiling as he sees your smile triple in size and your eyes shift a million miles a minute to take in the wonderful sight. “Oh, Bell… It’s… It’s beautiful.” You whisper turning to him, catching the sunlight around him, making him look almost angelic as you chuckle and lie down on the grass next to the river. Pulling him down right next to you, staring at his face as he stares at yours, finally feeling completely happy for the first time since the ark.

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin

Walking around camp, you notice the stress levels are high. After Spacewalker and princess tried to “make peace with the grounders” everyone acts like they have a target on your backs. You aren’t that stressed because you trust Bellamy and, though you hate to admit it, Clarke and knew that they both had the 100’s best interests in mind. As you passed by the drop ships doors you began to hear yelling slowly building inside, knowing how everyone can be, you made your way inside to stop any potential fights, surprised to find Bellamy was there yelling at a smug boy who refused to work for the day. You grabbed Bellamy’s arm, feeling him tense when he felt your arm but saw him relax a little when he realizes it’s you. “Hey Blake, why don’t you take a break from threatening to kill people and come hang out with your best friend.” You smile as you see his eyes glance from the poor boy who seemed so confident at the start of this conversation, who is now looking like he crapped himself, to you who just so happened to be one of the only people not on Bellamy’s bad side. He reluctantly agreed and followed you out of the drop ship and to the gates. “Smalls, where are we going? We can’t leave camp, it’s to dangerous.” “Oh come on Bell, live a little.” You say winking as you both leave camp heading to the spot that he brought you to the other day, Bellamy lips curling up at the corners when he realizes where you’re taking him. “Ok Y/N, I get it, I need to relax but we shouldn’t be this far from camp after the bridge.” “Oh my god, Bellamy stop worrying, we are gonna be fine, besides I have you to protect me and you have me to protect you. And bell, I mean this in the kindest way possible… you look like shit. You need to relax AWAY from camp.” He feigns hurt as he places his hand to his chest causing you to snort at his ridiculousness. “Look Bell, I know you’re stressed and tired with everything going on at camp and i guess, I just wanted you to know you can tell me anything and always rely on me to make you feel better or just to be there, you just gotta let me in Bell.” Bellamy looks at you and smiles causing your cheeks to slightly blush as you pull him down by the river, placing yourself between his legs with your back lying down on his chest while he props both of you up with his arms. You stare up at the sky and then down at the river while Bellamy constantly scans the woods for Grounder movement, after a few minutes his eyes drift down to you as yours somehow managed to drift to his. For a few seconds Bellamy had forgotten about the grounders, the 100, and the damn ark that dropped you guys. He was just focused on you, and you focused on him. Both of you completely happy once again.

I came across a fallen tree

I felt the branches of it looking at me

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Its been a week since you had managed to drag Bellamy to the field, and everyday since you and him have been going there for some time each day just to relax and spend time. You and Bellamy have been best friends since you were on the ark, you were the only person outside of the Blake family Bellamy had told about Octavia. He might have been a few years older than you, but you guys didn’t care as you both felt happy and carefree as friends. But lately, after you guys found your spot, things have changed, you think back on all the times you and Bellamy were just friends, people who deeply cared for each other, but not in a romantic way, not in the way Bellamy feels for you now, and the way you feel for him. “Y/N…” Bellamy says as you lean up against his chest in the field. You turn your head to face him as you hear with voice wavering, giving him a slight smile and nod to continue he adverts his eyes from your face looking up into the sky, throughly confusing you. You shift in his lap to face him place your hand on his cheek and pull his focus back onto you, worried that something had happened and he wasn’t okay. “Hey, Bell, it’s ok. You know can tell me anything.” His eyes bore into yours and your breathing hitches, “Y/N, I’m in love with you.” You feel yourself completely stop breathing, still staring up at the man you love, who closed his eyes and wished he hadn’t said that when he saw your reaction. After giving your brain a minute to process what had happened, you raise up and press a light kiss to his lips while his eyes opened in shocked. After he had realized what was happening he pulled you closer into him and pressed your lips harder to his, you hands had managed to find their way up to his neck and one into his hair, while his made its way onto your back and hips still pressing himself to you. When you separated the smile you had never left your face, “I love you too, Bell.” You whisper back to him causing him to pull you back into another kiss.

A few days after you and Bellamy started dating and became inseparable, you took a group on a hunting trip with Bellamy. Hunting trips have been limited in case of Grounder retaliation, but you all were desperate. When the hunt was ending and you were heading back, something had caught your eye. You told everyone to be quiet and get down as you and Bellamy were in charge of scanning the woods for the grounders. When Bellamy had caught sight of one of them, he got everyone’s attention to let them know, but then you got sight of another, then another, and another and soon, you were surrounded. You had no plan, you were scared but you weren’t going to let anyone see that, so you put on your best poker face and listened to Bellamy’s plan. When he was done explaining, the grounders were gone and you had no idea where they went. You guys remained close together, not daring to separate from the group, at least that was the plan. But one cocky idiot thought he was better off alone than with the group. He started running off, accidentally grabbing you in the process and pushing you away from the group. Seeing he had grabbed you, he stopped running to make sure you were ok. Dumb mistake. The second he had stopped moving a spear went right through his chest. And he hit the ground in record time. And without even thinking you stopped moving. Dumb mistake. Pain, that was all you felt, looking down at the spear prodding through your stomach. You could hear the grounders retreat as the fog horn sounded, and you could hear Bellamy scream your name and you hit the ground, falling like a tree. “Hey-y, no-o, no, no. Please I love you, no please don’t go.” He screams as he tries to pick you up to take you to camp, cradling your hand in his neck. “Bell-l, Bell-l please, I’m so tired, just… please.” You barely whisper blood starting to dribble out of your mouth, looking up at him. “No Y/N, please think of the field and- and the river, Y/N think of the river and when we said I love you. God Y/N please, please for me, keep breathing.” Your eyes had somehow fluttered close and your breathing short and barely there. “Bellamy, Bell, you- you were my dream.” You managed to whisper smiling before you went limp in his arms, your breathing completely stopped and his mind completely breaking.

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute, why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

You were gone. Bellamy hadn’t managed to go back to your spot since that day. But it’s been a week and he needs you, he needs to talk to you, to hold you, he relied on you more than he knew. You kept him sane. He felt tired, drained, and needed somewhere to go. So he went somewhere only you know, he went to the field. When he got there he fell on the ground, and for the first time since you died, he cried. He cried for a while, until he heard a branch snap behind him. Quickly grabbing his spear and wiping his face, he shot himself around, only to come face to face with Clarke, who apparently followed him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. “Bellamy… what are you doing here? You should be back at camp.” She says as she places a hand on his shoulder as he remains on his knees staring at the ground. “I just… I need her. This was our spot.” He mumbles his eyes drifting up to the river remembering your face the first time he brought you here, when everything began. “You wanna talk about it?” Clarke says keeping her voice soft as to not upset him. “I can’t. It’s over. This was the end of… everything.” His voice becames breathy as he tries to hold in his emotions, not letting his co-leader see him cry. “I came here.” He said. “I had to come somewhere only we know.”

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