#does mrs whitman know what happened???

[pulchritudinous-plants]

steep

have some post book six finn angst? i guess? that’s been in my drafts unfinished for months. mainly inspired by the fact that finn literally stabbed one of his best friends from childhood and it got kinda waved away??? therapy and meds are good but not that good. this is very rough very unedited but it’s 2 am so ya know.

His skin is red from the heat of the shower; scrubbed raw until tender. The water long stopped running pink but it doesn’t matter. He can still feel the blood on his hands, under his nails.

He should get out. Go to the infirmary, Philby and Maybeck were still out of it, after all, talk to the girls. Talk to security.

Are they going to send security after him? They probably should. He did kill someone, after all.

His knees give out at the thought. God, he killed Dillard. He’s sitting on the floor of his stateroom shower because he needed to wash off his best friend's blood before he could do anything else.

What is he supposed to tell his parents?

What is he supposed to tell Dillard’s?

His stomach rolls dangerously. Do they even know where their son is? He wasn’t supposed to be on the boat. He wasn’t supposed to be involved.

He isn’t supposed to be dead, either, though.

He buries his head in his knees, hands fisting his damp hair. Jesus Christ. He never should’ve come on this cruise. He never should’ve become a DHI. Screw his friends, how on earth could they be worth this? He never should’ve met Wayne.

Wayne. Anger flares inside him, but it’s muted. Wayne got them all involved in this. He’s the one that decided children could end a war that adults had been fighting for years. He’s the one that made Finn a Keeper. He’s the one that made Dillard a martyr.

Someone’s knocking on something far away. Everything sounds like he’s submerged in a swimming pool; white noise echoing in his ears. Someone is breathing loudly in the next room.

The door opens, light pooling in from the bedroom, casting shadows onto his mother. She looks worried, panic pinching her face. He can’t bring it in him to be embarrassed that she’s just walked in on him. He wonders why.

“Finn!” She rushes to him, pulling his face up in her hands. “God, you’re freezing, hold on.” Oh. He is freezing, now that she mentions it. The water’s turned ice cold; his skin is numb. How long has he been sitting here?

She leaves, just for a moment. The water abruptly shuts off and she comes back, towel in hand and clothes damp. She wraps it around him before smoothing his hair off his face.

“It’s okay, Finn, but please, breathe. You’ve gotta calm down” Breathe? He is, isn’t he? But no, the heavy breathing from before is him, not someone else. He’s hyperventilating, he thinks distantly. You’re having a panic attack, Larry.

God, how many times has he heard Charlene talk about panic attacks after tests? How many times has Willa called him at 2 am, crying from old nightmares? Why did he think he was so invincible, so well grounded that this wouldn’t ever happen to him?

Well, he supposed anyone would be crying in the shower if they‘d just stabbed someone.

He barks out a laugh at the thought, startling his mother. God, what is wrong with him?

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, on the floor of the shower. She breathes slow and even, willing him to do the same as she rubs his back. It feels like forever until he can take an easy breath of air.

Vaguely he wonders how his mom knows how to do this; whether it’s just some inherent knowledge that comes with age and children.

It takes longer still until he stands on shaky legs to grab a change of clothes, towel pulled tight around him. He’s not shaking, anymore, but he’s still cold. Still a little numb. His lips are chapped.

She leaves to let him change, looking weary at the thought of leaving him alone. He doesn’t blame her. He feels like he’s still teetering on the edge of another breakdown; one good push and he’ll be sent sprawling. She had grabbed his pajamas, he thinks idly. An old t-shirt his aunt sent him years ago that he’s yet to grow into and a pair of plaid sleep pants. They both smell like the lavender laundry detergent she uses back home.

Shit, he wants to go home.

“It’s a little late,” she says once he comes out of that bathroom, moving to put her hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t want her to move away. “Do you want to order room service for dinner? Or I could go pick something up?” She offers, but he’s already shaking his head.

“Can we order? Please? I just…” he trails off, not knowing what to say, but she’s already nodding, moving away to find the menu and call in dinner.

He stands in the middle of the room and tries to think. He needs to go down to medbay and talk to his friends. Philby and Maybeck are awake, no doubt, and they’re going to want to know what happened. It’s what a good friend would do. What a good leader would do. Hasn’t he fought tooth and nail to hold on to his precious leader title? He should be explaining; strategizing (apologizing). Instead, he’s leaving Willa and Charlene to explain everything, half of which they don’t even know because they didn’t follow him into that cave.

(They’re going to have to tell them how they woke them up, he thinks wryly. He’s almost upset that he’s almost certainly already missed out on Philby blushing as red as his hair; Maybeck’s cool persona cracking at the thought that he and Charlene kissed and he wasn’t even aware).

Would the girls wait for him to tell them what he’s done? Or do they already know that their leader's a murderer?

Maybe Philby should be the leader. No one’s died on his watch. What does Wayne’s opinion matter now, anyway?

He should go to them, even just to sit in silence with his friends. But the mere thought sends anxiety clawing up his throat. He’s terrified of what he might see when he looks into their eyes (disgust, horror, fear, anger, even sympathy).

He’ll be alone for tonight, he decides. Plead exhaustion if anyone asks in the morning. It isn’t a lie in the slightest. He feels drained, down to the very marrow, and just wants to sleep.

(He won’t be able to. He’ll toss and turn all night when he does finally drift off around four in the morning he’ll wake up from a nightmare with bile in his throat and phantom blood on his hands.)

-

His hands itch. They’re clean. He washes them anyway.

-

His hands start to crack. They’re dry, constantly, from the repeated washing and relentless hand sanitizer.

Their water bill is going to be astronomical, he thinks belatedly.

It’s been a little over two months since…since.

They haven’t crossed over once, Philby putting a stop to it as soon as he was back at his computer, not needing to ask the others if it was okay. There wasn’t much of a need for them, anyway. The OTs were surely scrambling to figure out what to do without Maleficent.

None of them end up caring too much.

They haven’t gotten together much since they arrived back in Florida. They had individual meetings with some high-up Disney execs and then were told to please forget this unpleasantness had happened and sign the new NDAs and oh, don’t forget they needed to post on the official Disney Host Interactive social media at least twice a month.

(His contract is extended for two more years. He doesn’t read the fine print as he signs away his life again. Not that it matters. They’ve already made a killer out of him.)

They’ve slowly been talking in the group chat again, small comments about class and families that carefully skirt around anything too heavy. Charlene sends a picture of her cat in a sink and Maybeck sends back his latest attempt at a donut vase and slowly, slowly, they start to feel like friends again.

Amanda keeps coming over, stretching out the last few days of summer with him whenever she can. He’s rotten company; doesn’t talk much but she doesn’t mind. She talks endlessly about her days, long and boring though they may be, until her voice goes hoarse and he can’t help but get up and grab her a glass of water.

He’s trying, slowly, to explain what happened to her. It had been surprisingly easy to hear Willa and Charlene fill Philby and Maybeck in on the story, he himself stepping in to fill their gaps. It’d been mindless, almost; he’d been too focused on how necessary it was that the panic and fear hadn’t hit him until hours later, hands itching until he’d scrubbed them raw.

(“PSTD,” his therapist says when he finally works up the courage to see one. “Trauma responses and rituals to help self soothe.”)

It’s amazing, really, dealing with grief. How often had he really thought of Dillard before the cruise? They’d certainly been growing apart in recent years, Finn spending more time with the Keepers and working and far less with his childhood best friend. It’d been easy to justify, at the time. Dillard wasn’t a Keeper, wasn’t a DHI; couldn’t understand what he and his friends were going through no matter how hard he tried; not like Jess and Amanda could.

Well, not until Wayne dragged him in.

He misses Dillard at the most random times, sharp aches deep in his chest at the mention of his favorite foods, the theme to his favorite video games; snatches of conversation from other neighborhood boys about girls and school and games. A sudden wave of grief and guilt a misery so strong that he’ll climb into bed and not be able to leave for days.

And then other times he won't think of Dillard at all for days at a time; feel content, almost, until he remembers and then the guilt of forgetting, of neglecting his best friend’s memory is almost the worst part.

He’s fifteen. He’s famous. He’s killed his best friend. He’s a soldier in a war he never should’ve known about. He’s a leader, or at least he’s supposed to be.

His hands itch.

[echobx]

One Chance 3 - Leo Grecco × fem!reader

summary: y/n and Leo are getting closer but quickly run into a issue bc of y/n past

word count: 2.3k

warnings: making out, angsty, miscommunication/misunderstanding

author's note: idk what I did here ;))

masterlist part 2

   The next day at school you decide to not walk in alone, instead you wait around the corner until the three boys arrive. It's not like you needed their protection, but it would give you a sort of ease to know them close by. 

   “Jackie O.” you call out and Leo gives you a small smile, but he doesn't say anything. 

   “Mr. President,” Jack salutes you, and you give Sean his jacket back.

   “Thanks again,” you tell him, but blush when you notice that Leo can't keep his eyes from you. 

   “So, what did you guys do yesterday? Couldn't get a hold of either of you all day,” Jack flashes his eyebrows while you stand at your locker, and you are happy to be able to hide your face behind the opened door of Leo's locker. 

   “Nothing,” Leo shrugs, and you bite your lip. 

   “We just talked,” you agree, closing your locker and giving them all a chaste smile. 

   “Fuck, you guys are boring,” Jack exclaims and walks off, Sean right behind him with a bored expression on his face. 

   “Ms. y/l/n, to the dean's office,” the voice of the school secretary bellows through the halls. 

   “Was nice to know you, Grecco, I'm off to execution,” you sigh and turn your heels to walk towards the office, and he simply looks after you for a moment before he starts to follow you silently. 

   “What happened yesterday was inexcusable, and I apologize for the behavior of my students,” Whitman apologizes to you as soon as you sit down, and it confuses you a bit. 

   “I'm sorry, what? You're apologizing to me? After I said all of that?” you are perplexed and his nodding makes you realize that he's more scared of another scandal than about you doing anything that's against the rules. 

   “Yes, and Mr. Marshall apologizes too, although he assures me that it was never his intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

   “Yeah, whatever- Did you talk to my dad?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

   “I was about to call him to explain the situation to him-”

   You interrupt the dean and shake your head with a sweet smile on your lips. “I'll tell him myself, he'll just freak out on you, trust me,” you lie. Whitman agrees and after a few more profound apologies he lets you leave. 

   “And?” Leo is waiting for you around the corner when you take his hand and pull him with you into the girl's bathroom that is close by. 

   As soon as the door closes behind you, you pull him in to kiss you. It's maybe not the most hygienic place to make out at, but you can't care less, as it's also the only place you can't get caught by anyone else. 

   “He apologized to me,” you tell him after hopping up to sit on the vanity. 

   “I didn't see that one coming,” Leo pursed his lips, his hands braced on the vanity next to your thighs. 

   “Me either,” you whisper into another kiss, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him between your opened legs. 

   “We're late for class,” he reminds you in between kisses. 

   “Can I come by later? For some easy practice?” you give him your best puppy eyes, and he nods a yes, before pecking your lips one last time and vanishing back into the hallway. 

   Later that day, you find yourself straddling Leo on his bed, telling him how to touch you while making out. 

   “Like that?” he asks while squeezing your tits, and you nod, biting your bottom lip. 

   “Can I take my shirt off?” you ask sweetly, and he nods nervously. And as soon as the fabric lies discarded somewhere on his floor, his eyes are fixed on your lace covered boobs. “Pull the lace down,” you instruct him, and he does it, dipping his head to place a gentle kiss on each nipple. “Just do what feels right,” you moan, your head thrown back and hands tugging on his hair. His lips close around the hardened bud, sucking carefully, while his free hand is gently squeezing your other tit. Hesitantly, you start to roll your hips into him, looking for any type of friction to get rid of the heat that has been building inside you. 

   “Is this okay?” Leo asks and you hum a yes. 

   “Other side,” you manage to say, and he does as he is told, switching from one boob to the other while you grind against his bulge. 

   You feel yourself getting closer with every rut of your hips, close enough but not yet granting your release. 

   “Tug on it, pinch it, I don't care,” you sigh, desperate for your impending orgasm. And although Leo doesn't quite understand why, he still does it, looking up at you and pinching your nipples before tugging on them harsher than you had expected and letting go again. And just like your nipples snapped back, you feel the tight rope inside you burst in two. Your head falls to his forehead, moaning uncontrollably as you come down from your high. 

   “Was this good?” he asks sweetly, and you kiss him, teeth clashing and moans slipping. You can't help but feel as if you are tainting him in a way, showing him things that make you feel better before letting him get some too.

   “You're so good to me,” you whisper against his lips, heads leaning together with a heavy panting. 

   Before you can kiss him again, the door is ripped open, and you only manage to press yourself flush against Leo so that the intruder doesn't get to see too much of your naked chest. 

   “No fucking way!” Jack exclaims, and you feel like crawling into the closet and never coming out again.

   “Leave!” Leo yells at him and to your own luck the boy closes the door and walks off. 

   “I'm sorry,” Leo apologizes, rubbing his large palm over your back. “I didn't know he was coming over.” 

   “It's okay, it's just Jackie,” you try to calm yourself, and him, down. 

   Leo pulls your head up and pecks your lips. “I should go see what he wants,” he sighs, and you know he really hates the idea of having you get up and not being allowed to continue what you were doing. 

   “Maybe you should,” you agree, but you don't wanna get up yet. Leaning in, you whisper, “and maybe you should know that you made me come.” 

   “I didn't even do anything,” he furrows his brows, and you smile before getting off him. 

   “If you say so,” you smirk while pulling your shirt back on.

   After finishing in the bathroom, you go to meet your friends in the living room, sitting down beside Leo, who pulls you closer instantly. 

   “This is a thing now?” Sean asks, and you don't know what to say. It has only been two days, and you don't want to pressure Leo into something that he isn't ready for yet. 

   “Did we ever complain about Jess?” Leo asks and Sean cocks his eyebrow. 

   “All the damn time.” 

   “Who's Jess?” you ask with a confused smile. 

   “My ex,” Sean simply replies, as if it hurts too much to talk about it. 

   “My bad, but also, it's none of either of your businesses what we do,” you say and lean into Leo, who has his arm draped around your shoulders, fingertips playing with the hem of your cropped shirt.

   “It could throw off the balance of the group. I don't wanna have to choose between my best friend and the hottest girl at school,” Jack complains, and you roll your eyes. 

   “You won't have to pick. It's one year, and then I'm gone,” you say and Leo loosens his grip on you, turning to stare at you. 

   “What's that supposed to mean?”

   “By the end of next year, I’ll go to college somewhere, and you probably will too. The chances of this working out past that time are slim — you can actually check the statistics on that. But by then you won't need me anymore. You'll know everything and have enough practice at it for them to throw themselves at you. You'll be good on your own,” you shrug, but Leo doesn't seem to like how pragmatic you are about it. 

   “You got it all planned out?” 

   “No, this was never part of my plan,” you shake your head truthfully, but he doesn't like that answer either. He stands up and walks back towards his room, with you following close by, but you don't get there fast enough to stop him from closing the door into your face. 

   “I'm sorry, but it's true. You don't wanna be tied down in college. And we don't even know what this is, so can you please just open the door and talk to me?” you beg, but he refuses. 

   “Go home, y/n,” he says through the door, and you let your head fall to the wood of the door, fingers tapping against it. 

   “Leo, please,” you beg once more, but he doesn't reply. Yet you're stubborn, you don't want to leave and completely ruin what had just started to feel good. Quietly, you sit down in the doorway, leaning against the door and wishing you hadn't said it all. 

   Jack and Sean leave shortly after, saying bye to Leo, and granting your wish to not tell him you're still there. 

   You wake up because someone opens the door and your head meets the floor. You groan at the pain, not just from your now pounding head, but the neck and back pain your sleeping position has caused you. 

   “Why are you still here?” Leo asks, helping you up and taking your face in his hands. 

   “I'm sorry,” you apologize again, and he pulls you into a hug. 

   “I know you're right, but it hurt to hear it,” he whispers while petting the back of your head. 

   “I shouldn't’ve said it,” you say against his chest.

   “It's okay,” he pulls your head up and smiles. “You wanna get in here and sleep in a real bed?” 

   “I would love that,” you sigh, and for once you actually feel like you might have a chance to be happy, even though you're aware of its doomed ending. 

   “My dad has to move around a lot,” you tell Leo while lying in his arms. “He promised that we could stay here just long enough for me to finish high school, and then he's leaving again, and I have to figure college out on my own.”

   “That's not nice,” he sighs, softly caressing your arm and waist. 

   “I don't do relationships because of it. Friends is already fucked up, I only have contact with two from last year in Arizona,” you tell him, and he hums, so you continue. “I only ever had one boyfriend, we were together for two months before we slept together, and then he left me. That's also why I don't date.”

   “You already know my story,” he whispers, and you smile softly against his shirt. 

   “We should write our own story, don't you think?” 

   “But we'll leave the ending open,” he pulls you up to look at him, and you nod, because it's the only thing you know to do that will not push him away again. “There's a we then?” he smirks, and you fall back into the pillows with a dramatic sigh. 

   “Okay, fine,” you drag out the syllables before turning your head to see him grinning at you. “You gotta promise to not get all cocky on me,” you whisper, and he nods. 

   “Promise,” he smiles into a kiss, resting his hand in your neck as his tongue explores your mouth. He rolls to the side, sliding his leg between your thighs while holding himself above you. Your hands run over his back, pulling his shirt up clumsily until he leans up to take it off completely. 

   “Hmmm,” you hum, taking his physique in before he goes back to kissing you stupid. Hands wandering over your body, squeezing at your hips and thighs, before he starts to fondle your tits. 

   By the time the sun starts rising you're half asleep in his arms, not having been able to sleep much after getting into his bed, but you feel more awake than ever. 

   “I need to go home to change,” you sigh, sitting up and rubbing the heels of your hands against your eyes. 

   “I'll give you a shirt of mine,” Leo groans, pulling you back down and trying to find some more sleep. 

   “I need fresh underwear,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose. “And I need to be home before my dad wakes up,” you add, and he groans even louder than before. 

   “I come pick you up, okay, so you don't gotta walk,” he says, waiting for you to nod before he kisses you sweetly. 

   You get up, but before you can leave, he pulls you back towards the bed, leaning up to peck your lips one last time. 

   “Boyfriend—girlfriend shit, right?” he asks, and you nod. 

   “Yes. Don't sleep in,” you tell him before sneaking out so his parents don't hear. 

   When you step out of your front door, the boys are already waiting for you, Jack in the driver's seat of a minivan you're sure belongs to his mom, Sean by his side and Leo leaning against the backdoor, smiling as you approach him. 

   “Morning boys,” you say, the skirt of your summer dress swaying with every step you took, and as soon as you are in front of him, Leo leans down to kiss you. 

   “You look beautiful,” he whispers, and you blush at the compliment. 

   “Can we go?” Jack asks and you quickly get in. The drive is short but filled with questions about what is going on, and you feel a little uncomfortable talking about it, but you do it anyway, to get it over with. 

read part 4 here

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @princessmaybank

[wonderswritings]

Starless Lovers {8}

Summary: They fell from the sky. We roamed the earth. We were always meant to clash. 

Warnings: The 100 Themes, Angst, Death, Blood, Unrequited Feelings, Slow Burn, Possibly more to come

Pairings: Lexa x Sister!Reader, Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader (eventual)

War has always been brewing. With twelve clans, each with different ideals, it was always going to happen. But tensions rise when they come, the people from the sky. We watched from a distance, learning. But then they attacked, and if there's one thing all the clans can agree on,

Blood must have blood.

Starless Lovers Masterlist | Tags

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

“It’ll be light soon, we won’t have the darkness to hide us.”

Clarke clenched her jaw, shaking her head.

“Neither will he.”

“I feel your anger, Clarke.”

Clarke scoffed, casting a glance at Lexa.

“Do me a favor, no more lessons.”

“You need to focus. We do what we must to survive, the enemy does the same. It’s not personal.”

“It is to me.”

“You think that killing the shooter will make you feel better but it won’t. The only thing that will do that is winning this war.”

Clarke stopped, turning towards Lexa.

“That’s enough.”

Clarke turned when there was the sound of leaves crunching, aiming her gun as a figure ran past them.

“Is it him?”

“No.”

Clarke walked out from where they were calling out to figure.

“Lincoln.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly.

“Clarke?”

Lexa walked out of the shadows, Lincoln slightly shaking his head as he made a face.

“Commander what- Octavia said you were both-”

“You’ve seen Octavia?”

“Yeah. The few that survived the explosion are being pinned down by a sniper. It’s why I’m here.”

There was a gunshot, causing Lexa to step forward.

“Come on, we need to get to the high ground.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Emerson and Cage walked down the hall, Emerson slightly shaking his head.

“It’s been thirty minutes, so the girl is dead by now.”

“I know that Lieutenant. They’ve made their choice. Go in strong, take them alive if you can, but take them.”

“Copy that.”

“Deploying flashbangs.”

They dropped the flashbangs into the opening, stepping back.

“Fire in the hole.”

The flashbangs went off, the guards with the riot shields stepping forward, pushing past the barrier.

“Go! Go! Go!” Emerson walked in behind them, looking around as the smoke cleared.

“Mr. President?”

Cage walked in, looking around the room before he turned back towards Emerson. “Find them.”

“Yes sir. Let’s go!”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Lincoln led the way, Clarke following behind him. Lexa stopped, turning. She could see the black smoke, watching as it spread, clenching her jaw before she turned, following after Clarke and Lincoln. The first gunshot rang out, causing them to duck behind a boulder.

“So much for the element of surprise.”

“I’ll draw his fire.”

“No. I will.”

Clarke stood, firing in the direction of the sniper. Lexa and Lincoln shared a look, nodding before Lincoln turned, running. Whitman held his rifle up in front of him, looking around when Lincoln jumped down, swinging his sword at him. Whitman dropped his rifle as they both fought, Lincoln gaining the upper hand as he straddled Whitman's stomach, unsheathing his knife. He lifted it above him, about to stab him when Whitman grabbed the reaper stick, pressing the button, causing Lincoln to groan as he dropped the knife, falling to the side as he grabbed his head. Whitman dropped the stick as he grabbed Lincoln’s knife, grabbing Lincoln as he placed the knife at his throat. Clarke lifted her gun, walking towards them.

“Drop the weapon.”

Lexa stepped forward, her eyes widening slightly. 

“Just let him kill me, then take him out. Clarke, please! Your people need you.”

“You are my people.”

She pulled the trigger, Lincoln wincing as he was hit, Whitman letting him go as he gasped. Lincoln grabbed his shoulder, falling to his knees as Whitman fell to the ground, dead. Lincoln looked down at his hand, seeing the blood on his fingers before he looked over at Clarke, grinning slightly.

“Good shot.”

Lexa walked forward as Clarke lowered her gun.

“Did that make you feel better?”

“No.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

 Octavia and the other second dropped the rope when the horn sounded again, looking around.

“Look! Sky people!”

Octavia walked forward, grinning slightly when she saw Sinclair.

“We saw the missile, heard the blast, figured you could use some help.”

“Just in time. Thank you.”

Everyone walked towards the opening, Octavia taking a few deep breaths as she looked around.

“Alright, I need everybody on that rope!”

They pulled the rope, Octavia jumping down into the small opening.

“We’ve got two survivors. Abby! Kane! We’ll get you out of here.”

Kane was led out on a stretcher, Octavia placing a blanket over him when she looked up, seeing Lincoln. She ran to him, wrapping her arms around him before she leaned back, kissing him.

“You did it.”

“I had a little help.”

Clarke and Lexa appeared at the top, Clarke looking over at Abby and Jackson.

“Kane needs blood, right now.”

“Slowdown, you’re bleedinging. You need help too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Heda! Heda! Heda!”

“What happened here will not stand. The Mountain will fall, the dead will be avenged!”

The grounders all cheered, lifting their weapons causing Abby to scoff.

“Enough, that’s enough! There are still others in the wreckage. We heard them. Go to work!”

“With our two people working together, we’re gonna win this war, Clarke.”

Nyko helped Indra stand, shaking his head.

“You’re not ready.”

“I will not miss this fight.”

Octavia and Lincoln walked towards Indra as Nyko walked off, Indra looking down at Octavia.

“You have done well, Octavia of the Skypeople. Today, you saved lives, tomorrow you will take them. Now get my gear, we leave with the commander.”

Lincoln glanced at Indra before he went to turn, Indra stopping him.

“Wait.”

He looked back at her, Indra holding her hand out towards him. Lincoln took it, Indra pulling him to her, hugging him. Clarke stopped next to Octavia, looking over at Indra and Lincoln.

“I thought you were dead, I’m glad you're not.”

Clarke nodded, looking over at Octavia.

“You too.”

Octavia walked towards Indra, helping her put her gear on as Clarke walked towards Abby.

“How’s Kane?”

“He’ll live. We could really use your help.”

“I can’t, we’re leaving. I’ve arranged for a caravan to take you and the wounded back to Camp Jaha.”

“Clarke-”

“The sniper wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit.”

“The marrow treatment works.”

“They’re gonna kill all my friends.”

“Then you better hurry.”

Clarke went to walk off when Abby grabbed her arm, turning her back towards her.

“I need you to do something for me, don’t forget that we’re the good guys.”

Lexa walked past them, nodding.

“It’s time.”

Abby placed her hand on Clarke’s cheek, smiling.

“May we meet again.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

They walked through the woods, leaving the destruction behind them. Indra made her way to Lexa, Lexa casting a glance at her.

“My sister-”

“Never showed, Heda. Esmeray left before we did but we did not see her or her guards on our way.”

“So she’s missing.”

Indra took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

“It would appear so, yes. We won’t know for sure until we’ve made camp and we do a headcount.”

Lexa nodded, tightening her grip on the handle of her sword.

“Do a headcount, but do not raise suspicion that she is missing. If anyone asks, she is out scouting.”

Indra nodded as she glanced over at Lexa, taking a deep breath. 

“And if she is missing, then what will you do?”

Lexa clenched her jaw, huffing slightly.

“We are at war, Indra.”

“Yes, and she is your sister.”

“My strisis made a swega klin. And she has always kept them. I do not doubt her now, so you shouldn’t either.” (sister, promise)

Indra nodded, falling out of step with Lexa.

“Sha, Heda.” (yes commander)

Starless Lovers Tags:

@kloy344 

@bxnnywatts

Everything Tags:

@jedi-dreea 

@sammysgirl1997

@scarlett-witchhh

@cevans-winchester

@rafecameronswhore

@jennmurawski13-writes 

The 100 Tags:

@3leni 

@topazy 

@vxidnik 

@kloy344 @lexajaye 

@dani5216 @kelseyd07 

@bxnnywatts @thebookisbtr 

@mariaenchanted 

@rafecameronswhore 

@multi-fandom-lover7667

Lexa Tags:

@kloy344 

@wonielover @rafecameronswhore

Bellamy Blake Tags:

@topazy 

@vxidnik 

@hftff-lol 

@lexajaye 

@dani5216 

@im-sidney 

@kelseyd07 

@wonielover 

@bxnnywatts

@daisy-the-quake 

@mariaenchanted 

@rafecameronswhore 

@multi-fandom-lover7667

[gummybear1031]

Today, the randomizer chose a movie called "Werewolves Within."

It was okay. I'd watch it again.

Livetweets under the cut.

I’ve never heard of “Werewolves Within,” but I’m a big werewolf fan. I once wrote about werewolves as a metaphor for puberty, especially AFAB puberty due to it being a blood curse based on 28-day cycles.

Is this movie making a motivational quote from Mr. Rogers scary? This is exactly my sense of humor, y’all.

More proof that you should never say “Hello” in a horror movie.

“Let’s all chant the word ‘balls.’”

Did Tumblr make a movie and forget to tell me?

No. The people would be hornier toward the monsters if that had happened.

Beaverfield is probably in Oregon. There’s both a Beaver and Beaverton there. Beaver has great cheese, and Beaverton is a suburb of Portland.

Cecily the Mailperson (actually Mail Carrier) looks really familiar. I can’t figure out where I know her from, though.

Yep. This is Oregon. This is the most Oegon place I’ve ever seen. And I grew up in Boring.

Does every mail carrier everywhere know all of the gossip? Ours knows everything, too.

“You will be shot.” Oh! They’re from the same part of Oregon I am: West West Idaho.

Cecily is Lily from AT&T! My spouse has a crush on her.

Of course, it’s kombucha. Because Oregon. Axe throwing! Another treasured eastern Oregon tradition! I’m surprisingly good at it despite having grown up on a dairy farm and never using an axe before.

Ugh. Whitman. I have a whole transcendentalist rant locked and loaded. “King of DIY Lit.” Bullshit. His sister and mom were feeding him the whole damn time. Anytime anyone is doing something all by themselves it’s because someone is doing all the invisible labor.

WOW! Finn is dumb AF.

They’re trapped in the town with no way out and no electricity and a killer werewolf (that ate a possibly racist dog). Things should get exciting.

Finn being the only Black man in town is actually accurate to Oregon, the state so racist it banned enslaved people in order to have fewer people of color!

This werewolf is smart. It killed everybody’s generators.

And buried a body. Which means it wasn’t hungry when it killed that dude at the beginning.

Good job of burying the lede, Finn!

The screaming is hilarious.

Enviro lady is so creepy. I love her. They’re setting her up as an obvious red herring.

Cecily is handling Finn’s bullshit way better than I would. I would’ve left him for the Bundy-acolyte to shoot and eat.

Dr. Jane is my favorite character in this movie. Top Ten most characters ever.

This town is immediately turning on each other; exactly as it should be.

Everybody’s convinced Emerson’s the murderer, but he looks just like my brother-in-law and acts like my late uncle. He makes me feel safe.

So many of these jokes are just brilliant in their simplicity.

There are only 11 people in this town, and they’re all the worst/dumbest people alive. This movie truly captures what living in a small town is like.

The gun conversation just continues that. The church my dad goes to had to make a rule that nobody can open carry inside. They tried to say nobody could conceal carry either, but people got angry. And someone threatened to bring her “purse gun” to every board meeting, choir practice, etc.

She’s going to shoot Pete more than the monster is going to eat him. It looks like he was shot in the upper chest. Dude is going to bleed out.

Also Dr. Jane knows way more than she’s admitting.

Don’t shoot through the door, lady! You’ve damaged the structural integrity. That makes it easier for people or werewolves to break through.

Bullshit. Oil Dude shot Dr. Jane so she wouldn’t be able to stop his pipeline.

Gwen is so excited that everybody is pointing guns at each other. She’s just dancing in the background making finger guns.

I like the motivational speech not working. Also, “I hope you dildos get eaten” is great. I’ve never used that as an insult, but it’s good.

Like, you’re not even a dick. You’re a pale, plastic, lifeless imitation.

I have a bear spray story! My sister (the psychic) wasn’t sure how to use the bear spray and thought it was like mosquito spray. Fortunately, another hiker stopped her in time.

Holy crap! She just straight up killed him for greed! The werewolf has only killed one dude at this point. And Trish just evened her kill count.

“I taped knives to my hand!” is the most eastern Oregon shit ever.

Trish has killed more people than the werewolf.

The townspeople have killed more people than the werewolf has. I mean, maybe the werewolf killed people in the other two towns, but in this one, it’s only killed a person.

Cecily is a werewolf!

“I ate them.” I feel like that’s the most punk way for a shitty high school punk band to break up.

Calling out the whole manic pixie dream girl thing is great. Also, eating the hand of the lower back hand guy. And yes, you should’ve eaten both hands.

Finn’s right. There’s nothing being wrong with being nice. Until you’re trying to talk to the murderous werewolf like she’s a friend.

Get her, Emerson! If anybody’s going to beat up the werewolf it’s him!

Nevermind.

I do want to point out that the villain has only two kills in this movie versus the rest of the town people. The werewolf and Trish the Craft Lady have the same body count.

Did he just stab her with snowshoes? So that’s where those were.

Emerson’s alive, which means Trish the Craft Lady has a higher body count than the murderous werewolf.

My closed captions completely covered Cecily climbing back to her feet. But I saw her once she stood up.

“Make your own damn sandwich” is a pretty good ending line.

For some reason, this reminded me of an Agatha Christie story. Enjoyable but not my favorite thing. And that’s not going to stop me from picking it up again.

[antigoddex-a]

                 *   [ REDACTED ] ON IDENTITY EVOLUTION   //

PART 1   :   THE SELF   (   I AM ALL AND MORE .   )

Undertale   /   Everything Everywhere All At Once   /   Legion S1E8   :   Chapter 8   /   Mr. Robot S1E7   :   Wh1ter0se.m4v   /   Gene Tierney with Portrait Masks, Horst P. Horst   /   Who Killed Markiplier   /   God Exits, Morningstar E.   /   Enfold, Henrik Uldalen   /   “Song of Myself”, Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman   /   The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller   /   The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa

PART 2   :   THE BELIEVING   (  I WANT TO BELIEVE .   )

Heartfelt   (  Promo package   )   /   Dissolving Into Nothing, RF Pangborn   /   Bi-Weekly, Claudia Keep   /   Self-Isolation, Irina An   /    Memento Mori, Crywank   /   Clarice Lispector   /   Upstream, Mary Oliver   /   The Waves, Virginia Woolf   /   Sue Zhao

PART 3   :   THE UNSELF   (   . . .   )

Succession S3E7   :   Too Much Birthday   /   Grzegorz Gwiazda   /   Jungho Lee   /   Who Killed Markiplier   /   Before, After, Briezdoodlez   /   Falling, Harry Styles   /   The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector   /   The Vault, Andrés Cerpa   /   Juliet ( I ), Sarah Certa   /   Counterpoint, Mahmoud Darwish   /   The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

PART 4   :   THE BECOMING   (   I WANT TO JUST BE .   )

Moon Knight S1E2   :   Summon the Suit   /   Night in the Woods   /   Mid Air, Kirsten Sims   /   Feminine Stereotypes, Romina Bassu   /   Solitude, Llenia Tesoro   /   It Began Right Here, Danez Smith   /   Deerskin, Robin McKinley   /   Backwards, Warsan Shire   /   Cortège, Carl Phillips   /   Saying Your Names, Richard Siken

PART 5   :   THE RESELF   (   I AM ONLY I AND I LOVE I .   )

Detective Kid   /   Legion S3E2   :   Chapter 21   /   Black Mirror: Bandersnatch   /   Midnight Mass S1E7    :   Book VII: Revelation   /   Blooming, unknown   /   Who Killed Markiplier   /   Healing Series 31.08.2019, unspokengrief on tumblr   /   hannahlockillustration   /   Undertale   /   Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays, Christa Wolf   /   Grandmother in the Garden, Louise Glück   /    Original Air-Blue Gown, The Mountain Goats   /   “Here I Am”, Songs from Under the River: A Collection of Poetry, Anis Mojgani   /   What the Living Do, Marie Howe

*   ABOUT     :     This mega web weaving edit tells a short story about an all-encompassing and multidimensional being known as [ REDACTED ] who is part of everything, everyone, everywhere. They are made of memories and dreams and visions. They are them, they are you, they are me. When [ REDACTED ] is all and more to the universe, though, who are they to themselves? They are all but truly what, exactly? No one and nothing knows who and what they are, not even [ REDACTED ] themselves. Upon this horrifying realization, there comes a fall, a going, a fading, gone. Who are they? What are they? I am? Am I? I don’t know. I don’t understand. I do not and I can not, and that is more than okay. There is still time and space for [ REDACTED ] to learn about themselves and love every single one of their counterparts, and regardless of anything, they will know and remember this that they will always be more than good enough. Take a deep breath, child soul, lover of the sky and sea, bringer of light and darkness. You are you, and you are enough. I love you, always and always and always.

*   SELF REFLECTION   ( cw: child abuse, derealization / depersonalization, quick mentions of suicidal thoughts and self harm  )     :     When [ REDACTED ] came into existence, I thought about wanting to have a character who is known to be part of everything and everywhere from everywhere, sort of like God, but not at the same time. Glitchcore, weirdcore, and kidcore are the biggest elements that I hold a high interest and joy in, so these aesthetic elements would be implemented into [ REDACTED ] along with a heavy emphasize on the concept of art and storytelling, as explored through the multiverse that they are part of and having connection with fate itself. They are a character who represents the idea of identity along with life / birth, death, and rebirth. How one is born, how one comes to be throughout life with how they feel, think, move, etcetera; how one gets affected and affect others, and how does one die ( and what happens to them if they return to life either through reincarnation or with revival ).

I really do mean it when I say along the line about how [ REDACTED ] means more than everything to me. They are the one and only original character who I can truly carry for so long when every other characters of mine would be discarded out of disinterest, and they have come to be my biggest comfort and coping character. Getting more personal in this reflection, I have always been living in a life and under a skin that does not belong to me, I still am and I will probably be like this in over five to maybe even ten years, who knows. I have been through so much in my life with the abuse I had and still am going through, the manipulation and pain from seven out of eight people I had dated and from many friends online and in real life, the constantly uncertain and dissatisfaction in myself and my life while I would feel always off of me and my life, most of these terrible things I would face all alone because I did not know how to ask for help or feel comfortable asking. I recently realize that [ REDACTED ] would go through something just as painful as I had just so I can have that reminder that I am not alone at all.

The things that I did not find myself in [ REDACTED ] until later on as they exist in my life longer: They do not have the full control in their life and themselves just like me, and while because of my traumas, I have become emotionally detached to defend myself from getting hurt by the people around me and protect myself from constantly having deep negative / suicidal thoughts, [ REDACTED ] are generally more emotional because that is what I wish to be one day, somehow. Another thing I have realized also that my memories are just as fragmented and faint as [ REDACTED ]. I am losing everything behind and about me so fast and even then, I can not remember about anything that happened this week, let alone yesterday. My grasp on time and space is so loosen and it does hurt to see how many pieces, not [ REDACTED ] hold of me or vice versa, but we hold of each other. I realized this now that it was never just [ REDACTED ] ( you ) or just me ( I ). It has always been you and I and us. They have helped me so much in becoming more aware with myself and trying to love myself, and even though they are my character, I sometimes feel like they are their own individual and I want to thank them for playing an important role in my life, They really do mean so much more than anyone can ever describe.

This web weaving edit with [ REDACTED ] is meant to be a special project as to celebrate my first year of having them on April first, 2021, a significant reminder for myself that no matter what had and is happening and will, I am always me, Morningstar, and that will always be more than good enough. If [ REDACTED ] can get themselves a happy ending despite everything, so can I. So will I.

[theluminoussunflower]

todd anderson as a welton teacher

todd anderson is the best teacher at welton academy, he's the one teacher that every student hopes they get

seriously, when students get their schedules at the beginning of the year, they always look who they got for english first

students call his class life-changing, especially juniors who take his poetry class

before every class, he stands at his doorway and shakes each student's hand (so long as they're not sick, yknow) because he likes to be formal with them

he gives out little butterscotch candies to those who participate (or if you just ask him nicely)

he lets students redo their assignments if they don't do so hot on them

his tests are notoriously easy to pass, so long as you do the reading

he's always recommending books to students who love reading, sometimes he'll even gift them books for their birthdays

he doesn't like to scare his students, but he does push them (the same way keating did to him)

he won't make them read their poetry to the class if they really don't want to, but they'll have to read it to him and they work up to reading in front of the class

in 1989, it's still a little difficult to be openly bisexual, but the students get the vibe from him that he's a little... yknow ("he likes walt whitman a lil too much")

he has study/reading sessions after extracurriculars for all students (even if they don't have him as a teacher), just a silent place to work on homework or read

his students don't know that much about his personal life ("i don't have much of a personal life, guys" "oh c'mon mr anderson, aren't you getting some?" "...")

like, they know he has a daughter, and he wears a wedding band, but on his right hand

but he's generally a private guy, odd for someone so well known

he always cheers on the soccer team, goes to every match

even the other teachers admit that todd is too good for the school

cameron feels so lucky to have todd at his school

todd still writes and publishes poetry while at welton, and he gives free copies of his collections to students who ask

he loves poetry and prose, but sometimes he feels as though he's never as good as he once was

on to the elephant in the room

it took a bit of convincing from the people in todd's life to go back to welton after what happened with neil and cameron and all

there's a portrait of neil in the english hallway that todd passes every day

somedays it's a pleasant image, somedays it's a painful reminder

he just hopes he can prevent his students, especially the students in his daughter's year, from ever going through what neil went through

todd and cameron don't really talk about neil

what is there to say?

neither truly apologized, even though they both wanted to

but to end this on a happy note, todd is thrilled to find out amelia is in his class

and so is evan overstreet

and gerard pitts jr

and richie cameron

and stephanie meeks

and lacey cameron is in his sophomore class

maybe now's the time to show amelia that book he's held onto for so long

[its-just-a-fayz]

Heartbeat On Air: Chapter 16

read on ao3

chapter 15/chapter 17

masterpost

tag list: @emilybarger​ @lordcheesy​ @sheeswee​ @tayuya3​ @sweetlialia​ (hit up my askbox if you want to be added/removed)

TW: themes of abuse, burns, legal courthouse stuff

Time, as it does, passed. Winter came and went, and with it, Sam’s trial.

He texted both Astrid and Quinn so much during it that he created a group chat just for the three of them. While Astrid was preparing for midterm finals at the time—it was November, after all—hearing about the trial made her more anxious than her grades.

ST: ok jury looks nice and normal mom’s bf looks really professional and i feel like a hot mess

QG:hey if you’re a hot mess you’re still hot

AE:quinn he is in court and under stress no need to flirt

ST:eh it’s cool babe except that my future is literally in the hands of this old man who’s the judge. Please let this go ok.

QG:good luck *blows kiss*

AE:ur mom’s asshole bf is in the wrong you got this it’s a fair trial

ST:the us justice system is an oxymoron

ST:as i said in the ninth grade

QG:no no don’t think like that. Happy thoughts. Remember ur side of the story. You got this

AE:yeah go kick some abusive ex-bf ass i got ur flower

ST:what?

QG:what?

AE:it’s a meme thing you wouldn’t get it

Sam put down his phone and gave a small smile at the darkened screen. He was being called to the witness stand soon, and everything was riding on this moment. Sam, the accused, had to testify in his defense.

All eyes were on him as Sam approached the stand. Looking at his feet, he swore to tell the truth, then waited for the lawyer’s questions. He stood there, and took a deep breath.

“Mr. Temple, what happened the night of April 18 when Mr. Whitman suffered his injuries?”

“My mother was having him over for dinner. I was cooking on the stove, some puttanesca sauce, and he came over to the stove and asked me how dinner was going. He talked with her for a while, in the living room. I stayed in the kitchen. Then, he took Mom by the hand and brought her over to take a look at it. He thought I was going to burn it. She came over, and he-he put his hand near it to show her how it was too hot. He accidentally touched the burner but jolted back, and then”—Sam took a deep breath—“a little while after, he got mad that the food wasn’t ready. He yelled at my mother—”

“Do you remember what he yelled, Mr. Temple?”

“I don’t remember what he yelled, but he was getting...close to my mom. I thought he was going to attack her.”

Lying under oath is a punishable offense, some tiny part of his brain said. But this wasn’t a complete lie. Just a few things he didn’t say.

“I told him to get away from her, and when he didn’t, I grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him over by the stove. I didn’t see his hand hit the burner.” He had, however, had the stove as the intended target for the creep, and had heard the sizzling sound that came from flesh against hot metal. That was when he’d stepped back. “I took a step back, and then he left the kitchen pretty quickly. Said something to her on his way out that I didn’t hear. Then, my mom told me to go to my room, and I did. I heard them...arguing, though, before he left. We ate the pasta ourselves.”

It was a nearly perfect testimony, leaving him looking like the innocent victim of some bad circumstances, specifically his mother dating an abusive man. Now, it was Connie’s turn. Then they would hear from the other side of the case, and Sam would probably die from the anxiety in his stomach.

They could lose everything. The house, Connie’s job, a decent reputation, and possibly his job. Sam could feel the knots tightening in his stomach. He needed a distraction.

ST:i testified. I think i did good, but now it’s connie’s turn and then the-dipshit-who-will-not-be-named

AE:he’s not going to win this. And if he does, we’re here

QG:we’re actually outside the courthouse

AE:Shh! He’s not supposed to know fuc

ST:thank you guys so much it means a lot. Connie’s testimony is interesting though. I didn’t really know what she’d say, giving her mental state recently. Hold on a sec lemme listen

“...what Sam didn’t know is that, when we were arguing, my ex tripped an’ fell onto the heater, which was turned on. It’s a bit of an old model, so it was really hot. He screamed in pain, and yelled that he’d give me what I deserved before leaving. A month later, we received the court summons.”

“Do you think the damage to the prosecutor’s hand was done while he was in the kitchen with Sam, or while he was arguing with you?”

“It was certainly during our fight, sir. He was swearing something awful.” There she went, putting on her old Georgia accent for a bit of sympathy, masking the lies she was telling.

Because, as Sam knew, he’d nearly burned the man’s hand off. He’d done it to protect Connie, to keep her safe from the fist raised over her, and the threats Mr. Whitman was making. Now, she was protecting him in turn.

Next, came the man himself, with his hand still wrapped in bandages even though it had been almost six months. He told them that Sam had forced him onto the stovetop, saying that he’d lunged for the sink to cover the burn in cold water. However, with the lawyer’s prodding, he admitted to tripping on the heater. The jury, which had nodded in sympathy to Sam and Connie’s testimonies, was still and stone-faced.

After that was done, there was nothing to do except wait. Sam wanted to go out and see Astrid and Quinn, but he couldn’t risk being outside with them and missing the verdict. He spent a half hour just watching the clock in the hall tick the seconds by, hoping that he would be proven innocent, innocent, innocent.

He texted them, though.

ST:i’m waiting for them to decide. I’d come out there w u guys but i don’t want to miss the verdict

QG:it’s cool we got burger king and astrid has like, unlimited data and netflix so we’re set

QG:i’ll only netflix an chill w u babe tho

AE:ew quinn also sam ur innocent and they know it.

AE:i mean you did kind of do it

AE:but the bastard deserves to lose

QG:can you not text

QG:in

QG:different

QG:parts

QG:because

QG:my phone keeps pinging and i know it’s you because i see you texting but i check every time

ST:what movie are yall watching

AE:mamma mia bc meryl streep is a Legend™

QG:i am actually obsessed i wanna go see the sequel with you sam bc the original is really good

QG:not with Astrid tho no offense but I need quality time with my boo

AE:i thought you hated when i double texted quinn i guess ur just a hypocrite

QG:i hate 30 part texts not 2 part texts let me LIVE. also ur literally right here we could talk instead

AE:if i diss your texting habits out loud it just sounds lame

Despite the ungodly amount of time it was taking for the jury to decide, seeing Quinn and Astrid’s texts made him feel a little better. Of course, his life could fall to pieces, but at least he’d have people rooting from the sidelines.

However, waiting only lasts so long

***

Astrid and Quinn watched carefully as Sam exited the courthouse. They gave each other a look as he came closer, one with the unspoken message: Whatever happened in that courthouse, we are here for him, unconditionally.

“So, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” Sam said.

“Bad news first,” Quinn said, needing to know.

“I had to wait in that courthouse for forever,” Sam said, keeping his expression neutral, “When we won the case! And actually got some money out of it. I think it’s called a settlement or something.”

“That’s awesome,” Astrid said, smiling her widest. “We need to celebrate. Pizza?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah sure. Wait, didn’t you guys just have Burger King?”

“Yes,” Quinn said. “And my boyfriend just won his trial so we are getting pizza. I am also still hungry.”

“Same Temple,” Astrid said.

“Did you just make a pun out of my name?”

“Yes.” Astrid opened the car door for Sam. “Let’s go get some Anthony’s pizza and celebrate you being a free man. You did so well.”

They went and got pizza, and had a good time. Quinn kissed Sam more times than he could count, and Astrid rolled her eyes each time, as if on cue. It was a good celebration, of something that deserved to be celebrated. Sam’s mom’s abusive ex was no longer a threat to them, and things would hopefully get better.

He just couldn’t help but remember the night that had caused this whole fiasco. There were elements of the truth in his testimony, sure, but the real story was still running circles around his head. Because Sam Temple had lied under oath in court, and his conscience would not let the issue rest.

***

Sam had never liked his mom’s boyfriend. They kept their relationship private from him, but still. He may have been a stupid teenager, but anyone would notice bruises. Connie coming home trembling. The way she would talk about him, and her words would say love but her face would say pain.

Then, she had the bastard over for dinner. He came early, when they were still getting things ready. Sam was stirring the pasta sauce when Connie let him in.

“What’s cooking, good-looking?” he asked, giving her an audible smooch. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Sam’s just getting the pasta sauce ready,” she said, “Come on in.”

He kept stirring the sauce, not wanting to talk to them. From the few conversations he’d had with his mother’s boyfriend, Sam knew he was condescending and generally unlikeable. He tuned out most of their conversation.

Until “Come on, let’s go check on the food,” he said, and Sam heard them get up from the couch and walk over.

“Hi.” It was the only greeting Sam could muster up for this dirtbag.

“Hi yourself. Are you doing anything other than stirring the pot?” He leered closer to Sam, too close.

“Well, I’ve been checking on the pasta and I’m going to put the sausage in the oven in a few-”

“-Constance, I can’t believe you let your son do the cooking. He’s a teenage boy, he should be out with his friends, not shackled to the stove.” His tone could only be described as blatantly sexist.

“I actually don’t mind, it’s not bad.” Especially when it helps me stay away from you, Sam thought.

Now he was moving away from Sam and towards his mother. “I thought you were a good cook.”

“I’m decent,” she said, voice quavering.

“Yeah, she’s pretty good,” Sam added, really just wishing that this creep could get out of the kitchen, or better yet the house.

“Baby, I thought you were a homemaker type,” he said. “A girl that I could settle down with.”

Sam turned around, no longer caring about the pasta. And there the scene lay before him, his mother pressed against the other counter, her boyfriend trapping her on both sides. Constance looked terrified, her face drained of all color.

“Hey, back off,” Sam said, saying the first words that came to mind. “She doesn’t owe you anything.” He abandoned his spoon in the pot, and took the step over to his mother.

“She owes me dinner.” His voice was a growl, a low snarl, and he shook Sam’s mother. Violently.

“Get away from her,” Sam said, willing his voice to sound more certain than it did. This man had a foot and at least fifty pounds on him.

“Why don’t you go back to the pasta and leave me and your mother be?” It was a question, but he wasn’t asking.

“I said, get away from her!” Sam shouted, grabbing his mother’s boyfriend by the wrists and, with strength he didn’t know he had, shoving him against the stove. “Stay away from my mother.”

There was a brief sizzle as flesh met hot stove, and then Sam was the one being thrown across the room.

“Fucking hell, you burned me,” he yelled, approaching Sam and his mother. He looked Sam dead in the eye. “I don’t know what shit you’re pulling, but you’ve got no right to do that.”

Connie spoke, for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” She was still shaking, and her eyes were wide.

“I don’t give a fuck if he meant it or not, I’m leaving. You can keep you and your little psycho family to yourself.” He stormed out, floor shaking under each footstep. There was a small crash as he tripped, and muttered obscenities when he hit the heater.

Sam and his mother both flinched when the door slammed behind them.

“I’m sorry, Mom, I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re fine. You did what you had to do,” she said, expression vacant of everything, fear and love both. “Now, I think the pasta is ready. Let’s have some dinner.”

They ate at the dinner table, like normal people.

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 23. Grief is just love with nowhere to go

‘These are the days that must happen to you.' Walt Whitman

One week later, Cadie was still confused about how I managed to pull it off. I was too.

But as grateful as she was to have her old job back, and as respectful as Auguste was of hierarchy, neither was happy to be working together. Auguste was still a little too liberal with his passive aggressiveness, and Cadie was not above having him do small tasks in revenge.

My father’s staff, on their end, now managed to look at me with even more judgement on their faces, and less of an effort to conceal it. Unfortunately for them, I was around more now. Unfortunately for all of us, it was due to bad news.

The first happened that first week, days after our big meeting. The Savoy Express online published an article detailing my breakup with Christopher in what they described as a 'dramatic shouting match the halls of Callois Palace hadn't seen since the days of World War II’. They seemed to know not only about the breakup, but also about the proposal that preceded it.

Because my relationship with Christopher ended before an engagement, however, there was no need to confirm or deny rumors. The Palace merely released a statement saying they ‘would not comment on the Crown Princess’ personal life’ and that was, at least on our side, the end. On the press’ side, there was no end.

They wrote and wrote about this alleged proposal, about why I would say not, about cheating rumors, about the possibility the palace hadn’t allowed me to marry him, that I thought he wasn’t good enough for me.

Cadie thought we should release a proper statement, Auguste disagreed. To appease my own selfish discomfort, I decided not to. What I did want to know was how they could possibly know so much about that night.

“They know there was a proposal, they know he used his family ring, they know I said no and that there was yelling. How do they know so much?”

“I hate to bring up this possibility,” Cadie started, “but the most logical conclusion is Christopher himself must have told someone.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?” She asked. “Didn’t Stella know about it before it happened?”

“Because he wanted to ask about my ring size.” I shrugged. “His family and mine have been friends for generations. He would never.”

But other than someone who had been in that room leaking it, there was no other possibility. Therefore, there was nothing to be done.

I did, however, have to deal with texts from most of my friends demanding to know why I didn’t tell them about the breakup.

“A lot happened at the same time.” I said, time and time again, shrugging it off. “It just slipped my mind. “We thought you were getting engaged!” Stella whined. “And you broke up with him! How can it have slipped your mind?!” “We actually talked the next day after it happened!” Constance complained. “And all you wanted to talk about was work!” “Guys,” I sighed, “the truth is we never even got back together officially. Eventually the issues we had were bound to come back.”

They demanded a dinner, to talk in person, which we had to do in the palace as I wasn’t allowed to leave until my new security detail took over. In person, I assured them I was very comfortable with my decision, and it was final. They asked if there was someone else, and once again, I couldn’t answer.

The truth was too complicated. The truth was I still wasn’t able to stop thinking about Harry’s soft, gentle plea for me to not marry Christopher. The truth was I wasn’t able to go to sleep without hugging one of my pillows, remembering the way I had slept in his arms, in his bed, on the floor of his living room. But the truth was that, after a text assuring him I was home safe, we hadn’t spoken again. The truth was I felt incredibly guilty for having tried to kiss him for the first time hours after burying my brother. The truth was I also felt incredibly guilty for having actually kissed him while still having a boyfriend.

But the bigger truth, the more uncomfortable truth, was that he was the first thought on my mind when I woke up, and the last one that made me smile before falling asleep. The truth was I wanted to talk to him about everything that was happening in my life -- every detail of the meeting, every horrible threat I had read on my security file, every new discovery I made while researching the work I wanted to do. I wanted to text him about the delicious spinach ricotta cannelloni the royal chef had made last tuesday. And I couldn’t. 

Not only because of the guilt. Not only because I was so busy. But because I knew that after the meeting, having gotten most of what I wanted, I had to give it my best effort. And giving it my best effort included heading the words of everyone around me who had, in the past or present, hinted that Harry was simply too complicated to work. Not only was he foreign, he represented a different throne. The intricacies were too delicate. 

So, whenever I felt like texting him, instead I grabbed the book he had sneaked into my bag. And that’s how I started reading Harry Potter for the first time at 25 years-old to try and keep sane.

The first couple of weeks after the meeting saw a lot of other meetings with the Head of Outreach Relations, Caesar Bisset. We started by fully researching the Claire Bauton Foundation, which had been started in the nineties by Claire Bauton’s daughter Emilie Bauton, to be a shelter for women and children survivors of domestic violence. So, while Mr. Bisset did what was essentially market research – even if he didn’t call it that –, I spent a few days having meetings with experts of the field of domestic abuse: researchers, activists, and lawmakers, learning as much as I could beyond the initial research I had done on the subject myself.

With their perspectives on what the best way to help would be, we were able to make plans on how to cause the biggest positive impact. Right when we were planning my first visit to one of the foundation centers, we had another issue that took priority.

It started when news broke of Lourdes being suspended due to ‘possession of illicit substances prohibited on school grounds’. Somehow, the press had gotten hold of her record and that was how school administration had registered that she was caught with the group of kids smoking.

“Cigarettes!” She complained. “They make it sound like cocaine!”

Suddenly, day time shows were having whole panels debating the ‘issue’. Think pieces were written about teenagers smoking earlier and earlier. Op-eds were released about, and I quote, the ‘fragility of the Monarchy when one of the King’s daughters leans towards a life of consequences and the other must lead from a life of no consequence.’

“Poetic.” I said, sarcastic, in the meeting where my father and I were given the details on how the press was reacting to it even days after it broke.

“I’m afraid if there aren’t consequences, this might grow bigger, sir.” Said Edwald Dupont, Head of Palace Communications.

“What consequences?” I asked, “she’s a teenager. It was cigarettes.”

“Unfortunately, ma’am, if the Palace isn’t at least seen as strongly discouraging the Princess’ behavior, the negative impact of the story could affect His Majesty, as well.”

My father sighed, heavily.

“Send the plane for the Princess.”

“So, as punishment for being suspended for cutting class and hanging out with kids who were smoking last month, you’re… keeping Lourdes home from school again? How does that help anyone?”

My father looked at Mr. Dupont, who nodded, taking notes.

“We can strongly imply the message that our intention is separating the Princess from negative influences.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I said. “Lourdes can’t be influenced. She’s too strong headed.”

“They don’t know that.” My father said. “Besides, she’s always asking to be homeschooled.”

Although the plan was ridiculous, it opened an interesting door.

After Lourdes got home from school, we got caught up while walking my dogs through the Palace Gardens. She didn’t seem to be upset about our father dragging her from school because of bad publicity. She didn’t seem to be upset that mom wasn’t even consulted, as she was now too engulfed into planning a way to memorialize our brother. In fact, my sister didn’t seem bothered about anything at all. She seemed… perfectly absent from herself.

She wasn’t even upset that I had gotten her an extra protection officer – which made her safer but, sure enough, was very invasive.

It shouldn’t have been surprising when she told me she wasn’t going to go back to ice skating.

“It’s been months… I don’t really have the energy to make up for lost time.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to mask the utter despair her words and general demeanor awakened in me. “But, you’re home for a few days so you could spend a lot of time doing it.”

“I just don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of it.” She shrugged.

“But… but you love it.”

“It was a hobby. I outgrew it.”

“Lourdes, you love skating. You were going to the Olympics.”

She smiled, so utterly humorless it terrified me.

“That was a dream, Maggie. I’m over it.”

I had no idea what to do.

My father just seemed so tired, all the time, about Louis, me, all of it, that discussing it with him was fruitless. I knew what the solution was.

I hadn’t had a proper conversation with my mother since my return from London. If her disapproving words after the proposal fiasco could be described as a talk, then that was the last time we spoke. After that, we exchanged a few words during meals, and nothing else. It made no sense that she didn’t berate me for running away in London, or for not seeing her when she came over. But not a lot about my mother made sense currently.

For instance, though she was out of her self-imposed exile after Louis died, she still spent all her time working on ways to memorialize him. Her lead ideas were a garden, a statue, or a new charitable organization in his memory – at times, it was all of it at the same time. All of her patronages and work had since been relegated to her Secretary, Madaleign Qadir, and on occasion, my father and me.

That day, after Lourdes went to her room after our walk, I marched to my mother’s office.

Ms. Qadir herself opened the door; it appeared she was doing some work from a table, while my mother was going over old pictures of my brother brought over by the Royal Archive.

“Maman.” I greeted. “Can we speak privately?”

“If it’s fast.” She granted. “I must finish these boxes today, Marie-Margueritte. I still have a lot to go through.”

Madaleign gathered her things and excused herself with a curtsey.

“Lourdes-Abigail is home.” I told her.

“I know, Qadir was telling me.” She replied, not looking up from the pictures. “Two weeks according to your father. Should be good for her, she likes staying home from school.”

“Yes, remember how many times she asked to be homeschooled and you said no?”

“I do.” She nodded. “Which is why I know she’ll enjoy it.”

“You wanted her to have a normal, full education.” I reminded her. “This isn’t very normal.”

“Not a lot we do is normal.”

“Maman.” I pleaded. “I don’t think she’s doing well. She’s… apathetic. Tired all the time. She’s… avoiding talking about her feelings, giving up things she enjoyed doing… that’s not normal.”

“Her grades are fine. She’s healthy, normal… she’s doing good.” “She wants to give up ice skating for good.” I told her.

“Your sister is fine.” She said, turning a page on a leather-bound album. “She’s a big girl, we can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Mom.” I said, forcefully. “Lourdes is hurting. She’s loved ice skating her whole life! This is – this is just her grief–”

“We’re all grieving, Maggie.” She sighed, removing her glasses to scratch her eyes. “We all have to do what we can right now, so if quitting will help your sister, then we have to support her.”

She closed the album after turning one last page, placing it inside a box, neatly. She got up, and moved to a shelf by the wall to find another photo album, which she brought back to the table, starting to flip it. She was finding the pictures of Louis; every time she found a new one, she admired it for a few seconds before making notes on a notebook.

‘She’s hurting too’, I reminded myself, trying to make conscientious choices to have compassion on her.

Instead, what I asked was, “Do you even want to help her?!”

She was quiet for long enough that I wondered if she had heard me. “…Of course I do. I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re doing what you can, and what you can do is shut yourself off and let us figure out our own problems.”

She looked at me, harshly. “You’re an adult, Margueritte. The attitude was cute as a child, but you’re just sounding petulant now.”

“I’m sorry, attitude?!”

“Yes, attitude. You don’t need me to hold your hand every hour of every day, I think you can take care of yourself.”

“Yes, I can!” I said, louder than I was able to control. “But Lourdes is a child! She’s not even fourteen, Maman! She needs you!”

“Your sister-” She returned, interrupting just as loudly, “is fine. Believe it or not, you are not needed to save the day, Margueritte.”

“Right. Because we’re all fine?!” I laughed, humorless. “Dad is shut off in his office, you’re shut off here, Lourdes is giving up the only thing she’s ever loved to do, and–” I felt more than heard my own voice break in a cry, “and my life is up in the air-”

“My son died!” She yelled, hands shaking, staring at the photos in front of her. “I’m sorry we’re not responding to it to your liking.”

She got up again, and walked over to a tea tray someone had left for her on a chest of drawers near the windows.

“You’re a big girl, Margueritte, you need to understand that there are mature ways to handle things you disagree with. You cannot confront everything you don’t like. Some things you can just accept.”

I laughed, sarcastic, “Are you serious?”

I felt… lonely. So desperately lonely as I realized our hearts were aching for the same reason, and yet she had no idea what I was feeling.

She poured herself tea and started to stir it. I marched to the tea tray just as she held up her own teacup, grabbed the tray and threw the whole thing out the window, watching the liquid, sugar and cream splash to the ground amid the broken china.

She was silent when I looked back, staring at me, wide eyes, mouth agape, and confused. I felt tears starting to pool in my eyes, but forced myself to stand firm.

“You are not the only one who lost him.” I said, on a low, slow, angry, trembling tone. “We’re hurting, too. And Lourdes, your daughter, is a child who needs you. You can’t do anything more for Louis, but you can help her. And every day that you shut yourself in your room, with pictures of him, instead of just asking how she’s feeling and how you can help, is another day she convinces herself you care more about Louis dead than about her alive.”

She walked over, slowly. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I shrugged. “How could we know? You’re not saying any different.”

A tear strolled down her cheek as she screamed now. “I am in pain!”

“So am I!” I yelled back, “You don’t think I wanted to stay in bed all day and open the door to no one?! You don’t think I wanted to cry for a whole week? You think I wanted to decide what fucking flowers to decorate the church with? Or what songs we sang to say goodbye to him? You think I cared which fucking priest did the readings?!”

“Language, Marg-” She sobbed.

“I was devastated! I was crushed! I was heartbroken!” I yelled over her, trying to dry the tears as they fell from my eyes, “I wanted to shut myself away in my room instead of having to force a smile and mediate Aunt Marilou and Aunt Katherine, and tell the staff how many rooms to prepare for the guests! But someone had to make the decisions, and you were not there!”

I stepped away, breathing heavily. I dried my face, sobbing slightly, and looked down the window, where the mess was still on the ground. I ran a hand over my hair, shutting my eyes forcefully.

“...Did it hit someone?”

I sighed. “I don’t think so.”

We were silent. 

“Is this you or your British boyfriend speaking, Margueritte?” I scoffed, humorless. “Really?” “Because it sounds an awful lot like him.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I agree with him. He was right, you know?”

“You think he was right to speak to me like that?” “I was there, Maman. I heard how hard he tried to be polite to you.”

“Where is this coming from, Maggie?” She asked, whispery. “You’re not like this.”

I walked over to where she stood near the sofa.

“Like this what, Maman? Honest?”

“You’re my lovely girl.” She said, shaking her head. “You don’t… pick fights, try to hurt people-”

I scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just didn’t realize you were still capable of feeling anything that was unrelated to Louis-”

“Maggie-” She sighed, drying her own tears. “This isn’t your brother’s fault.”

“I’m aware.” I replied, quickly. “It’s yours. And dad’s. You’re the parents! You were supposed to know you don’t have just one child to take care of!”

She sat down; not in her usual, stiff, shoulders back way. She looked… defeated. Tired. I felt the same way.

Before my brother died, my parents had always been so loving. My mother in particular had strived to give us a normal childhood, without the cold, traditional ways of the monarchy. In her house, we weren’t sent to eat in a separate room just because we hadn’t learnt table manners yet. We weren’t put to bed or bathed by nannies. She didn’t just take those tasks at hand, as she would had she married a normal man, she made my father do them, too. She might have married a future king, she said, but he married her, too. He married a normal woman and she couldn’t be the only one to adapt. 

My parents couldn’t do it every day, but they always tried to put us to bed, read us a story, kiss us goodnight. They kissed our wounds and hugged us in celebration when we won a game. A lot of my family thought badly of my mother for these commoner traits. But she stood her ground. The way she saw it, she had to teach us etiquette, but her most important job was to teach us love. 

Now I couldn’t remember the last time she hugged me. It was in the hospital, I thought. Before she started hiding away from everything and everyone -- including us.

She sighed, longingly. “I love you and your sister more than-”

“Then why aren’t you fighting for her?!” I screamed, crying again and angry at myself for it. “She is not okay! Did you even know that she was starving herself when Louis died?! Did you know she slept in his bed every night after he went to the hospital?!”

I looked at the coffee table now, just to avoid looking at her, and my eyes fell on a picture of myself sitting on an armchair, holding baby Louis in my arms.

“And me? Well.” I laughed again, sniffing. “Let’s see, did you hear I had to sit through a Council meeting just hours after he died? Dad’s new heir, so I had to just… sit there as if my heart wasn’t being ripped from my chest! Did dad tell you he sent me to my work so I could quit my job and everyone could know, just to distract the press from the Adrien-Faye fiasco?! Did my security tell you about the condescending looks and wishes of success I had to take from everyone?! Have you heard that the press has been writing a new article almost every day about how I am not good enough to be Queen?! Apparently I’m the talk of the country! Sources close to the Prime Minister say there is a high level of apprehension among elected officials about the new Crown Princess!”

She was looking at me, finally, but now I couldn’t look at her.

“Did you hear they rearranged my security team? They took Joyce, who had been working with me for years, and gave me two guys with the training necessary to protect a member of this family that actually matters now, apparently.”

“Maggie...” She sniffed.

“Did Papa show you the threats? Apparently we have always received them, but they have increased now. They have creepy pictures of me. The unlisted numbers from inside the palace. My routine down to the minutes and where I used to park my car! And now, apparently, I need security that is actually properly trained. Fuck Lourdes, though, I guess.” “Marie-Margueritte! I--”

“And as to me not picking fights, mom, I don’t know what to tell you.” I shrugged. “I spent my whole life doing exactly what you needed me to do. I spoke softly, I wore dresses, I smiled, I said no to almost every party I was invited to thinking it was too much of a risk. Can’t risk people finding out a member of the royal family is just a normal girl inside! I–” I stuttered, stifling a sob, “I kept every opinion to myself, I studied hard, I said no to jobs and trips, I never even took a selfie in my life, all because I kept telling myself that there would be time for that later! I could be young and fun later! Just be the good, well behaved girl now, so Louis can live his life, and as soon as he is back it’ll be my turn! I’ll be able to live my life, finally! And now he’s gone and the life I spent years planning, dreaming, has been taken from me, and I have never and will never do anything! Did you know that?!”

I couldn’t see her reaction; my vision was too fuzzy with the tears. There was a knot on my throat that made breathing too hard.

“So, yeah, I’m sorry for the terrible offense of… having an opinion, Mom, but I’ve been making sure I am not a problem all my life, because I figured you had enough on your plate, so I am sorry, but it is a little upsetting that you can’t pay attention to the one child you have left that still actually needs you– what, I–”

She walked over to me, and pulled me into a hug I fought. But even in my state, even as I yelled about doing what I was taught to do, I couldn’t push her away. Not just because if felt… indelicate, but because she hadn’t held me like this since we were standing around Louis’ bed in the hospital. I missed it.

“I’m sorry, my baby.” She whispered, holding me tightly as I let myself sob. “I’m so sorry.”

She pulled me in until we sat on the sofa, but her arms only tightened more around me. I laid in her lap as she caressed my hair, whispering calming words in french until my sobs slowed and my breathing started to even out.

“I’m so tired.” I confessed. “I know.” She replied. “Me too.”

I couldn’t tell how much time passed, but my cheeks had nearly dried when I took in a long breath.

“What are we going to do about Lourdes?” I asked.

“Sh, It’s okay, my love,” she whispered, caressing my hair, “we’ll figure it out. We’re taking care of you now.”

--- ---- ---

In March, Harry announced his Invictus Games. In March, my mother hugged me -- really hugged me -- for the first time in many months.

In April, I attended my first engagement as the Crown Princess of Savoy. It was a visit to the Claire Bauton Foundation Center in Neunant, where I publicly met with the staff and some former  survivors who had now become volunteers. I wore a purple dress and shoes, the color of the Foundation’s logo, and shook from head to toe from the moment we left the Palace to the moment we were back.

Somehow, after our dramatic moment, my mother had decided it was time to become overly invested in my life again. So, she gave me a lot of suggestions on what to wear, to which my only response was trying to go to the other end of the spectrum completely and end up looking bizarrely like a punk teen version of myself. 

“I want to try to work with a stylist.” I told my team -- at this point, just Auguste and Cadie. “I don’t know if starting to wear a lot of designer brands would be a positive change, ma’am.” Auguste said.

“Stylists work with the client’s taste, don’t just make them wear something they do not want.” Cadie interjected. “I think I need help figuring out what my taste is. I’m either too traditional, or too modern. I have no idea.” “I’ll make some calls.” Cadie promised.

The engagement went well, if their recollection of it was to be believed. I was so nervous throughout the whole thing I could barely remember most of it. I had once been good at it, but now it just felt like there was too much riding in the balance. Too many people were watching. Too many people were even there.

I remember arriving, almost twisting my foot getting out of the car, having to force myself to smile through the flashes of photographers standing by, and breathing a sigh of relief once inside. I remembered the itinerary more than the actual event, which is how I knew I must have received a tour of the center, before meeting former survivors who were current volunteers. I remembered vaguely sitting down with a woman who told me her story -- a story of physical violence slow but steady, with no one believing her and the eventual kidnapping of her children by her ex-husband. I remember having to dab my eyes more than once to keep the tears from falling, looking away from where I knew we were being watched by the accompanying press. I remember the visceral reaction from hearing from the on-call lawyers about the times they had to run to a hospital in the middle of the night to assist clients who were attacked after a judge denied them restraining orders.

I remember looking down, knowing the press couldn’t see me losing it so much in my first outing.

I spent at least half an hour before leaving shaking the hands of well-wishers who came by to watch me in and out of the center. It was both terrifying and heartwarming -- seeing the faces of people who, for reasons I couldn’t understand, seemed to believe in me.

“I’m so sorry about your brother.” A lot of them said. “You’re doing a really good job.”

It didn’t feel like it.

My father agreed that the numerous pictures of me tearing up were too dramatic. My mother still thought I should have dressed more elegantly. But the results spoke for themselves: in the press, there was a lot of positive commentary of my ‘connection with the public’, my ‘sensitivity towards the delicate issue’, and even my ‘bright, modern look’, a ‘departure from more modest, boring choices of the past’.

It only made my stomach turn more. It only made me want to text Harry more. But my father was so pleasantly surprised he started talking about announcing my confirmation ceremony.

“Do I need one?” I asked, struggling against a tug of anxiety in my stomach. “That’s for heirs at 21 years-old, isn’t it?” “You weren’t the heir at 21. But you still need a confirmation if you’re the heir now.” He replied. “We’ll do it when you come home from the Olympics.”

“That should give us enough time to plan it, sir.” Montennon agreed. “And do some research on public opinion.”

My father rose from his chair behind the desk and walked around it towards us. Wordlessly, Montennon got up from his chair and stood back. My father took his seat.

“What is it?” He asked me, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

I sighed, smoothing the fabric of my dress with my hands. “I don’t know.” “You looked wonderful, regardless of what your mother thinks, you connected with the people, you highlighted the work… you did a great job, Margueritte.” I smiled, sheepishly. “I… I guess.” “Do you miss the law?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not--” I sighed. “It just feels… wrong.” “Helping an organization that helps people?”

“No, just…” I whispered, fidgeting with my hands, trying to stop them from shaking. “Just all of it… Him not being here. Being praised for the work he should have done. It feels wrong.”

He looked down, at his hands. He fidgeted, too.

“It’s not your fault he isn’t here to do that work, Margueritte.”

“I know.” I nodded. “I think I know… I just… I hate the way they talk about it. The press, I mean… the critics sound like they just don’t think I’m cut out for this because I’m not Louis. The praise sounds as if they’re just glad I’m not Louis... It doesn’t feel like a win.”

My father rose from his chair, slightly, and dragged it forward, nearer to me. He held my hand. “Margueritte, you will make a lot of mistakes in the road ahead.” He started. “But this is not one of them. I know you were nervous, I know it was tough, but you went there, you stood tall, you listened… you did a good job. You did better than any of us thought you would, if I’m being honest.” “That doesn’t help.” He grinned. “You’ll be fine, chérie. I am so confident about it that I want to release the statement about the confirmation next week.” “Already?” “Yes.” He sighed, letting go of my hand to lean back in his chair. “And I think we can do better than that. The V. E. Day celebration in May. Montennon?” “Yes, sir?” “Let’s have the Crown Princess make a speech.” “Me?” He smiled. “Yes, Marie-Margueritte. You. You’re doing a good job. Just keep at it.”

Keep at it. I can do that, I thought. I can be a good Crown Princess. I can keep learning, researching, working hard to highlight the good work of the people of Savoy. I can continue to look good and connect with the people. I can make a speech on V. E. Day. about the importance of the world coming together, about how much stronger we are together. I can do that. It’s a military ceremony about World War II, reasonably one of the things most of the world agrees on is that winning World War II was a good thing. I can do it. What could go wrong?

For instance, what are the odds that of all his family members, the chosen representative the British Royal Family would send to the V. E. Day celebration on Savoy would be… the one my whole family wanted me to stay as far away from as possible?

--- ---- ---

Outfit!

[A/N: Hey, all! How have you been this week? I know what you’re thinking: Natalia, literally how dare you give us 2 chapters in a row without Harry?! I know, I know, I’m just as upset as you are! But here’s my excuse: this was all important stuff i had to get out of the way. NEXT WEEK: A HARRY FEST! I promise, there’ll be so much Harry! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I really appreciate it, and also if you could let me know your thoughts (suggestions? critics? all welcome!) it’d make me so happy! THANKS AND SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!]

[harryhoney-bee]

Burn out

Y/N feels stress with University

Words: 1.3K

Masterlist

Being a Uni student is not easy, and Y/N knows it completely.

The girl was in her 2�� year, studying English Literature; Every semester the content of classes gets denser, and the among of essays and tests increases considerably, and Y/N was tired, really tired.

In two weeks, she has to hand in a 500-word analysis about the raw writing of Bukowski, study for an exam about modern poetry and do a group project, which none of those involved, besides her, were paying enough attention, so Y/N have to do all the work.

Consequently, when she arrives at home, she breaks down completely. Glad that Harry was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t want to bother him with her problems, he already had so much going on in the studio, he didn’t need another one at home too.

And to make the situation better, she forgot her umbrella, and poured rain all day long, the poor girl was soaked.

Y/N takes off her shoes, freeing her foot from being cloistered all day, putting her shoes by the door, next thing to go off is the wet coat, which she puts right in the dryer. Her school bag is long forgotten on the couch, as the girl goes up to the second floor, where she shared a room with her boyfriend.

She opens the wardrobe and grabs some of Harry’s shirt and a new pantie, going straight to the bathroom, preparing a bath. As the bathtub was filing, she checks on her phone, and she finds 17 messages, all from Harry, some of them were:

“Hey baby, how are u?”

“I know you are probably busy in school, but I love you.”

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“Baby, it’s raining bad, are you ok?”

“love, I am stuck at the studio :/ I won’t make it until dinner time, I’m sorry.”

Her face falls when she read the last message, she had a lot to do, but she still wanted to at least have dinner with him, but she answers with a kind text, not wanting to worry him.”

“HI H, I’m fine, I just got home from Uni.”

“Please don’t overwork yourself, baby.”

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll order a pizza or something.”

Seeing that the tub was already full, the girl strips from her clothes, feeling the cold hair meeting with her skins, causing goosebumps.

Her feet touch the hot water, and all of her body follows next, she sits on the tub, trying to relax, but her brain it’s overthinking about every little thing she has to do, so she doesn’t stay on the water for too long, wanting to start to do her schoolwork right away.

She dresses in the clothes she picked, going straight to her notebook on the writing desk, starting to search and write about Bukowski.

When she finishes, she feels like a little bit of the weight on her shoulder dissapered; Feeling confident enough she goes to her professor’s email, sending the essay, at the same time she sends, she receives an email herself, it was from Mrs. Mariety, the transcendentalist movement’s professor, there was a document attached, announcing that she expects that in two weeks the students will have read at least 2 books of Walt Whitman.

Y/N feels tears in her eyes. She barely finished an assignment and already is another thing to be done.

Harry, who has just got home, was trying to be as silent as possible, as he thought she was fast asleep, leaving his shoes by the door, he goes to their shared room, on his tiptoes, but he frowned as soon as he hears crying sounds.

“Y/N?” He askes entering the room, as soon as he sees his girl on her desk, he goes directly in her direction; Getting on his knees by the desk, so he could be in her eyes level.

“What is wrong, baby girl?” He pets her head.

Y/N does not look into his eyes, feeling ashamed of her crying state. She just shakes her head, putting it down, so he wouldn’t see her face.

He grabs her chin, making her look at him. Cupping her cheeks, to clean up the tears, he asks:

“Baby, can you please talk to me? Are you hurt? In pain? Tell me, I can make it better”

The girl struggles to talk, her sobs commands her vocal cords.

“Ok, let’s go lay in bed, yeah?” He grabs her figure, taking her to the soft mattress.

He lays beside her, her head going straightly to his chest, getting his shirt wet duo to her tears. He scratches her back, trying to calm her down.

He finally hears her voice

“it’s the-the uni, H-Harry,” she says against his chest.

“What happened there? Did somebody did something to you?” He questions with concern.

“No, no one did nothing, it’s just a lot” She grabs Harry firmly, not wanting to let go.

Harry sits on the bed, bringing the girl to sit with him as well, now she was on his lap, head on the crook of his neck.

“I just finished a work, but then the Professor sent an email, saying we all should read 2 books for her class in two weeks, but I already have a test AND a group project, and they are just lazy and…”

“Love, look at me” He cups her cheeks, making her look at him “Your study it’s important, but what about your well-being darling? So tomorrow you’ll be taking a break with me, no studies, we gonna have a lazy day. You are burning out love, you aren’t going to be able to do anything if you are feeling that stress.”

“No Harry, I can’t, I need to finish those studies; I should start to study for the Modern Poetry test right now “ Y/n tries to leave his lap, but his hands grab into her hips.

“Nop, you gonna stay in bed with me.” Before she could protest, he continued “Tomorrow is Friday, our lazy day, you don’t have classes, and I don’t have to go to the studio. We are going to watch a lot of movies, and on the Saturday and Sunday, I’ll help you study for your test and help with your project. How does that sound? You will still study, but I won’t let you overwork yourself.”

“I don’t want to bother you, Harry, you don’t have to do this for me.” She says hugging him, hiding her face.

“Hey, none of that, look at me” The girl does as she was told “You never bother me, alright? I want to help my love and I will. Now come here, let me give you kisses”

Harry packs Y/N on her months, nose, forehead, cheeks and then tickles her on her belly, Y/N laughs instantly; Harry feels serotonin when he hears her giggles.

“How was the pizza you ordered for dinner?” he asks stopping the tickles

“I forget to have dinner” She gives an awkward smile when she sees his mad face “Don’t be mad, please.”

“Y/N, this is not the first time you forget to eat because of University, last time you almost fainted,” He notices her embarrassment, softening a little his voice “Baby, you need to eat, you know it, come on, I’ll make some dinner for my pretty girl.”

“I’m sorry Harry, won’t happen anymore.”

“I know you won’t, I’ll keep an eye on you” He winks at her “No let’s go to the kitchen.”

He holds her, grabbing on her butt, so she won’t fall. While on the stairs, Harry kisses her cheeks.

“My little genius.”

[the-original-b]

Archangel: For the Good of the Public, Part 1

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 1 of 3

Word Count: 3,400

Premise: She’s an assassin--one of the finest in the world--which gives her the right to ask for vast sums of money to do what she does so well. But every so often there comes a job she’s happy to do for free.

Warning(s): brief violence

[A/N: this was supposed to go up a L O T sooner, but life events made it difficult to actually get the story onto digital paper. I think I’ve adjusted though, so I should get these out fairly quickly, Lord willing. Hope you enjoy!]

Seza slid the key into the lock of her safehouse door, then twisted it open to let herself in. She crossed the threshold and nudged the door shut behind her with her heel before pausing at the framed photo hung by the door—in her lover’s embrace, sharing a kiss before the setting sun by the water, dated 2009.

She didn’t cry over him anymore but his absence in her life was still palpable, most notably when she was on assignment. She’d consider what he would do if he were in her position, and what guidance he would offer her. She still missed him; daily she would wonder what obscure corner of the world he was in, and on occasion she would wish she could go back two or three years to take back what she said to him the last time they spoke.

She turned away from the photo hanging on the wall and headed deeper in to the apartment to undress and prepare for bed.

Seza began the following morning with a dozen pull-ups, fifty push-ups, one hundred crunches, and a two-minute wall sit. She took five minutes to stretch before heading to her shower and preparing her breakfast.

On her way out of her building, her attention was taken by a flyer posted on the glass pane of the front door. She made her way outside to inspect the sheet of paper and immediately found it called for the return of a missing person.

She removed the flyer from the door to scrutinize it further—the missing person was a girl named Samantha Calloway, age 15, missing since last Friday. Brown hair, green eyes, five-foot-three, 110 pounds, last seen at the Walt Whitman Shopping Center in South Huntington. Seza studied the image on the poster, found the youth and innocence in the girl’s smile and eyes, and retrieved her cell phone from her coat pocket.

“Horace,” Seza said as soon the other person answered. She mimicked the accent of a native New Yorker. “It’s Shelli. I won’t be able to make it tonight, a family emergency just came up… I’ll let you know about the rest of the week. Thanks.” Seza ended the call and took the poster back inside the building to her apartment.

~~~~ 

Seza arrived at a luxurious home in Westchester later that afternoon. She parked her sedan at the foot of the driveway and made her way up to the house. She heard the German shepherd long before she rang the doorbell, and waited patiently for somebody to answer.

The woman that did cracked the door open and peeked through at her, her other hand on the dog’s collar. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“Mrs. Calloway?” Seza put forth. She spoke in her native accent.

“You have the wrong address,” the woman said.

“I don’t think I do,” Seza noted. “It may not be close to where Samantha was taken last Friday, but this is the residence of the people who own the Melville property to which the phone number on this flyer belongs,” she explained, holding up the sheet of paper she plucked from her apartment building door this morning. “And while I don’t yet understand how or why she was so far away from home when she was taken, that doesn’t make a difference at the end of the day.”

There was a moment of quiet before a third person joined them at the door. “Who are you?” he said. Like his wife, his exhaustion was visible.

“My name is Seza,” she replied. “As I was about to explain to your wife, I’m a tracker and private investigator. I’m here to help you find your daughter.”

Mr. Calloway shot his wife a look, then faced Seza again. “Come inside,” he said, motioning her in with a nod and opening the door wider for her.

Seza nodded respectfully and crossed the doorway, offering her hand to the dog to investigate. When he was satisfied, he pushed his snout between her thumb and fingers, and Seza responded by rubbing the back of his head, behind his ears.

“Ace doesn’t usually warm up to people that fast,” Mr. Calloway said. “And most visitors are intimidated by him.”

“I grew up with dogs,” Seza said, a smile tugging at her lip as Ace greeted her.

“Well, he seems to trust you. You’re alright, then. Can I offer you something? Tea, maybe?”

“I’d love that,” Seza said, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you.”

 ~~~~

“My sister is staying at the house in Melville,” Mrs. Calloway explained as her husband brought the tea to the table. He laid a saucer and demitasse in front of Seza before placing a setting in front of his wife and then himself. Seza thanked him with a nod and filled her cup three quarters of the way, then stirred in half a teaspoon of raw sugar. “We thought it best to let her finish high school with her friends from childhood.”

Seza took from her cup, savored it, and swallowed. “When did you last see her?”

“The weekend before last. She comes home Friday nights and leaves Sunday Afternoon.”

“That’s when we knew something was wrong,” Mr. Calloway added. “She didn’t come home last weekend.”

Seza nodded, the tea cup resting in both her hands. “Has she mentioned anything about your sister, Mrs. Calloway?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Relatives are most often the perpetrators of abductions. I have to know what the situation was like where she stayed.”

“No, no, she loves my sister!” Mrs. Calloway stammered. “There was nothing wrong between them..!”

“Are you saying our daughter was kidnapped?” Mr. Calloway said, fear and disbelief building in his voice.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Calloway,” Seza confirmed.

“By who?” He shot a look over to his wife. “Who else knows we’re here?” he added, barely audibly. Who we are?”

Seza arched her brow. “Something I should know?”

Mrs. Calloway sighed. “Calloway isn’t our name,” she admitted. “We thought we’d be safe if we hid the family name and sent our daughter to school far from home.” She shrugged. “For all the good that did.”

“Have you shared this information with anybody else since moving here?”

“No,” she said. “Nobody but my sister knows who we are.”

“Our real name,” Mr. Calloway began, “is—”

“Not important to me,” Seza interposed. She thought to herself for a while, and took from her tea some more as she considered the new information. Whoever it was that took Samantha did so assuming she was just some average teenage girl, which further reinforced the idea that Mrs. Calloway’s sister wasn’t the one who did.

Then she recalled a conversation she overheard working behind the bar in Downtown Jersey City, about how a girl was just delivered from somewhere in central Long Island. It was about the time Samantha went missing, the day before the warehouse fire.

Seza had an idea who was responsible for Samantha’s disappearance. “The good news,” she began, “is that whoever has your daughter hasn’t figured out who she is. If they had, they would have made some kind of ultimatum by now. However,” she took a breath before continuing, wondering how to tell what she thinking to a distraught mother and father. “If the parties I suspect are in fact the ones responsible for your daughter’s abduction, then the bad news…” she paused. “The bad news is we may not have much time before traffickers try to make her disappear.”

Mrs. Calloway stifled a sob as she looked away from Seza, cupping her hands over her mouth as her eyes reddened and began to tear.

Mr. Calloway’s fists tightened as he let his head hang and shut his eyes tight. He opened them to see Ace looking up at him from his spot between his feet and Seza’s. “How much?”

“Days,” Seza suggested. “A week if we’re lucky.”

“How much do you want?” he clarified, looking back at her. “What will it cost for you to get her home before that happens?”

Seza blinked. “First I find your daughter,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me who you are, I won’t accept a dime from you before I deliver her to you. We can have that discussion when we know she’s safe.” Seza stood up and reclaimed her coat from behind her chair. “Thank you for the tea.” Then she turned on her heel and headed for the exit.

 ~~~~

Seza parked her sedan on the shoulder of Pehle Avenue a quarter mile from the building when she arrived in Saddle Brook that evening. She stepped out of the car and scanned the road around her, then locked her car and rested her hands in her coat pockets as she proceeded toward the office.

She stepped right through the front doors when she arrived and scanned the ceilings for surveillance equipment. When she found none she stepped up to a directory a few yards from the entrance and, finding the name she was looking for, confirmed she was in the right place. She approached the front desk and got the attendant’s attention.

“Excuse me,” she said in her American accent. “I’d like to see Mr. Teller.”

The attendant looked up at her from behind his glasses.

“I don’t have an appointment,” she continued.

He took his glasses off. “What is this concerning?”

“I’d like a job.”

“Mr. Teller has another appointment in five,” the attendant said referring to his monitor. “Although…” he examined her face, her features, the form she took under her coat, and the way she filled her jeans. He was certain there would be a place for her someplace in the organization. “I’m sure he can take a moment to interview you.” He stood up from his desk and gestured toward the elevator. “But I can’t promise anything—he’s been in a, mood, these past few days.”

“I’ll make note of that,” Seza said. “Thank you.”

Seza let the attendant escort her to the elevator. He stepped in with her and hit the top floor button. They rode it together in silence.

The attendant held the door for her to step off the elevator first then followed her out when they arrived at the top floor. He led Seza to the conference room door, behind which she could already hear enraged shouting.

“Sorry in advance,” the attendant said. He turned the knob on the door downward and pushed it open to allow Seza to step through. He stepped inside after her and quietly closed the door behind him.

She took a few slow steps deeper into the room and took it in. In the room with them were five other men, against the far wall was a butler bar with a few half-finished bottles and dry glasses, and directly across from her was a desk and coat rack. The sixth man standing on the other side of the desk held a phone to his ear; she identified him immediately. Christopher Teller—local crime syndicate boss—was a large broad-shouldered fair-skinned man well over six feet tall who took the form of a power lifter under his well-tailored suit. His brown hair was buzzed a few millimeters from bald.

“It’s been a fucking week, you pillock!” He spoke with a Cockney accent to the person on the other end of the line. “Call me with something useful, or start writing your own epitaph..!” He slammed the receiver onto the cradle before the other person could respond. Then after muttering profanities he looked up at Seza. “The fuck do you want?”

Seza, briefly taken aback, reclaimed her posture and answered, “I’m here to apply for a job.” She maintained her false accent.

“Morrow Building on Park Avenue in Hoboken,” Teller shot back, finding his seat. “Ask for Geoff, he’ll evaluate you.” Even now his voice retained its rasp—an almost rage-filled growl. “Now sod off.”

Seza was aware of what was at the Morrow Building. Politely, she raised her hand to about shoulder-level. “You mistake me—I’m not looking to work at a club, I’d like to offer my services as security for you.”

“And I’d like to take piss off of the Empire one day.” He gestured one of the men in the room with them. “Get her out of here.”

Respectfully, audibly, the man approached Seza from her right side. “You heard the boss,” he said, resting his hand on her wrist to escort her out of the room.

In an instant Seza seized his wrist with her free to break his grip, then smashed the inside of his forearm with the outer edge of hers. Then she shot her left fist into his ribs and fired her right palm into his mouth and nose, breaking both jaws and throwing his head backward to land him on the floor unconscious.

Peripherally, she noted the desk attendant toward the back of the room start to reach for the holster on his waist; before he could even draw the gun she was on him. Seza fired an elbow into his ribs to stun him, then extended her reach around his chest as she straightened her posture so the inside of her right wrist was against his neck while her left hand took hold of his elbow. She placed the back of her knee against his and shot her leg backward as she threw her arm forward, simultaneously tripping and clotheslining him to throw him to the ground.

The moment his back hit the floor Seza was on top of him, her right knee sinking into his shoulder and her left foot on his wrist; she reached between her legs to un-holster his handgun, then raised it and pointed it at the other men in the room with them, as the attendant struggled beneath her. There they remained for seven seconds.

The tension was broken by a gravelly, masculine baritone through the intercom on Teller’s desk. “So should I let myself up?” it proposed, “or…?”

Teller looked down away from Seza at the intercom, then back to her while he depressed the talk button to answer the man on the other end. “I’ll send somebody down,” he said. He released the button and gestured one of the other men left standing in the room to head downstairs and collect their new visitor. “Well, Jane Wick, I had you figured all wrong,” he admitted. “And since one of my guys’ll have his jaw wired shut for the next two months I’ll need to replace him. You’re in,” he said as she lowered the gun. “At least until he can eat solid food again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Teller,” Seza said. She stood up to release the attendant beneath her, ejected the magazine from the handgun, cleared the chamber, turned it around and handed it back to him.

The attendant reluctantly took the gun back and returned it to its holster.

Their new guest arrived a few short moments after the transaction—a dark-haired fair skinned fellow with hazel eyes and a ten-day salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a pale gray overcoat and black quarter-zip sweater over dark slacks and Chelsea boots. He spread his arms and flashed a wry smile. “Christopher!” he cajoled, taking a few exaggerated steps toward the desk as he placed his hands back into his pockets. “It’s not like you to be late to your own meeting.”

“Personnel issues,” Teller commented, taking a seat behind the desk again.

“Is that right..?” The newcomer raised his brow and scanned the room for a quick head count. He spotted the man on the floor, the other man braced against the wall nursing his wrist, and Seza standing between them.

“Well, hello there,” he charmed. He took a few slow steps toward her as his lips cracked another mischievous grin. “I don’t recall seeing you here before.” They were barely a foot apart now.

“I just started,” Seza deadpanned. She didn’t take her eyes from his, despite his proximity.

“Did you..?” He briefly scanned her up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new hire, Chris?” he said loud enough for the other man to hear.

Teller quietly sighed and rolled his eyes. “Called her Jane Wick... she didn’t say anything.”

“Jane Wick,” the newcomer echoed. He noted the man on the floor leaking blood from his mouth and nostrils next to her and surmised that was her handiwork. He chuckled to himself at the origin of the nickname as he took a step back and offered her his hand. “Peter Cross,” he introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you. Remind me never to do to you whatever he did to deserve that.”

Seza shook his hand after a brief pause. “Shouldn’t be a problem, Peter Cross,” she said.

Cross kept her gaze a few more seconds before turning away back toward Teller. “How’ve you been, Chris?” he asked. He made his way to the butler bar on his way to the desk to pour a finger’s depth of scotch from the decanter into one of the glasses. “How’s business?”

Teller decided to ignore the fact that Cross made himself at home without permission and answered the question. “We’ve had some setbacks over the last few days.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cross noted as he made his way toward him. “A state senator raised some concerns about incriminating documents that may or may not have leaked.” He took a seat as he continued. “Not long after, he says it’s a false alarm and one of your warehouses catches fire.” He took from his glass and paused, savoring it. “I’d ask if you have any leads, but we’re both smart enough to put the picture together.”

“Yeah,” Teller said, the faintest snarl at the back of this throat. “We are.”

“Do you know why I had my friend trash the evidence on the good senator and torch your warehouse? Because I need you to understand the why, so we don’t have to have this conversation again in a week.”

There was only silence in the room for a while.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, Chris.”

Seza watched the two men interact—Cross lounging in the chair opposite Teller, Teller’s fingers steadily digging deeper into the backs of his hands. He wanted to reach across the table and strangle the man, it was obvious to her.

“Yeah,” Teller croaked with a slow nod.

“What we have only works if you play by the rules,” Cross continued. “And you have a nasty habit of shitting all over those rules. I can’t have that, so I had to take something from you as punishment... nothing important, not like that fancy club of yours in Hoboken. It could have been, but I know how you feel about the place…” He finished his scotch and placed the empty glass on the desk top. "So the next time you feel like going off the reservation, I want you to think about what could've happened the day your warehouse burned down. I want you to think about what happened... and I want you to think about what can still happen… are we clear?”

 “Crystal.”

  “Good..!” Cross flashed a smile and stood back up. “Now that that’s out of the way,” he extolled, “it’s time to go to work. Get your best coat on, shine your shoes, and try to look respectable. These Sen Guren boys are old school.” He strode back toward the exit.

“So I’ve heard,” Teller said. He stood to retrieve his coat from the rack in the corner of the room, then motioned Seza and three other men in the room to follow him.

She allowed herself to be escorted from the conference room into a garage and toward a late-model Escalade. One of Teller’s men entered through the driver-side door, and Teller himself sat up front next to him. Seza entered through the rear door and found herself between two of Teller’s men as the vehicle engine started.

Of course they wouldn’t trust her alone with any of them, she thought, not after what she did to the other two upstairs. Seza knew she would have to keep playing along if she was going to come any closer to finding Samantha Calloway, so she sat still and did her best to look relaxed among the others as they headed toward their destination.

(Masterlist | Part 2)

[365days365movies]

February 5, 2021: The Notebook (Part 2)

Well, I’m back. Read Part One of this recap for more; I wanna get into this sappy folderol before I abort mid-way, y’know? Jumpin’ iiiiiiiiin.

I can’t believe this, but Noah was apparently right, and Allie comes right back to him and the house. She says hello, he says nothing, she goes back into her car and immediately crashes into a fence - women drivers, AMIRITEFELLAS????? That, uh...that was a joke, to be clear. Noah invites her inside, and she accepts.

In the present day, the old woman...OK, can we drop the pretense here? It’s Allie. IT’S OBVIOUSLY ALLIE, who appears to have some form of dementia. And “Duke” is probably an old Noah. I mean, who names their kid Duke? During an impromptu visit with the doctor, it’s revealed that Noah’s had 2 heart attacks recently, and that the old woman’s name is Mrs. Hamilton. She plays her leitmotif by memory, and we now go back to the past. All pretenses seemingly off, now.

The two former lovers reconcile, and decide to be friends. Yeah. Sure. They’re definitely not gonna go for it right on the floor of that haunted mansion. They actually don’t, but invites her to come back the next morning, as he wants to show her something (in his paaaaaaaaants, probably). 

Present day, again, and their children visit the home. “Duke’s” living there in order to get Allie to remember her life with Noah, but her kids have basically completely given up on her. Geez, guys. I know you miss your dad, but it IS your MOM we’re talking about! Stop asking your Dad to semi-abandon her!

We’ve dropped the pretense of the story reading at this point, as the two lovers in the past row through a swamp populated by...domestic geese and ducks. Yeah, sorry if that ruins the magic, but white mallards don’t exist in the wild, and snow geese are NOT found in South Carolina. Nor do they migrate to the Guatemala Sound, BECAUSE THAT IS NOT A PLACE THAT EXISTS

Anyway, after Noah takes the bird-woman to meet her own kind, it rains...and you know what scene this is. I know what scene this is. If you’ve NEVER SEEN this movie, you still know exactly what this is.

Well, infidelity reigns once more, as the two unfurl their passions and IMMEDIATELY consummate the relationship; no more hesitation this time, THAT’S for goddamn sure. They make love in that typical semi-chaste no-nudity way that we get in these movies. They go for the entire night, eventually winding up on the floor of the room, just like old times. And, uh...Allie’s got a decision to make now, huh?

As they wake up, I just want to make a quick side note here: remember that romance movie that my girlfriend and I were making up as a joke? Well, the number one rule of that movie is NO GODDAMN CHEATING ON YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER. Both romantic leads will be single at the beginning of the film, no matter what. They will eventually fall for each other, of course, but the two will NOT cheat on a loved one in order to get together, GODDAMMIT.

Anyway, Martha ends up showing up the the house, and meets Allie. They have dinner together, she realizes that she’d forgotten what true love looked like until she saw them, I vomit everywhere - just EVERYWHERE - and she gives him a goodbye kiss. The next morning, full of pre-marital bliss, Allie begins painting once again, when who should show up this time but her mom

.Annie’s here to warn Allie that Lon is on her way to town. Allie confronts her about the letters, which Annie immediately confesses to keeping. While Allie’s immediately extremely upset with her, and understandably, Annie confides in her that she was once in love with a lower-class worker, like Allie fell in love with Noah. But, due to her father, things ended similarly as they did with Noah.

Annie loves Allie’s father, but still misses her unrequited love from years past. And it’s at this point that I, uh...I really need to say something. I desperately wish that the dude that Annie fell for back in the day...was Black. HOLY SHIT, do I wish that were the case. And yeah...I’ll get into it. Because this movie completely ignores racial politics of the era, and it gets...awkward sometimes.

Anyway, Annie makes amends with her daughter, and indirectly with Noah, and actually gives her BACK all of the letters from that year, having kept ALL of them? WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU GONNA DO WITH THOSE, LADY? Anyway, Allie and Noah have a discussion about the next steps, which naturally turns into an argument. Oh no! Are they going to get to - I’m just gonna jump over recapping this part. We all know how this is gonna end.

After Simp Noah calls out Flaky Annie, she goes to talk to Lon, and INEVITABLY BREAK UP WITH HIM I AM SURE OF IT. On the way, she demonstrates her driving skills, and somewhere out there, a frustrated 75-year old man watching this against his will shouts to the heavens, “WOMEN ARE TOO EMOTIONAL TO DRIIIIIIIIVE!!!” Allie opens one of Noah’s letters and cries, while Allie in the present notes how sad it makes her feel. Present Noah quotes Whitman, and Allie seems to recognize this as well.

Duke/Noah��s set up a romantic dinner for the pair of them in the nursing home, and his story (history, ha) continues. Lon knows the whole story now, and true to FUCKING FORM, HE FORGIVES HER COMPLETELY AND WHOLLY. Because Lon is the Walter of this movie, and he’s also surpassed him in that department, I think. Lon still loves her, and even comforts her, while admitting that he wants her to stay.

AND OF COURSE HE GETS CUCKING FUCKED!!!!! DID YOU THINK THIS WAS GONNA END ANY OTHER GODDAMN WAY??? STOP. FUCKING. OVER. NICE. GUYS, MOVIES!

Anyway, upon that realization, Allie actually remembers who Duke/Noah is, breaking through her dementia. However, it’s only going to last about 5 minutes. And I’m not gonna lie, although I don’t care as much about the relationship of their younger selves...I love these two.

And then...she forgets again. And that FUCKING BLOWS HOLY SHIT. She freaks out, no longer recognizing Noah, and she begins sundowning. The staff is forced to subdue and sedate her, and Noah breaks down. It’s terrible. And this is the only part of the movie that resonates with me. I mean that, this is heartbreaking.

The story was written by Allie, in order for Noah to read it to her, so that she’ll remember. And it worked for a little while. But now, it’s done. And so is Noah. He has a heart attack, and is rushed to medical care. Allie, meanwhile, is taken to a dementia ward where her medical care is made more strict, as her dementia has gotten considerably worse. After he begins to recover from his attack, he goes once again to see Allie, against doctor’s orders. He wakes her up, and she remembers him one more time.

And I’m not gonna lie...this is where the present-day part of the movie loses me a little bit. Noah promises that, no matter what happens, he’ll never leave her side, even when she loses all of her memories. Allie asks if he believes that their love can create miracles. He replies that he does. She then asks...if their love can take them away together.

Yeah...they both die together that night. The nurses find them in the morning, where they’re still holding hands. And...yeah, that’s touchingly maudlin, sure, but...it’s also a little too sappy for me. But...it is effective. I’ll give it that. Geese fly away, as if fulfilling Allie’s request of the two of them becoming birds came true.

That’s The Notebook. Huh. That was...something. I mean, it wasn’t necessarily as bad as I thought it was going to be. But was it great? Ehhhhhhhh, review, see you in the Review.

[iolrachs]

1989, 11th July - Alex is born to Tom and Anna Weiss in Lakeville, Minnesota.

1998 - A nine year old Alex learns to hack, inspired by his older sister, Kaz.

2003 - Tom begins to teach a fourteen year old Alex how to shoot a pistol, taking him to a shooting gallery most weekends.

2007, September - Tom suffers a heart attack and dies, leaving behind Anna, Kaz, and an eighteen year old Alex.

2007, September - Alex begins a four year course at the University of Minnesota, majoring in Electrical Engineering with a minor in Computer Engineering. During this time, he joined the Minnesota Running Club.

2010 - Kaz marries Lucya. Alex is the best man at her wedding.

2011, June - Alex graduates from the University of Minnesota with full honours.

                 - Alex remains unemployed, albeit with a sideline in computer repair. The majority of his income, however, comes from hacking gambling sites to increase the odds of him winning.

2013 - After hacking into several government databases and being hunted by the governments in question, Alex came to Conrad Roth for sanctuary on his research vessel. Though he initially offered to work for free, Roth allowed him to stay aboard and welcomed him into his crew as a technician.

- Alex meets Lara Croft and Sam Nishimura, as well as the rest of the Endurance crew, finding his old friend Jonah a member. Alex immediately develops a crush on Lara, nurturing it in secret, though his over-awkwardness annoys Lara to some degree, and becomes fast friends with Sam.

- Alex meets Dr Whitman after the Endurance is hired to help in filming Whitman’s World. Alex does not take kindly to him, having hacked into files about his private life and discovered his messy divorce and financial strife.

- Roth charges Alex with forging the necessary permits for the ship and the expedition, including the crew.

- While setting up a Wi-Fi range extender for the Endurance, Alex fell overboard. He was saved by Lara, though pushed back into the water by Sam in mischief.

- With the expedition to find Yamatai on hold due to funding issues, Alex presents a solution in the form of a self-made 99.9% hacking program. He uses it on gambling sites to increase their chances of winning and accrue the necessary funds – however, the 0.1% chance of detection occurs and Alex is forced to throw his computer overboard to avoid being traced.

- While at sea, the Endurance needed an intermediate repair in the engine room. While Alex insisted it was a mechanical fault, Reyes correctly informed him it was an electrical fault. In attempting to make a joke, Alex made a flirtatious remark about a girl in Reyes’ photo – a girl he soon learned, around the foot in his mouth and disbelief at his own idiocy, was Reyes’ 14 year old daughter.

March - The crew came to a crossroads midway into their journey. Lara suggested venturing into the Dragon’s Triangle, where Whitman rebuked the idea. Alex hacked into a satellite to show the weather conditions over the triangle – with the storms there and Lara citing Himiko’s apparent myth for controlling the weather, a myth that could have some element of truth, Roth decided to make for the Triangle.

- At 11pm, in the vicinity of Yamatai, a storm strikes the Endurance and cleaves her in two. Alex manages to escape the shipwreck and makes it to the beach with Reyes, Jonah, Grim, Sam, Whitman, and another crew member. Although Alex tried to save him with CPR, the crew member died on the beach.

- The crew reunites with Lara while she is caught in a bear trap, having been searching for the kidnapped Sam and Mathias. The crew free Lara and split up – one to go with Lara and head for Roth, who is communicating via radio and attempting to gather all crew at his location, and the rest to fan out and find Sam. Alex offers to go with Lara, but is denied by Whitman, and joins the party searching for Sam.

- When Lara attempts to use an abandoned radio tower to boost the rescue beacon from the Endurance to call for help, it is Alex who talks her through both finding the control bank and the method of patching the signal manually through the tower’s maintenance box.

- While searching for Sam near Himiko’s palace, Reyes, Alex, and Jonah are taken captive by the Solarii Brotherhood and imprisoned in an old airplane wreck suspended in the underground geothermal caverns. The three are rescued by Lara, though are separated from her again while she returns to the caves to hunt for Sam and Whitman.

- The three manage to escape and reunite with Sam, but are cornered by the Solarii and begin a gun battle to fend them off. With Roth and Lara on a helicopter Roth had called, it seems the four will be left to the islanders, until Lara forces the pilot to land for their friends.

- Roth dies protecting Lara, and Alex attends his funeral pyre burial. He suggests to Lara that they only need to regroup, though he agrees there is something strange about the island. He leaves with Reyes, Jonah, and Sam to go to the old PT boat on the beach, with Reyes believing she can repair it sufficiently to allow them to escape.

- With the boat in bad condition, it becomes apparent Reyes needs her tools from the Endurance to properly repair the boat. Taking inspiration from Lara’s “See what you can do.”, Alex volunteers to fetch the tools from the wreck.

- He manages to successfully evade the Solarii raiding the wreck for scrap, as well as climb and travel over dangerous terrain to reach the wreck. On reaching the engine room, however, Alex was surprised by a Solarii gunman. Their brief gunfight saw Alex come out victorious, however a steel girder and several other pieces of the Endurance’s ceiling were loosened in the battle. They came crashing down on Alex, severely injuring his leg and pinning it beneath the metal beams, trapping him there until Lara came.

- Though she attempted to remove the debris, it caused Alex too much pain. The Solarii, aware of Lara’s presence and previously alerted by the sound of Alex’s gunshots, stormed the engine room, engaging in a brief exchange of bullets. After convincing Lara to leave him and return to Reyes with the tools, Alex shot at the ruptured gas pipe, causing an explosion that rocked the ship and ultimately had Lara presume he was dead. Instead, Alex was severely burned along his left side and right arm, thrown from the debris into a lower room by the blast. He was knocked unconscious and sealed within the room as the Endurance sank, with only a limited supply of air.

- Waking up on the seafloor some unknown period of time later, Alex knew he had to act. If his air supply did not run out, it would be the mounting pressure that killed him, his saving prison already groaning under the weight. Eventually forcing himself to stand, though he could not put his weight on the injured leg, Alex dragged himself to the room door, where he forced it open and attempted to swim to the surface before the pressure killed him through knocking all air for his lungs and drowning him, or by giving him brain damage in the process. Successfully making it to the surface, Alex makes for the remaining half of the Endurance, seeking to raid what medical supplies may be left in order to treat his wounds.

- A tourniquet tied around his leg and what bandages he could find binding his leg in a makeshift splint, Alex retreats to rest for the night, resolving to return to the crew in the morning. By the time he awakens, however, Lara and the crew have already journeyed inland to rescue Sam.

- Alex slowly drags himself to the beach, forced to take frequent breaks and rely almost entirely on a crutch (his leg is useless, he knows this, he knows this, but still he forces himself to go on). It is there he sees the PT boat leaving off in the distance, Lara having rescued Sam from Himiko. Though he tries to hail them, his voice is too hoarse, his body too weak, and so they leave without hearing him.

- Three months pass, and Alex is still on the island. His leg is barely healed, broken and twisted beyond all compare. Though he refuses to look, gangrene has begun to set in to the wound by the second month, despite his attempts to keep the wound clean. He searches for any other possible way off the island, evading the stragglers of the Solarii and killing them where he must.

- By the sixth month, Alex resolves that the only possible way to escape is to hail for rescue from the radio tower as Lara did. It takes him several weeks to cross the island, slowed as he is by injury and his leg, and several days to climb the tower. On his descent from the tower, his leg gives out and he falls from the last ladder, breaking his right arm.

early September: Lara travels to Pripyat at the behest of her hallucinations of Alex. There, she meets his sister, Kaz, and her family-in-law, and defends them from Trinity. Although Viktor and Kirill are killed by Mr Cruz, it is revealed that Lucya is still alive, having faked her death to escape Trinity. Lucya, Kaz, Varvara, and Pavel are all taken into Witness Protection, where Lara gives them burner phones that they may remain in contact with her should they need her.

late October - Alex is rescued by plane and flown to Bokutoh Hospital for emergency treatment. He is treated for sepsis and found to be suffering from septic shock; his arm is set and his leg, too far ravaged by gangrene and infection, is amputated above the knee. He remains in a medically induced comatose state for several weeks, half-dead and kept alive by IV lines and antibiotics.

2014, January - Alex begins to stir. Although still disorientated and incredibly weak, hospital staff manage to get two sentences from him – Lara Croft and Yamatai.

- Although not enough to identify him, as his identification was left in the Endurance, Alex’s repeated murmurs of ‘Lara Croft’ drive hospital staff to find her in the hopes she might know their mystery patient. She is located on account of her publishing her testimony of what happened on Yamatai.

10th February - Lara Croft is contacted. She does not remain convinced the hospital have the right person, until Yamatai is mentioned. She immediately packs and fly for Japan.

11th February - Lara reunites with Alex. At first she does not believe it is him, believing instead that it is a hallucination or a cruel joke. Though Alex manages to convince her, through tears on both parts, he is still not strong enough and falls asleep again.

12th February - Lara contacts Jonah, Reyes, and Sam to inform them of Alex’s survival. They all fly to the hospital to see Alex with their own eyes and reunite with one they thought dead.

15th February - With Alex’s permission, Lara has him transferred to Royal Surrey County Hospital, so that she and Sam may keep watch over him.

17th March - With doctors finally satisfied he is recovered enough to be released, Alex is discharged. He is offered a place to live by Lara, in her London apartment with her and Sam.

1st April - Alex begins the process of being fitted for a prosthetic leg. Although he tries to argue, Lara insists on paying for the whole process, as well as his rehabilitation and learning to walk.

November - Atlas DeMornay forces Lara to attend therapy and prove she is of sound mind before he allows her access to her fortune. It is revealed to Alex and Sam by Atlas that Lara is in fact a Lady.

- Obsessed with proving her legitimacy, Lara begins a search for the Divine Source. Although forbidden to accompany her physically, Alex remains in London as technological backup, ready to hack and find information and funding as Lara needs it.

- Following her return from Syria, Lara returns to Croft Manor, bringing Alex and Sam with her. Though it is Lara who does all the work, Alex still attempts to help her find evidence she is the rightful owner of the estate and her inheritance.

- Lara and Jonah fly out to Siberia to find the lost city of Kitezh. Alex remains in Croft Manor with Sam, helping out in the restoration where he can and waiting for Lara to return.

[shawnsorangeglasses]

Better Conversations - Part 3

2.3k words

Get you some tea, it’s BC Part 3

Hello yellow, you gotta read part 2 if you haven’t already. Better yet, here’s the masterlist.

It feels like the whole world has gotten wrapped up in Shawn’s appearance with (Y/N) in the streets of New York. She faces some consequences.

warnings: a little dramatic, sweeter ending

......................

News of Shawn’s mystery “girlfriend” caught fire and spread rapidly across all social media platforms. Fans were either happy, suspicious, or appalled. No matter what they felt about it, young girls from all over the world began to analyze and pick apart pictures of them together in the streets of New York. The group of fans they met at the diner took a video of their meeting with Shawn and that only stirred up some more talk online as well. There were screenshots and red circles and literal YouTube videos on this. It’s not like (Y/N) and Shawn were caught holding hands or making out, but all the gossips sites wasted no words and no time getting their articles out for clicks.

The video of them only caught her from the chest down, a snippet of her voice, and Shawn’s full body sat at the lunch counter. Some people were kind enough to comment that whoever this mystery girl was had really nice legs. That seemed to be the only positive aspect in all the chaos.

Bea, (Y/N)’s sister, only recognized her because of her clothes, specifically the boots she always wore. She was just as confused and shocked as the rest of the world when she called. It took about ten minutes to calm her down and explain the whole mess.

Shawn still had to leave for Toronto that night. Goodbyes weren’t even an option. His people wanted him and him alone at the airport, which (Y/N) understood. In her mind, she had already caused enough trouble.

Miraculously enough, not one person had been able to place (Y/N)’s face or social identity. She never really posted pictures of herself online and rarely allowed anyone to take a picture of her and post it without permission. Her Instagram page only had three posts, all city photography, and her profile picture only displayed a solitary bumblebee doodle. For a while, it seemed like the damage would repair itself. (Y/N) thought she may have been in the clear.

Then she woke up. More photos were published. Her phone had ten missed calls. Eight from Jason and two from Lawrence Derringer, the head executive of his branch. (Y/N) prepared for the worst.

It was Sunday by now. The Jason and Mr. Derringer opened up their offices just to talk to her in the conference room. She wore the most conservative outfit she could find in her closet.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), are you aware of the story that has surfaced about you and Mr. Shawn Mendes in the news?”

“Yes Mr. Derringer, but I can explain. Nothing happened at all between Shawn and me. I would never get involved with a client in that fashion, and as far as I know, they never even got a picture of my face.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Ms. (Y/L/N).” They present a laptop screen to her, opened to a TMZ article with her and Shawn stood at the gemstone pop-up shop. Her face is clear and visible. “This was published eight hours ago,” Jason mumbles.

“I know your intentions must have been pure, Ms. (Y/L/N). What I’m struggling to understand is why you never questioned any of the endeavors you had with Mr. Mendes. Harmless as they may have been, this could have a negative effect on our firm’s relationship with him as well as our image in the industry. Did this not occur to you when you realized you were being photographed? Surely it must have.”

(Y/N) doesn’t answer, right away. Saying no, would have been a lie. She did consider the possibility of them getting a little publicity, but she didn’t think so far ahead about how that might affect the company.

“I suppose you’re going to have to fire me then?”

Mr. Derringer glances at Jason, then back at (Y/N). “Fortunately, no. You will not be fired for this. Apparently, Shawn called our offices several times last night trying to get a hold of one of us. He managed to reach me and said the day out was his all idea and that you should not be fired for the events that followed.”

“So, I’m not in trouble?”

“Well yes and no. I told him you would keep your job but that does not mean you can get off without some repercussions. Since Whitman was the one who hired you, I figured he should be the one to enforce that.”

Jason steps forward, looking like he was trying so hard to be authoritative in front of his superior. “I made the decision to prohibit you from attending any future corporate events where Shawn or any other Island Records artist may also attend. It’s probably for the best that you don’t see Mr. Mendes anymore in public for any reason. Your recent promotion has also been revoked as well and your salary will revert back to the earnings you made prior to said promotion.”

(Y/N)’s jaw set, keeping her tongue from saying everything she wanted to spit in his stupid Ivy League face. Everything she’s wanted to say to him for the past eight months feels like holding acid in the back of her throat. She swallowed her thoughts.

“I understand. My sincerest apologies, Mr. Derringer. It won’t happen again.”

“I certainly hope not, Ms. (Y/L/N). You’re a valued member of our staff and you contribute so much to the floor and the board. It’d be a shame to lose you over something like this. Jason will see you out. Have a good evening.”

(Y/N) is already at the elevator smashing the down button before Jason can even make it down the hall. Tears of humiliation sting her eyes as the elevator slowly takes her and Jason down from the top floor. He tries to lay a hand on her shoulder, apologetically, but she shrugs it off and steps further from him. If he was sorry, it only because he felt like he had to be, not because he actually was.

“Are you seriously pissed at me? You brought this on yourself.”

“You have no right to try and keep me from seeing him or anyone.”

“That’s what you think this is about? Maybe you ought to think twice before sleeping your way through our list of clients.”

Of course, it’s all my fault that I didn’t feel like eating alone one afternoon.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware going to lunch with one man is the equivalent to shoving my tongue down his throat.”

“You might as well have been, the way you were smiling at each other in those pictures.”

“I knew it. I knew you had a problem with me seeing other people. You can go and fuck every girl in Times Square if you want, but I have to sit idly by like your personal dumping ground?”

“You can see whoever you want. Just not him. You should know better. This firm—”

“Like you give a damn about the firm. This is about you and your fat ego. You can’t handle the fact that somebody might even be a little interested in me because you know that as soon as I find someone who actually gives a damn about me, I won’t have a reason to come back to you for a goddamned quickie in the janitor’s closet.”

“It’s that kind of thinking that keeps you behind that desk.”

(Y/N) falls silent. No more words are spoken. There was no use in trying to argue or be right. Jason was jealous again. He’d done this once before when another coworker, someone on (Y/N)’s pay grade, showed interest in her. The elevator doors finally open and she treads heavily out the front doors, never looking back.

…………………..

(Y/N) spent the rest of the evening wrapped in her bed sheets, at first crying with her makeup still on, then eating leftovers and watching Criminal Minds reruns. Hearing Dr. Reid talk about m.o.’s calmed her down. She’d turned her phone off hours ago just to get some peace. Family and friends were calling and texting her non-stop yesterday evening about her appearance with Shawn. At the time it was too much to handle with possibility of getting fired still looming over her head. But now with the worst over, (Y/N) figured she should probably check her notifications for anything important.

Through all the messages from cousins and people who barely knew her, one single text from Shawn floated to the very top.

[please call me]

He sent it about an hour after (Y/N)’s meeting with Mr. Derringer. It’s 1 AM now but Shawn was in LA. She checks the time zones first then finds his contact and presses the call button. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, are you okay?”

(Y/N) grins for the first time today, more than happy to hear that soft voice again. “I should be asking you that. Every news outlet has a story on you. And me, I guess.”

“Yeah but are you okay?”

It sounds like he’d been waiting to ask her this question all day. Technically, (Y/N) was okay, but she could be better, given the circumstances. She chooses her next words carefully.

“I…I will be. I didn’t get fired if that’s what you mean. Thank you for that by the way.”

“I’m so sorry. I said everything would be fine and I should have known this would happen.”

“It’s not your fault. People aren’t that crazy about it. Your fans are being relatively nice to me, now that they know my face.”

“They know your face?”

“Yeah. More photos came out this morning.”

Shawn goes quiet for a moment. It sounds like he’s moving into another room away from the chatter in the background. “Could we video chat?” The new echo of his voice sounds like he’s moved into the bathroom.

(Y/N) looked at her reflection in the mirror on the wall across the room. Dramatic streaks of mascara still trailed down her cheeks and her eyes were still very red. She should say no, but she desperately wants to see his face. And this technically didn’t go against Jason’s stupid new rules for her.

“Give me a minute.”

She washes her face in the bathroom the best she can. Her eyes are still red when she’s done. Fuck it, she thinks. Maybe he won’t notice.

(Y/N) flops back down on her bed and opens the app. Shawn’s face pops up on her screen, riddled with concern. He’s sat in the bathtub, one in a hotel probably, wearing a white t-shirt, hair fluffy and wild without its gel. One “s” curl fell on his forehead.

Unfortunately, he does notice. “You’ve been crying?”

(Y/N) bites her lip. “Maybe.”

Shawn doesn’t speak. He just wants to look at the girl on his screen. The truth is he didn’t really have a good reason to facetime her other than just wanting to see her again. He was so sure that she would never want to talk to him again after all of this.

“I want to know why, but you don’t have to tell me,” he says.

“No, it’s alright. I’m not fired but I am never allowed to be seen in public with you again as long as I work there.” (Y/N) sniffles. “Which is fucking stupid.”

“So quit,” he mutters. The words leave his mouth before he can think twice about saying them.

“Quit?”

“I mean—I’m kidding, that’s not what I meant. God, that sounded really bad.”

“It did,” she says through a smile. “But I have thought about it. About a year ago actually.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I met someone. At work. We’re not a real couple but...” (Y/N) realizes she doesn’t have an appropriate label for whatever she and Jason are, but Shawn seems to understand. “I wasn’t trying to get ahead. I did actually like him once upon a time. But he never wanted to be anything more with me. Then he became my boss and things just moved under the table.”

Shawn thinks this time before speaking. “Was it that guy you were with at the party?”

“Damn, you’re good. How much of that did you see?”

“I saw when he tried to get you to dance. And when he was at the bar.”

“Well if this music thing ever bombs—it won’t—you should be a detective.”

Shawn gives her a weak smile. A piece of his heart broke a little when she admitted to being in a relationship, albeit a noncommittal and toxic one. Someone already had her heart and her eyes.

“Do you still love him?”

(Y/N) thinks about it for second. Love? It seemed so unattainable for her at this point. At the start, Jason was romantic but never with the usual gestures. Just clever lines and secret lunch dates on the rooftop. Then one day he just stopped. Looking back, it doesn’t seem like love anymore. Just regular sneaking around. “I don’t think we ever made it to the love stage of it all.”

Shawn slouches down into the tub more, forcing his long legs out and his feet up on the tiled wall in front of him.

“I take it back. Maybe you should quit.”

(Y/N) blinks at him. “Very funny. I may be unhappy, but I still have bills to pay. That bastard docked my salary too, so I’ll be working double shifts again.”

“No, I’m serious, (Y/N). If you go in tomorrow and put it your two weeks’ notice, you can have a job as my assistant.”

She sits up in her bed, not believing a word of what those bright pink lips were telling her. “I thought we we’re joking when we talked about that.”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t there have to be a few more conversations with a few more people before you just bring a new person on board?”

“I’ll talk to Andrew tonight,” he promises. “He knows who you are, and I’ve told him how hard you work.”

“I’d have to think about it Shawn. That’s a big leap.”

“I know, but I do mean it. You have a job waiting for you whenever you want it.”

(Y/N) tried feel good about this, but everything about working for Shawn scared her. She knew his intentions were good but there was more risk than that. What if she fell into the same hole she did with Jason? What would fans say? What would people think?

“I call you when I have an answer.”

......................

taglist:

@spider-mendes @sebsdreamboat @innositer

[evangeline-perry]

Dead Poets Society: Neil x OC: part 3

masterlist

complete series

Finally we enter dad’s classroom, the boys are talking and acting up. I can see dad glance out from his room off to one side of the classroom.

‘Hey Spaz, Spaz.’, Knox calls out. The boy who was called Spaz turns around in time to be hit by a ball of crumpled up paper while Cameron smacks him on the shoulder.

‘Brain damage’, Cameron mutters.

But everyone quickly quiets down as dad emerges from the other room, whistling the, what I recognize to be 1812 Overture. He walks up the length of the classroom and out the door without a word, though he sends a wink my was as he passes me. The boys look around at one another, uncertain of what to do.

‘What is happening’, Neil asks turning to me.

‘Just wait’, I chuckle at him, at the same time dad pokes his head back in the doorway, ‘Well come on.’ He gestures us to follow and we, after some hesitation, grab our books and follow my father out into the main entranceway.

We see my dad stand before the school's trophy cabinets, waiting until all the boys arrive.

‘"Oh Captain, My Captain"’, he says finally, ‘who knows where that comes from?’

I can see Todd look up as if he knows the answer, but says nothing. Spaz blows his nose a little too close to Meeks for his liking, causing me to have to make an effort to muffle my chuckles. And apparently Neil noticed cause he gently nudged me before winking at me.

‘Not a clue?’, my father asks, ‘It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now in this class you can call me Mr. Keating. Or, if you're slightly more daring, Oh Captain, My Captain.’ this makes the class laugh slightly.

‘Now let me dispel a few rumors so they don't fester into facts’, dad continues, ‘Yes, I too attended Hell-ton and survived. And no, at that time I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.’ this makes the boys laugh once again, while Cameron, obviously trying to write all this down, looks around confusedly, making me laugh once again. Dad looks down at papers in his hand. Now, Mr… Pitts. That's a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?’ Pitts raises his hand, somewhat awkwardly, while everyone around him snickers.

‘Mr. Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page 542 and read the first stanza of the poem you find there?’ Pitts obliges before looking up confused: ‘“To the virgins, to make much of time"?’

‘Yes, that's the one’, he confirmed, ‘Somewhat appropriate, isn't it.’

‘"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’, Pitts read, ‘old time is still a flying, and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."’

‘Thank you Mr. Pitts. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Now who knows what that means?’ Meeks immediately puts his hand up, ‘Carpe Diem. That's "seize the day."’

‘Very good, Mr.-’

‘Meeks.’

‘Meeks. Another unusual name’, my father noted, ‘Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Why does the writer use these lines?’

‘Because he's in a hurry’, Charlie jokes.

‘No, ding!’dad slams his hand down on an imaginary buzzer, ‘Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.’ with that dad turns towards the trophy cases, filled with trophies, footballs, and team pictures.

Now I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past’, he continues, ‘You've walked past them many times. I don't think you've really looked at them.’

The students slowly gather round the cases and dad moves behind them. ‘They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see gentlmen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in.’ The boys and I lean in, I am vaguely aware of Neils head hovering over my shoulder.

‘Carpe’, my father whispering in a gruff voice, ‘Hear it?’ dad says before returning to his gruff whisper, ‘Carpe. Carpe Diem. Seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.’

I quietly look around me to see the boys stare at the faces in the cabinet in silence.

After class we all emerge from the school, loaded down with numerous books.

‘That was weird’, Pitts says.

‘But different.’ Neil defends.

‘Spooky if you ask me’, Knox says before shooting me a look of instant regret, remembering the teacher is my father. I chuckle at him.

‘Think he'll test us on that stuff?’ Cameron asks.

‘Come on Cameron’, Charlie sighs, ‘don't you get anything?’

‘What?’ Cameron questions, ‘What?’

<- PREVIOUS/ NEXT ->

[retros-gaming-soap]

Roswell Analogy 1999 vs. 2018

Michael Guerin, New vs. Old

Alex, Michael, Maria and Isabel love drama quadrangle vs. Alex and Michael/Michael and Alex

Up to a point Michael and Isabel always saw each other as related but the destiny they had with each other, wanted it to be otherwise including in the books.

However the main love drama of Michael in the original show was the one he had with Maria and how they switched around from the destiny of him and Isabel, and then Maria and Alex to a point, I’d call that a love quadrangle but who I’m to say.

However these sibling feeling seem to be even more in the new show hopfully that means we won’t see that change, as it seemed pretty impractical.

I think the idea is that Alex and Maria have switched roles in some ways but I suppose in some was Alex’s new story could be blending in some of Cameron Winger from the books (Winger looked military and had a bad childhood but Maria could be the betrayer in this story or maybe if Jenna Cameron comes back), this made more room for all the other stories of season 1 and scenes or plots that might have been given to other characters and that fits better with the new dynamic in my opinion: The Ages being changed and overarching plot, this made Alex and Max be the Jim Valenti part of the show and Michael being in a more proactive sibling role (however the new tonal shift is also what makes the shows so different), it could bag the question does it stray too far from the source material or the fandoms expectations?

I'm missing informarion about the books as I haven't read them, but making room for the other plots like what happend to Rose, protecting Isabel and then making the already existing friendship from the books with Alex a romantic one, not only seems to me an interesting writing choice (see next chapter), it also seems to make more since then having Michael in a relationship with Maria at the get go, that would have felt up alot of “will she find out plot”. This is however only based an initial thought since I haven't read the books and is just going off of the old show, hear say and assumptions.

Breaking down Alex and Michael as an original take on a gay love story

-----(will be written)-----

While the appearance of Cameron Winger could be the inspiration of changing Alex but Will Maria take her storyline?

Lets talk endgame? Alex vs Maria

This is probably one of the few times I think they made a Bad choice in writing, having Micheal go through almost the same arc as Liz and Max, when Liz didn’t feel she could be with Max eventhough she still loved him she choose to be with Kyle! Micheal mirroring the same seemed to blow all the good well from the amazing story arc they both had in the in the course of the whole season it was incredibly derivative and so very disappointing.

And yes it's pretty obvious that Micheal loves Alex and only likes Maria.

And unlike with Liz and Kyle this will obviously bite Michael in the butt, Michael seems to just be with Maria because she’s not tied to all the baggage and pain of all the things that’s happened both with their relationship and also in his live but to some extent also that he is tired of being pushed away by Alex.

Maria is the less complicated relationship but really why do Maria even want Michael?

unless this show runs so long the writers write Alex out of the show, it's pretty obvious that Alex is endgame.

However changing Maria DeLuca's personality and her main family issues definitely made her less appealing as a love interest for Micheal as they now don't feel as connected as they did, Maria wanting out of Roswell and missing her father in the original show made them empathize and understand either, what is left now is just some random sexytime? At least that's how it feels so far, as we haven't gotten any reason to think otherwise. Even if book and 1999 tv show says otherwise, the chemistry and history between Maria on this show isn't even gotten explard on screen, so "we'll just have to imagine the whole thing" off panel! from before the show? Not to mention he even said point blank that he'd always love Alex! And having a bi character choose that he'd rather be in a underdeveloped relationship with a straight person? All of it would really raise a lot of eyebrows, not saying it couldn't be done but really what would be the point, now that they've already made the change from the source?

Max Evans, New vs. Old

Power changes and Less Powers?

Development of powers being a plot point.

Possible death of canon character?

What's the odds of this, not just being a fake out? It certainly is ballzy of them to end season 1 with a dead main character. Did he ever die in the original show?

Jenna Cameron last name is the same name as Michael's book girlfriend Cameron Winger, is this a significant? 

Isobel Evans-Bracken vs. Evans

Her love Triangle (TV only) vs. circumstantial Marriage victim to Noah Bracken

Season 1 ended up showing a victimized Isobel unlike her stronger counterpart in the original show, surprisingly since woman in general have be shown as stronger characters in media in newer age. Maybe it isn't fair to judge a characters accomplishments by one season, but what does she even have left? As far as I know she doesn't have strong friends outside of the once in the know and she doesn't seem to have any potential love interests? By sacrificing the love to Michael and giving her another brother (an initially ingenious idea), as far as I know she doesn't seem to have any canon character arcs left? What was her relationship with Kyle Valenti in the original show? Did liz have a sister in the books? if yes, was she friends with Isobel?

Noah Bracken

Is Noah Bracken, this shows version of Nasedo? or someone else?

If Noah is Nasedo then we still haven’t seen the fourth Alien.

In the books I guess the fourth Alien was Nikolas Branson, but in the original show it was Tess Harding.

They seem to have implied in interviews that they want it to be more like the books then the original show was, but I know for a fact that they have kept some things if not just small things like the hair of Max not being blond like it with in the books.

Small things like that, though I might need to read the books to see if they have made bigger changes that fit more with the original show then the books.

Was what Noah did with all the murder kind of like the Harvest?

Alex Manes vs. Alex Whitman

How significant was his Relationships for Isobel in the original Roswell show?

Comparing it with his friendship with Michael. Was there shipping of Alex and Michael in the original fandom community? And what was the thought behind it? How big was the ship?

Fandom shipping Kyle Valenti with Alex in original show! Is there basis behind the ship?

Fx. close devoted friendship, saving one from death, long hugs, close trust (sharing secrets), etc? I think not but it's been awhile since I watched the original show though.

Alex certainly seems the type at the beginning of the show, seemingly only being friends with girls, seemingly not firting with said famale friends, not seeming all that bothered about not having a girlfriend but that all changes later in the original show.

Kyle Valenti: The secret gay bully trope? Overused as it was in drama shows, this theory might have been how the small shipping of Alex and Kyle happened? It's a theory of a theory that might need some looking into. 

I’ll be writing about the death of Alex in the old show as I get to the episode of the original show.

Cross pollination of fandoms from 1999 to 2018!

Kyle with Alex seems to have such a lasting fanbase that some people are crossing it over to Roswell, New Mexico! I can't say it’s based on anything on screen, but it’s great so see them develop a layered interesting friendship and I’d love to see more of their friendship grow over the next seasons. I guess the fact of enmities to friends has its appeal.

Mr. Whitman vs. Homophobic evil dad (Jesse Manes!) trope.

It seems strange that Jesse Manes was one of Alex’ Brothers but that they choose to make that his fathers name in the new show! I get the idea of making his father a heartless character they certainly didn't have a lot to play with from the books and classic show and it certainly made Michael and Alex have more of a connection but why the name change? They didn’t have a problem with renaming one of Alex’ brothers even though they didn’t have to, they already had two other names to use Robert and Harry both brothers of Alex in the books.

Reason behind name change from book accurate Manes name to orignal show last name?

It was pretty obviose why they changed Liz’s name from Ortecho in the books, so they didn’t have to address Liz’s parents heritage but why Whitman! What's the significance?

Last Update 02-07-2019

As I rewatch the original show (and maybe even when I’ll read fanfic) I’ll Update this post with theories and thoughts.

[rosinapowrie-blog]

The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.

“The only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing at all, for sure” – Socrates

Learning isn't just about passing exams.  Since starting a career in teaching four years ago, I have struggled to remember this myself, let alone show pupils what they could be missing out on.  In response, I set up a school society mimicking TEDx Talks, giving kids the chance to listen to in interesting lecture at lunchtime with no hidden agenda: simply to try to show them that academia goes beyond mark schemes and box ticks.  This was my opening address entitled 'The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.'

_______________________________________________________________________In my first fortnight of teaching at a prestigious new school, once we got over that slightly awkward unsure phase of ‘nu teacher who dis,’ a student asked me where I’d been to university and what I’d studied...

‘St Andrews, in Scotland... where Prince William went’ (I added after only a minuscule pause which I have become accustomed to when speaking of the tiny town on the East Fife coast). ‘I read English Literature, but did loads of modules in Philosophy, Classics, Art History... it was good.’ ‘Wow’ the student replied, ‘that’s like really good isn’t it? You must be... like... really clever..!’ And then the student said the 10 words that have shocked me the most in my haggering career as an educator... ‘So why did you end up as a teacher then?’ Now I am not so naive as to think that this is simply one view held by one teenager in that particular moment... What this delightful girl had uttered was probably the ultimate Freudian slip of today’s youth... you lot just don’t see the value in education for its own sake... you think that school is just something you have to get through, preferably do well at, then you can start living your best life. But this must be challenged: if we know and accept that gaining knowledge is a vital crevasse to conquer whilst mountaineering the Range of Success, why do we see it merely as a means to an end? Why can we not enjoy the ride, live in the moment, and value our opportunity to learn new stuff? Why is it that, still in 2018, when teaching is known to be one of the most draining and stringently trained professions, requiring the skill and discipline of an artist, athlete and jail warden simultaneously all before 9am 5 days a week, do our very target audience view our profession as a sort of embarrassing accident that losers happen to fall into? Perhaps you are already outraged by my cynicism. I am aware I am currently preaching to the converted - you guys have chosen to spend your lunch time in this room pursuing knowledge and discussion. But I vehemently believe that this modern apathy to education is due largely to the portrayal of teachers in the media and popular culture. I don’t solely mean the ludicrous click bait that floods your newsfeeds every day (I’m thinking headlines such as ‘boy of 1 wins Nobel peace prize for finding cure to cancer despite failing all GCSEs - who needs em anyway’ or even just the multitude of distracting cat videos you’d much rather be watching), I mean those subliminal messages in books, TV and film that have been drip fed to my generation and yours in our formative years. I’m talking about The Teacher Dichotomy: heroes vs villains. By this, I mean that teachers are firmly type cast into two roles: the sickening sycophant who inspires their flock with their unconventional quirks and flagrant disregard for any sort of teaching standard... that one who really gets down to da youf’s level. Or, worse, the maniacal villain who struts around with a cape and cane doling out detentions and appearing entirely inhumane. The inability to portray teachers as warm blooded mammals with the same instincts, desires and fears as the rest of the world has not only devalued the joy of education, it actually undermines the incredible passion and hard work that goes into just the average, unmemorable bog standard Mr or Mrs Bloggs’ daily job as a teacher. On demand, could anyone name an example of just a regular teacher that a) exists in a book/film etc and b) fulfils meaningful purpose in the plot purely in his or her role as educator and not for any other reason? Three examples analysed... Firstly, our heroes: I’ll start with that that ever hilarious, ever chaotic excuse for a school teacher portrayed by loveable comedian Jack Whitehall in popular BBC3 series ‘Bad Education.’ Alfie Wickers, the History NQT at Abbey Grove School, prefers to befriend students rather than enable them responsibly to achieve their potential. His typical pedagogy includes such escapades as practical re-enactments of battles, or ‘Class Wars’, where any Ofsted inspector would literally have a fit at the flagrant violation for safeguarding an 'ealf and safety. Yet Mr Wickers is respected by Form K – they even like him and learn from him – but do we see any assessment, formative or summative? Do we see him planning or marking? Do we see him tracking progress and planning interventions? While it may be a TV show, and art does not need to imitate life, the point is that Mr Wickers is seen as a fun, likeable teacher.  If he did anything that he was actually supposed to, he would be seen as boring.  And what sort of message is that sending a young audience – that the people who dedicate their lives to ensuring their progress in a conventional way are not heroes.  Only those who offer them fun and entertainment, and no actual learning, are.

At the other end of the positive spectrum, there are those sorts of hero teachers who move students emotionally, yet still wouldn’t actually pass an observation. The epitome is John Keating – the maverick English master portrayed by Robin Williams in the classic ‘80s film, ‘Dead Poets Society.’  Keating encourages his vulnerable student, Anderson, to come out of his shell by joining the eponymous banned extracurricular club.  Here, he forges friendships with unlikely characters and experiences true life and love by looking at poetry differently and forgetting the pressures and requirements of school.  Professor Keating is eventually called out for his disregard for school standards and duly sacked, leaving the boys chanting a heart-wrenching chorus of Whitman’s ‘O Captain, my Captain’ whilst standing on desks.  It’s the ultimate bildungsroman: the boys have come of age, and Keating helped them get there.  Yet again, his inspiring nature is not at all borne of his skill in traditional education methods, but rather the fact that he ignores them completely.  Yet another example of the hero teacher, shaming regular teachers into the background of mediocrity.

And now the other end of the spectrum – the villains.  Who better to analyse than Rowling’s malevolent Professor Umbridge, who swans into Hogwarts in The Order of the Phoenix with the sole aim of making monumental, ‘Ministry approved’ changes to the school curriculum and generally shaking the status quo.  Fans of the series, let’s forget the reasons behind our negative view of Umbridge’s changes for now (the government’s refusal to believe that Voldemort has returned, etc) and read this simply as a teacher trying to raise standards by reviewing current practice and attempting to embed systemic change.  We see this when she addresses the school for the first time: ‘some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." This sounds rather like a forward-thinking teacher, school leader or governor wanting to make improvements, yet she is completely slated and seen as evil.  For example, what are her actual crimes: conducting lesson observations of fellow staff?  Holding staff accountable for their performance and the progress of pupils, and removing them from post if they are not up to scratch? Ensuring that the curriculum is standardized? Essentially, all things that normal teachers do in normal schools to meet the teachers’ standards and provide robust education systems.  However, she is utterly vilified for doing so: so much so that Rowling chooses to portray her as committing the ultimate teacher-sin – failing to safeguard students and actually physically assaulting them in her detentions.  This is a choice the author has made: to show traditional schooling and education standards as petty compared to the great, heroic things that the rest of the Hogwarts teachers inspire the heard with.  The irony is that Umbridge is certainly the only member of staff who would even pass a PGCE, let alone be promoted to senior leadership, in real life.  Yet again, we see the dichotomy in action, reinforcing that subliminal message that traditional education is nasty, negative and pointless.

The glass ceiling must be broken and education needs to be esteemed once more.  The conditioning we’ve been subjected to through popular culture has not helped, but now we have been enlightened to our ignorance. The great irony is that if we enjoy the ride, stop seeing education as a means to end, but rather an end in itself, then you will get further in life if you have become a fully rounded person with a broad cultural capital.  Take umbrage with Umbridge: value your current opportunities and enjoy learning your subjects even if you never need to use that information again.