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artoatsblog · 1 year ago

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What your favorite Nick toon says about you but it's EVERY Nick toon

Doug- When you were asked what you wanted for Christmas, you said "plan white bread."

Rugrats- You're a "90's kid" who wants the modern cartoon enjoyers to get off your lawn.

Hey Arnold-Same as Rugrats, but 5 time worse.

Rugrats (2021)- You only said this one to piss off the above two.

Ren & Stimpy- You're a gay man and all you OCs are ugly men who you need to kiss each other or else you'll die (This isn't an insult, you're the strongest member of our society.)

Rocko's modern life- You relate to at least one character way more than you would like to admit to others.

CatDog- Weird furry.

The angry beavers- Weird furry with taste.

Aaahh!!! Real monsters- You like the idea of Tim Burton's movies but your too cool to actually enjoy them, also your probably non-binary.

Kablam- As a kid you wanted to make something with this exact energy and now, you're a youtuber.

Oh Yeah! Cartoons- same as Kablam but you really miss Cosmo's old voice.

The wild Thornberry's- You worship the ground Tim Curry's walks on SO BAD.

Rocket power- Honest 90's kid.

SpongeBob SquarePants seasons 1-4- You're annoying about seasons 5+.

SpongeBob SquarePants seasons 5+- You know better than me about those people being annoying about seasons 5+.

As told by ginger- You were going to say Hey Arnold, but you didn't want to be lumped in with certain other people.

Action league now- You made at least five short films that look exactly like this.

Chalkzone- Your playlist for working out has the theme song for this show looped for five hours and nothing else.

The fairly oddparents- Your trans, and you hate no other person more than Elmer Hartman.

Invader Zim- You were a vary emo kid/teenager in the late 2000's (same, no shade)

Jimmy Neutron- you're really glad that that you picked the show in "Jimmy Timmy power hour" that wasn't made by an asshole.

All grown up- Come on guys "As told by ginger" is right there.

Avatar: the last airbender- I don't want to hear the lore of the fantasy book you wrote.

Avatar: the legend of Korra- Same as atla but You also made a LOT of shipping fanfics.

My life as a teenage robot- Transfem.

The X's- You don't exist, if you're going to go into the comments and say this is your favorite Nicktoon, you're lying.

El Tigre- This is just the good version of Danny Phantom.

Danny Phantom- That was a Joke don't yell at me.

Mr. meaty- You want this odd but cool type of puppetry to come back (if you thought I was going to make fun of this one your wrong.)

Tak and the power of Juju- Your enjoyment of this show is based entirely on the fact that you liked the games.

Back at the barnyard- Shitposter.

Fanboy and Chum Chum- Shitposter but awesome.

Catscratch- Yeah, I think Wayne Knight's voice is hot too.

The mighty B- Gay.

The penguins of Madagascar- I don't have a joke for this one I just think you have impactable taste.

Planet Sheen- You always wanted Jimmy Neutron to have more "Rawr XD" swag.

T.U.F.F puppy- You ether are Jerry Trainor, or you have a Jerry Trainor stan account.

Kung fu panda: legends of awesomeness- You have a three-hour lore video on this franchise, and I hope it does well.

Winx club- You wanted to help them get free from Netflix.

Robot and Monster- It may just be me, but I think you might enjoy Dan vs.

Teenage mutant ninja turtles (2012)- You don't like rise of the tmnt.

Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles- You don't like tmnt (2012).

Sanjay and Craig- You used to freak other kids out with your scabs.

Monsters vs aliens- You can deny Coverton's rizz (sorry).

Breadwinners- Your about to go into every cartoon reviewers house with a shit ton of water balloons.

Harvey Beaks- In the middle/late 2000's you were more of a cartoon network kid, you loved Cowder.

Pig, Goat, Banana, Cricket- Same as Harvey Beaks but with Flapjack instead of Cowder.

Bunsen is a beast- Your Elmer Hartman.

Welcome to the Wayne- You wrote at least one fanfic for the ending of this show.

The adventures of kid danger- We don't talk about this one.

Middle school Moguls- it's ok monster high is about to come to Nick for real.

The loud house- Your ether a sapphic girl or a straight guy with a DeviantArt account who needs to be punished.

The Casagrandes- Same as the loud house but with the added advantages, because if you have a DeviantArt account in this one you're more likely to have a normal relationship with your family.

It's pony- You don't hate the British as much as the rest of us.

Middlemost post- John trabbic III is such a bad ass name though, wait this show has Del the funky homosapien and Tony Hawk as guest stars, I might need to which this.

Star trek: prodigy- You really like Netflix original animated shows don't you.

Big Nate- You haven't read the books.

Monster high- You the perfect in-between of goth and prep.

Transformers: earthspark- Why does this show have better non-binary rep than most other shows...I mean they are called Transformers for a reason.

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getp1nked · 2 months ago

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Redesigned Hebe's little sister to be her party animal twin

Facts about her/Artemis :

-Has ginger hair like Hebe but HATES IT , so she dyes her hair dark brown 24/7.

-Spends their parent's money like crazy on alcohol and clubbing ( she uses a fake ID .) Hebe has debated leaving her sister to rot on the sidewalk , but doesn't want too cause of the rise of crime against women.

-A lot shorter then Hebe ( Hebe is 5,8 while Artemis is 5,4 ,) but wears high-high heels that's hidden by her jeans .

-The type to wear jeans no matter how hot it is , hates skinny and shorts .

#bridge kids #bridge kids oc #fandom oc #oc #online art #ibispaintx

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pink-tonic · 1 year ago

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New Week and a New Face📰

All Chapters

Warning: None

When I wake up, I can feel dread start to build up inside of me. I felt so confident yesterday of my plan, but all of my confidence is gone. I wish I could stay bundled up in my warm blankets and sleep the day away. I really wish I could do that, but I need to get up.

I slowly rise up from my bed and put my slippers on. The bed creaks as I lift myself up, and I walk over to my bathroom.

I walk into the hallway and go straight to the bathroom. I close the door behind me, and I'm met with my reflection.

I can see the dark circles start to form underneath my eyes. These past days, I haven't been able to sleep comfortably. My dreams are haunted by the incident. The shine of the blade, the blood dripping from my fresh wound, the crazed look in Ayato's eyes as he holds me in place by my shoulders.

I hate it, I hate it so much.

I push the thoughts of my nightmare to the side and I do my usual routine, only this time I make time in order to switch out my bandages.

It hurts a bit as I peel them off, and I wince at the feeling of the cold morning air making contact with my wound. I hope I won't need stitches. The wound is deep, so I'm starting to worry that stitches are needed. I'll ask the nurse at school, I'll come up with a lie about how I got the wound.

I put on a new set of bandages, and continue with the rest of my routine.

I'm able to finish my routine around the same time I usually do, so I grab my bag and walk out the door. I shut the door behind me, and start to walk down the road to Taeko's house.

When I make it to her house, I see her outside, but she isn't alone. A boy with orange hair is next to her, and it kind of looks like they are arguing with each other.

I greet Taeko,"Hey, Taeko. Who is this?"

"Oh! Hey, (Y/N)! Remember that friend I was talking about a few days ago? This is him!" She tells me as she points at the ginger.

"Oh, right! Well, hey there," I wave at the ginger,"I'm (Y/N) (L/N). What's your name?"

The ginger rolls his eyes before answering,"I'm Osano Najima."

"It's nice to meet you, Najima. Come on, let's start heading to school."

The three of us start to walk to school, but I decide to start a conversation. The thought of seeing Ayato is starting to make me nervous.

"I hope you guys weren't waiting for me too long," I say to them.

"Not at all, (Y/N)! Me and Osano were just catching up, so we didn't even notice the time," Taeko answers.

"That's nice!" I can't help but feel a bit awkward. Talking to Taeko is fine, but Najima's presence throws me off. I've never talked to him before, so I don't know what I should say to him. Him and Taeko are childhood friends, so I feel like the odd one out.

"(Y/N), I have a question," my thoughts about how awakared this situation is cut off by Taeko.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I was wondering if you got something in your locker on Friday?" Taeko asks me with a flustered look.

Is she talking about the note? No, she can't be. That note was made by Ayato, she has nothing to do with the note.

"No. Was I supposed to get something?" I ask with curiosity.

"Yeah, it was a note..." Taeko trails off,"Forget it! I'll tell you about it later at the club."

Taeko looks towards Najima.

"Why are you looking at me for?" Najima asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Taeko walks closer to Najima and starts to whisper into his ear. I can see a blush start to form on Najima's face, but his response doesn't reflect his expression.

"I know that, idiot! You told me all about it!" Najima yells out.

I can't help but to quirk an eyebrow at their interaction. Is this how they talk to each other? Well, I can't judge them. They are childhood friends after all, they must be very comfortable with each other.

I always wished to have someone like that. Someone who would help me with my problems, someone who could make me laugh all day long, someone who I could make memories with.

Ayato could hardly be called a friend. I just stuck by him, but looking back on it, I really didn't form a meaningful connection with him.

Sure, I have Taeko but I don't know if we'll have a meaningful connection. I hope we do.

I see the school starting to come into view, and I can't help but to shiver at the thought of what Ayato will do to me once he sees me.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Alright, talk to me, Taeko," I tell her as the both of us walk into the clubroom. It's currently just the two of us since Najima went somewhere else to talk to another one of his friends.

"There was supposed to be a note in your locker on Friday," she responds as she closes the clubroom's door.

"I know that, and I did get a note," I tell her.

"I know you did," Taeko says,"I saw you going to the gymnasium."

She saw me? Where was she when I got attacked? Did she see Ayato?

"You saw?" I say in disbelief.

She nods her head,"Yeah, I did. I saw you go inside, and I couldn't help myself and I went inside too."

Before she could continue, I interjected,"Where were you?"

I can see her go stiff,"I...I wanted to do an article on the cherry tree. You know, the place where everyone confesses to their crush. I was thinking of doing an article, but I wanted to visit the place first."

"So you were near the cherry tree, and while you were there you saw me go into the gymnasium?" I ask to clarify.

"Yes! I saw you walk into the gymnasium, but I didn't see you leave," she explains.

"Okay, but back to the note. I did receive a note, was that from you?" I ask her. I know that Ayato orchestrated everything, or did he? I doubt that Taeko would try to harm me, but how did she know of the note?

"No!" Taeko exclaims before looking away from me, "there was supposed to be a note from my friend. She has a huge crush on you, and she wanted to meet up with you at the cherry tree. She wanted to confess to you, (Y/N)."

So there were two notes? One from Taeko's friend and the other from Ayato.

"Then why did I only get one note?" I ask her.

"I don't know, I put the note in your locker, and it should've been there when you opened your locker," she explains.

"This is so confusing," I tell her as I rub my temples.

"I know, but I'm even more confused about something," Taeko starts off,"When I went to the gymnasium, I saw blood."

"You what?" I ask. I could feel my heart drop at her confession. She saw my blood.

"Yeah, I don't know if it was a prank, but I saw blood on the gymnasium floor," she tells me with worry overtaking her features.

"Did you tell anyone?" I ask. Hoping that she told someone.

She shakes her head,"I didn't."

I decide I would lie to her, "I need to tell you something, Taeko."

This catches her attention.

"The note I got told me to go to the gymnasium, so I went. When I went there, I saw someone covered in blood on the ground. I seriously thought it was real, but it was a prank," I lie through my teeth.

"What? It was just a prank?" She asks with surprise.

"Yeah, it was an awful prank, but nobody got hurt. I guess you saw the aftermath of it," I say to her.

"That's such a horrible prank! I thought someone seriously got injured. It's a good thing I didn't tell anyone," she responds.

"But back to your friend," I say trying to go back to the note situation, "Tell your friend I'm sorry I didn't get her letter, and if it makes her feel better we can talk sometime."

"Really?! Thank you, (Y/N)! I'll tell her as soon as I can!" Taeko happily tells me.

I can't help but to smile at her reaction.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

When lunchtime comes around, I remember that I need to go to the nurse's office. I head straight to the nurse's office and I walk inside. I see the nurse walking around and checking the cabinets with medicine inside.

I speak out,"Miss Kankoshi, I need your help."

She turns around,"What's wrong?"

"I got into an accident, and I was wondering if you could see it?" I ask her as I point to where my wound is.

"Of course, take a seat on one of the beds," she instructs me as she walks over to me.

I take a seat on one of the beds. Kankoshi walks over and sits down on a nearby chair.

"Tell me, what's the problem?" She asks me.

I roll up my sleeve, and my bandaged arm is now visible to her.

"What happened?" She asks with worry lacing her voice.

"It happened on Friday. I was walking back home, and I decided to take a shortcut through an alley. It was a dumb decision, but it looked safe. As I walked, some guy came out of nowhere and pointed a knife at me. He demanded that I empty my pockets, and I did. As I gave him my stuff, he swung his knife at me and cut my arm. He then ran off," I start to feel nervous as I finish up my lie.

"That's horrible! Did you tell the police?" She asks with concern.

I shake my head,"No, I was too scared, and I would rather not."

"I would suggest you tell the police, but I understand if you'd rather move on and not worry yourself with the police," she tells me.

"Thank you for understanding, but I was wondering if I could come in and change my bandages?" I ask, hoping she would say yes.

"Of course, let me take a look at these ones," she tells me as she starts to unwrap the bandages.

The bloody bandages are now in the trash, and the nurse is now wrapping a new set of white bandages on my arm.

"Do I need stitches?" I ask, hoping the answer would be no. I cringe at the thought of having to get stitches. It makes me uncomfortable.

"No, you don't. The wound isn't very deep, so it'll be fine without stitches," she informs me before doing the last wrap around,"and there you go."

"Thank you," I tell her as I roll down my sleeve.

"Of course, but make sure to come by regularly," she tells me as she gets up from the chair.

"How regularly?" I ask as I stand up from the bed.

"Every day, if you can or every few days, at least, you don't want it to get infected," she tells me as she goes to put away the bandages.

I nod my head,"Got it. But thank you again, Miss Kankoshi, I really appreciate it."

I leave the nurse's office, but when I go out into the hallway, I can feel a shiver go up my spine. I look around, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. People are still socializing and walking around. Everything looks normal, but I just can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I turn around and walk up the stairs.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It's Monday, so another club meeting is due.

"Alright, our last issue did really well! I'm happy that our paper was a hit with the students, but it's now a new week, and new ideas need to be made!" I tell the team as they eat their snacks.

We start to brainstorm and pitch ideas. Some pitched interviews, some were about the history of Akademi, and some were about our town. In the end, I picked three ideas to do for this paper while the other ideas were left for next week.

I looked at the clock and saw that we only had two minutes left, so I decided to end the meeting.

"That was a great meeting! Text me if you have any questions, but I'll see you in the next meeting."

The club members start to pack up and leave, and that ends up leaving me and Taeko by ourselves.

We put the chairs and tables back to their original positions. I decide to start a conversation since the silence is slowly killing me.

"Did you tell your friend yet?" I ask her.

"Oh...um. Yeah! I did!" Taeko tells me.

"That's good to hear. I still feel bad for not meeting up with her," I tell her as guilt takes over my features.

"It's fine! She wasn't hurt by it at all," Taeko replies.

"At least I don't have bad blood with her," I say with a slight laugh,"but what happened to Najima?"

"What about him?" She questions.

"I don't know, I just thought that he would wait for you or something. You two do seem really close to one another," I tell her as I set the last chair back.

"He wanted to wait for me, but I just told him it would be best for him to go back home," she answers.

"I would have liked him to come with us, I wouldn't mind getting to know him better," I tell her. I walk over to my bag and start to head out.

"Yeah, I guess," she tells me as we both head out.

We both start our usual walk home, but that feeling is coming back again. I turn around and I see no one.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" Taeko asks me with worry.

"Yeah, totally," I quickly respond.

"If you say so," but I can hear the skepticism in her voice.

We make it to her house and we part ways. I let out a sigh and head back home.

The sun is starting to set, and the sky is filled with orange and pink colors. It makes me blissful, but a voice takes me out of my trance.

"(Y/N)..."

I turn around and I'm meet with Ayato. I let out a gasp and step back.

"What is it?"

"I think you know why I'm here."

"I do, and I hope my assumption is wrong."

"Hmmm...," I see him squint his eyes at me.

"What?" I ask my voice full of anger.

"I think you should start to run," he tells me as he pulls out a knife.

My mind flashes with thoughts of what happened on Friday. I don't waste a minute and I start running.

I run and run until my legs are on fire and I can feel my ankles go numb. My breath starts to get heavier, and tears are starting to leak from my eyes.

I can hear his footsteps, and they are only getting closer. I see my house up ahead and I pick up the pace. Everything vooms by me, and the cold afternoon air is hitting me.

As I run, I pull my keys out. I throw myself at my door and shove the key into the hole. I harshly twist it and rush inside. I quickly close the door and lock it just as Ayato is rushing up the steps.

I hold the door shut, and let out a choked sob. I jump back when I start to hear banging at the door. My tears start to flow and rush down my cheeks, and they fall down to the ground like raindrops.

The banging gets louder and the door shakes. I back away from the door and rush upstairs. I close my bedroom door and lock it, I then throw myself onto my bed and pull the blanket over myself.

The banging keeps going.

#fanfic #yandere #yandere simulator #yansim #male reader #reader insert #x reader #osano najimi #taeko yamada

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moviebracket · 2 years ago

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One group of polls will go up each day and polls will be a week long! Submissions will remain open through the end of the first round, and I'll add some more first round groups depending on submission numbers! Apologies for the brief absence, I had some personal stuff going on.

Movies that lose by smaller margins may have a chance to return to the bracket at the end of Round 1.

Round 1 Group A

Lilo & Stitch (78%) vs Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (22%)

Pan's Labyrinth (53%) vs Mickey, Donald, Goofy: The Three Musketeers (47%)

Legally Blonde (96%) vs The Last Temptation of Christ (4%)

Brother Bear (59%) vs Kubo and the Two Strings (41%)

Round 1 Group B

Stardust (47%) vs Heathers (53%)

The Batman (2022) (47%) vs Moulin Rouge! (53%)

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (58%) vs Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (42%)

Now You See Me (78%) vs Morbius (22%)

Round 1 Group C

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (29%) vs The Prince of Egypt (71%)

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (32%) vs The Princess Bride (68%)

Rogue One (33%) vs Spirited Away (67%)

Goncharov (90%) vs Love Actually (10%)

Round 1 Group D

A Silent Voice (38%) vs Princess Mononoke (62%)

How to Train Your Dragon (65%) vs The Sound of Music (35%)

Knives Out (43%) vs Howl's Moving Castle (57%)

Little Miss Sunshine (42%) vs The Little Mermaid (1989) (58%)

Round 1 Group E

A Quiet Place (45%) vs Zombieland (55%)

10 Things I Hate About You (72%) vs Lemonade Mouth (28%)

Juno (21%) vs The Addams Family (1991) (79%)

The Parent Trap (1998) (54%) vs Bend It Like Beckham (46%)

Round 1 Goup F

Rent (48%) vs West Side Story (2021) (52%)

Elf (39%) vs The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (61%)

Hairspray (2007) (43%) vs Mamma Mia! (57%)

Clueless (51%) vs Miss Congeniality (49%)

Round 1 Group G

Forrest Gump (50%) vs Kingsman: The Secret Service (50%)

Enchanted (69%) vs Ferris Bueller's Day Off (31%)

Battle Royale (45%) vs High School Musical (55%)

Matilda (1996) (60%) vs Chicago (40%)

Round 1 Group H

Mean Girls (54%) vs School of Rock (46%)

The Hitman's Bodyguard (25%) vs Grease (75%)

The Nightmare Before Christmas (51%) vs Parasite (49%)

The Wizard of Oz (46%) vs Star Wars: A New Hope (54%)

Round 1 Group I

Populaire (13%) vs Labyrinth (87%)

Matilda (2022) (17%) vs Kung Fu Panda (83%)

Superman (1978) (44%) vs The Sixth Sense (56%)

The Martian (65%) vs Trainspotting (35%)

Round 1 Group J

Dune (37%) vs Back to the Future (63%)

Phineas and Ferb: Across the 2nd Dimension (44%) vs The Return of the King (56%)

Home Alone (63%) vs Frozen (37%)

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (59%) vs Meet the Robinsons (41%)

Round 1 Group K

Crazy Rich Asians (68%) vs The Phantom of the Opera (2004) (32%)

Alien (75%) vs Mulholland Drive (25%)

The Imitation Game (39%) vs The Simpsons Movie (61%)

Castle of Cagliostro (59%) vs Once Upon a Time in the West (41%)

Round 1 Group L

North by Northwest (22%) vs Arrietty (78%)

Scream (53%) vs War and Peace (1966/1967) (47%)

Arrival (18%) vs The Rocky Horror Picture Show (82%)

Little Shop of Horrors (1986) (55%) vs Night at the Museum (45%)

Round 1 Group M

Steven Universe: The Movie vs Atlantis: The Lost Empire

Everything Everywhere All at Once vs Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

Rise of the Guardians vs She's the Man

Pacific Rim vs Treasure Planet (2002)

Round 1 Group N

Deadpool vs Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse

Pitch Perfect vs Get Out

The Perks of Being a Wallflower vs Mad Max: Fury Road

Inception vs The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Round 1 Group O

The Princess Diaries vs Paddington

Pride vs Velvet Goldmine

Shrek 2 vs The Devil Wears Prada

Saw vs But I'm a Cheerleader

Round 1 Group P

Evil Dead 2 vs Nope

Whip It vs I Love You Phillip Morris

Jennifer's Body vs Ginger Snaps

Bodies Bodies Bodies vs The Social Network

Round 1 Group Q

The Mummy (1999) vs The Silence of the Lambs

Fight Club vs The History of Future Folk

Cyrano vs Beetlejuice

Die Hard vs While You Were Sleeping

Round 1 Group R

Cocaine Bear vs Boy Meets Girl

Clue vs Dungeons and Dragons: Honour Among Thieves

Coco vs Wendell & Wild

The Lost Boys vs Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

#bracket #tournament #movies

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aziraphales-library · 3 years ago

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hello! I'm looking for some good human AUs where they (A&C) aren't in their 20s? I want them to be in their 40s, 50s, the actual adults they look to be (that DT & MS are) instead of teenagers/in their 20s or 30s.

I don't usually read human AUs but I know there's a lot of great ones, but the few I've actually clicked on had them be in their 20s and 30s and I just can't read those. one of the reasons I love GO and A&C so much is because they're not in their 20s, they're +6000 year old beings who look to be in their 50s and I love that, so I want a few human AUs that reflect that.

do you have any recs? I'm sure there's a bunch out there, I just don't really know where to start looking

Hey! There are human AUs out there with Aziraphale and Crowley in their 40s and 50s, and here is a small selection for you...

Everything Flows, Here Comes Another New Day by Shadow0kana (T)

After being ridiculed by his cousin once again about his lifestyle, Aziraphale Fell enrolls in a beginner yoga class.

There, he finds the self-confidence he was missing, friends that appreciate him for who he is, and love with a certain ginger instructor.

Blame It on the Goose by almaasi (G)

Village shenanigans AU where neighbours Aziraphale and Crowley are given the runaround by a particularly rude goose.

Or:

When Anthony J. Crowley moves to a pleasant English village, he expects to begin a peaceful life, gardening and minding his own business. He pretends not to notice his new neighbour, some flamboyant toff named Azira-something, who seems to do nothing but eat, and illustrate birds. But there’s a horrible goose on the loose, and it and its friends are causing a disturbing amount of havoc. Stealing shoes, squashing flowers, unlocking gates, tangling hosepipes... and sending Crowley out of the house with no clothes on in the middle of the night to borrow some underpants from the aforementioned neighbour. The entire population of Lower Tadfield is in uproar over these innocent-looking monsters. Something must be done! If Aziraphale and Crowley have to team up to defeat a gaggle of psychotic geese, so be it. And if they happen to like each other more than expected, so be that, too. What good is a peaceful life without a dear friend, anyhow?

Heart Shaped Bruises by ivoryline (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale have been hanging around the same pub since the eighties. At some point, they seem to have fallen in love.

Every Thursday at around 6 p.m., give or take a quarter hour, Crowley finds himself at a little shithole pub called Garden’s Gate. Aziraphale is also there around that time, but that’s not why Crowley goes. He couldn’t care less what Aziraphale does. No, he goes there because he’s been parking his arse in the same spot since the eighties and he thinks he might have a coronary if his boots were to ever grace another establishment’s disgusting carpet. The barkeep knows him, and probably hates him, which suits Crowley perfectly.

Changing of the Seasons by AppleSeeds (T)

Confined to his bookshop, Aziraphale joins a virtual training session about urban foraging led by botanist and natural wellbeing practitioner Anthony Crowley, and feels some relief from his anxiety for the first time since lockdown began. After that, he watches every video Crowley has posted online, but will he ever get up the courage to actually interact with him? After all, Crowley keeps giving him opportunities to do so...

Perhaps once the lockdown is over, some one-to-one nature-based relaxation therapy might be just what Aziraphale needs?

A Divine Comedy by Waywarder (M)

Anthony J. Crowley was something of a rising star in the stand-up comedy world in the late 90s. These days, though, he mostly just snarls his way through open mic nights and Twitter take downs of terrible movies.

Things all go a little pear-shaped when someone entirely unexpected makes his way through the doors of The 9th Circle Comedy Club.

Welcome to A Divine Comedy, the Good Omens stand-up comedy AU!

Clementine by Mussimm (E)

I love you madly Let my imagination run away with you gladly.

The seaside neighbours AU exactly one person asked for.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #middle aged #mod d

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capitainelevi · 3 years ago

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omg 21!!! GOOD LUCK HAHAHA

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“He’s a bad kisser.”

Do I wanna know? Modern AU. Movie stars.

Word count: 1457

"Captain, this may be my last night alive."

Levi shifted to her suddenly, and his expression softened at the sorrow painted on his subordinate`s face. He wished he could be a solace for her, same as with every mission, and he tried not to let guilt eat at him. The operation was crucial, as it always had been. More significant than even the undying trust Petra felt towards him.

"Shut up, brat."

He wished he could make promises of an unrestrained future, but Levi never believed himself capable of it. How could he pretend he was Humanity`s Strongest Soldier when so many of his comrades had to sacrifice their lives for the dream they all shared? When the tears started rolling on Petra`s cheeks, Levi took her face in his hands, determined to give her a reason to live. He could taste the saltiness of her tears as he pressed his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to show her he was always hers.

"Let`s take a break, people."

Hange`s obnoxious voice pulled Levi out of the fantasy, and he broke the kiss abruptly. His scene partner only smiled at him before making her way out of the set. Levi could feel his heart pulsating faster than before, and he decided not to trade precious hours of sleep for caffeine anymore. As enjoyable as the kiss had been, he refused to think it could have had any effect on him. Levi was not afraid to admit it: he was not fond of acting. It was nothing more than a job to him, one he found himself in since his early childhood. Being the wonder child of Hollywood set Levi up on a path of success through adulthood, but there was no movie or even scene that left a mark on him. He was about to refuse the odd script when he took a glimpse at the small photo of the ginger girl attached to the papers.

Petra Ral. A rising star of Hollywood and the first actor to piquet Levi`s interest in years. Unbeknownst to him, Petra used to refer to herself as his biggest fan in her teenage years. Petra would never admit being the admin of one of his online fan clubs or kissing her Levi poster goodnight, of course. She yelled at the phone when her agent announced Levi had accepted the role, that she would get to play in a movie with THE Levi Ackerman.

But disappointment hit her on their first day on set. While she knew all about her greatest infatuation`s cold exterior, Petra had hoped she could break through his walls. Not only was Levi cold towards her, but after a week of working together, she was sure Levi despised her. When Hange, one of Levi`s childhood friends, found her crying in her trailer after they shot Eren`s accidental transformation, Petra had to let it all out. She ranted to Hange for more than an hour, and the only reaction they had was to laugh at Petra`s distress. She thought Hange was trying to console her by deceiving her, that they had never seen Levi so open towards a fellow actor before.

Petra almost salivated at the sight of the extra coffee cup in her makeup artist`s hand. Nifa always knew how to make Petra`s day better.

"I love you."- Petra whispered to Nifa as she pulled the cup out of her hand greedily.

Petra was surprised her friend had managed to keep quiet for so long, as the smirk plastered on her face kept growing more and more by the second.

"So, how was it?"

Petra decided to take a long sip of her coffee, letting Nifa boil in her curiosity a bit more. The kiss had been breathtaking, exceeding even her incredibly high expectations. Petra found a smile growing on her lips at the thought of Levi`s on hers. At Nifa`s groan, Petra decided to end her suffering.

"Alright, alright. It was... better than I ever expected."

Nifa giggled, equally excited at Petra`s opportunity to lock lips with one of Hollywood`s hottest eligible bachelors. She hit Petra`s shoulder playfully- "You lucky dog!"

Petra couldn`t help but smile at her friend`s adorable pout- "I`m almost jealous."

"Please, I had to work with Oluo before this. I deserve it."

Petra couldn`t help but sigh at the memories locked away in her mind, the ones she brought up every time a scene required her disgust- "He`s a bad kisser."

"It`s the tongue, isn`t it?"

The two girls burst into laughter, missing the sound of her trailer door closing after the short man. Levi strolled away angrily, throwing the coffee cup he had brought for Petra in the nearest trash can. He couldn`t help but feel hurt at her words. His stomach churned at the idea that the only girl he had liked in years thought he was a horrible kisser. And the tongue? Levi couldn`t recall having used it. Or was it the lack of it that made the kiss disgusting?

"Hey, did someone finally piss in your coffee, Shorty?"

Levi was too caught up in his turmoil to offer Hange an answer, ignoring them and Erwin setting bets on who hated him enough to go to such length. He had trouble controlling the grimace on his face at the sight of Petra`s smiling figure making her way to them, and he felt guilty when he noticed her deflating on the spot. It was not the girl`s fault for not finding their kiss enjoyable, after all.

Hange embraced the ginger girl- "Petra, darling, the crying was on point! But we do need to redo the kiss scene." Petra studied Levi`s reaction, and his lack of any left her confused. She thought the kiss had been astounding.

Levi couldn`t believe his luck. Not only Petra thought he was a bad kisser, but he was also going to put her through it again. As Levi was standing in front of the pretty ginger, he made up his mind. He was determined to make it up to her.

Levi hungrily pressed his lips against hers as one of his arms embraced the girl, pulling her closer towards him. Petra was surprised at the sudden passion behind Levi`s kiss, but she reciprocated in a matter of seconds. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and when Levi nipped at her lips, she opened her mouth to let his tongue explore. Petra moaned, making Levi kiss her deeper.

Hange and Erwin kept looking between themselves and at the couple, perplexed by the sudden show of passion. Hange checked their files again- "Erwin, did we have a sex scene next?" Erwin shook his head no, both stunned and intrigued by the couple so lost in each other they forgot their surroundings.

Hange laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed next- "Hey, guys, appreciable commitment! But I think we`re done for now."

Levi and Petra ignored their calls, only breaking their kiss after the third time both Hange and Erwin intervened. Levi left the set suddenly, without saying any word, and Petra exchanged confused looks with the people left.

When she spotted him walking around in circles outside of the building, Petra was unsure if she should approach him. She wasn`t even sure what to make of his reaction. Petra closed her eyes and gathered all the courage she had before she made her way to him.

"So... hey. That kiss was really..."

Levi cut her off- "Look, I`m truly sorry it was a bad experience for you. I tried to make it up to you."

Petra was left wordless. Bad experience? Their kiss had been so astounding she was sure if levitating was possible, she could have achieved it.

"Bad experience?"

Levi sat down on the bench with his head between his palms. He just wanted to get home and forget he had made a fool of himself. Twice.

"I heard you and Nifa talking earlier in your trailer. I was on my way to bring you coffee."

Petra couldn`t help the laughter erupting from her, and when she noticed Levi`s pained expression, she tried her best to gather her words. She took a deep breath- "Levi, it was out of context. We were talking about Oluo, my former set partner."

Levi`s mouth dropped open, surprised at his stupidity. He could feel his cheeks growing red from the embarrassment his impulsiveness caused him. His reaction didn`t go unnoticed by Petra, who decided to take matters into her hand.

Petra sat down next to him with a cheeky smile painted on her lips- "But how about we kiss again, and I can give you my opinion after that? You know what they say: third time`s a charm."

#this is bad crack I`m sorry #petra ral #rivetra #rivetra fanfiction #rivetra fic #my writing #rivetra drabble

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

New Student

Requested by anonymous: “I was thinking maybe having the reader be a transfer student from Ilvermorny and Hermione tutors her to help her catch up with the curriculum of the new school.”

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader

Words: 4.3k+

Warnings - Prejudice and brief mention of pain

"I understand that your family is of pure descent, correct?" You can't help but fidget in your seat; the vibrant pink of her office was making you extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention the gentle mewing coming from the plates that decorated the walls. It was one thing to love cats but surely this grew annoying after a while. You nod a little as you sit up straighter. The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was currently reading your transfer file. Having once attended school overseas, you were new to Hogwarts but instead of arriving like everyone else you were in your fifth year of education and the term had already begun for everyone else. Of course, your father cleared this with the school ahead of time but it was still embarrassing arriving so late. Not to mention, everyone else had four years of relationships and you were now just some weird new kid. "I do hope you'll consider your friends wisely while attending Hogwarts."

"May I ask what you mean by that Professor?" That was the first question you had asked since stepping through that door and you were very quickly regretting it. The woman wore a sickeningly sweet smile as she lowered the file from before her face.

"As a fifth-year student, you will be expected to take your OWLs this year. Do you believe your last establishment has prepared you for your examinations?"

"I guess," you shrug. You'd never had any trouble getting good grades in the past but Professor Umbridge didn't look convinced. Scribbling something down on her parchment, she pauses for a moment to meet your eyes.

"I would suggest acquiring a tutor for additional support. I can arrange for one of your peers to meet with you."

"That's quite alright, Professor." You dread to think of the tutor she would assign you; probably someone very studious and strict. Boring comes to mind too. "You're much too busy to concern yourself with such a task. I believe I'm quite capable of finding someone on my own."

"It is great to see a young witch taking some initiative," Her smile felt more genuine this time whereas yours was awkward.

"If that is all, may I go?"

"Of course. Run along dear" Slowly rising, you wish you could actually run out of the office and never come back but you proceed calmly. Only stopping by the door when you hear her speak once more. "But do keep in mind what I've said. We wouldn't want you falling in with the wrong kind of wizards while you're here. I expect your last school taught you how to conduct yourself."

"Thank you for your time, Professor Umbridge." With a bow of your head, you slip out the door with a sigh of the utmost relief. She was a very... intense woman to be around. After one meeting, you had another but this time it was with your head of house. Having arrived so late, you didn't partake in the sorting ceremony; which honestly you were kind of grateful for. Having to be sorted with a bunch of eleven-year-olds in front of the whole school definitely would have followed you around. Professor McGonagall briskly glides down the hallway as you stumble a few steps behind. She was the head of Gryffindor.

"I hate to be a bother but Professor Umbridge suggested I get a tutor and I was wondering if you might know a suitable candidate? With having started a few weeks after everyone else and OWLs fast approaching, I thought it was best to be safe than sorry"

"Your transcripts from your previous school don't suggest you'll have much trouble but a tutor may be beneficial," The older woman glanced back at you with a warm smile. "I have the perfect witch for the job. She's a real credit to Gryffindor. You were in Thunderbird previously?"

"Yes ma'am. Thunderbird House was considered to represent the soul of a witch or wizard and favoured adventures," you announce proudly. "I've never felt like much of an adventurer myself though."

"I'm sure you'll be a grand edition to Gryffindor. I may be biased but we're the best house at Hogwarts."

"I don't doubt that," Although you had no clue about any of the other houses to compare. "If you don't mind me asking Professor, where are we going?"

"To introduce you to your new tutor. She's in your first class so I thought I would escort you."

"Oh," You scramble forward a little faster to keep up with the woman; falling into step. "Do you think she'll be enough? I transferred at such an awkward time."

Hogwarts castle was as big as you'd imagine which made the journey to your first class seem like an eternity. As you're led down the hallway and into the dungeon, it's like the atmosphere completely changes. It's dark and cold down here. She comes to a stop outside a classroom, you peer around Professor McGonagall to see students sat at desks with small cauldrons placed before them.

"Can I speak to Miss Granger?" McGonagall asks of the teacher. He didn't seem too happy about the intrusion but he doesn't object. After a moment, a girl with luscious locks of mahogany brown steps through the door; she looks worried.

"Have I done something wrong, Professor?" Her eyes fall to yours and you offer up a small smile which she returns.

"Of course not. I just wanted to introduce you to our newest student. She'll be joining Gryffindor and was in the market for a tutor. As one of the finest students in all of Hogwarts, I thought of you."

Her eyes seemed to sparkle in response to the praise. "I would be happy to help, Professor."

It was becoming more clear that whoever this girl was, she was very eager to please. It was written in her body language or the way she addressed McGonagall. She introduces herself as Hermione Granger before heading back into class to ensure she doesn't miss anything. The nerves set in as you realise you're supposed to follow.

"A new student for you, Professor." Guess there was no turning back, you step through the archway. It was rather dull and dark but it matched the feeling of the dungeons. The shelves were lined with varying ingredients and while students had previously been working on potions, now all their attention was drawn to you.

"A little late for new additions," The man spoke slowly; he had a nasally sound to his voice. His displeasure transformed into a scowl aimed directly at you. The whispers of nosey students fill the awkward silence

"I'm-"

"Just take a seat," He demands and you didn't think twice about it. Hurrying to the first open seat you could find. "We don't have time for frivolous introductions."

Potions class had never been something you had struggled with but it seemed that the Professor - whose name you had come to learn as Snape - seemed to be making it as difficult as possible. Every question was thrown at you despite other students who will not be named being so eager to answer them. They were also specific questions such as where to find certain ingredients within the confines of the UK which you had no clue. You knew today was going to be a very long day.

Lunchtime approached and nothing felt more daunting today than being in a room full of students and not knowing a single one. You park yourself down at the end of Gryffindor table, food lined the middle and you grab a few sandwiches placing them on your plate. You're not sure if it's relief or something else when you spot the only girl you knew so far come to join you; followed by some friends.

"McGonagall gave me your timetable," She announces, sitting down opposite you. "and I have created a schedule that ensures we have enough time to cover everything."

"When did you have time to make this?" You wonder, taking a bite of the sandwich you'd picked up. It wasn't half bad.

"Never underestimate Hermione's ability to do a boring task," Next to her sat a boy with ginger hair; he wore a welcoming smile on his face that was peppered with freckles. "I'm Ron by the way."

The others that had arrived alongside Hermione, introduced themselves one by one. There was Ginny Weasley who was related to Ron; even if she hadn't told you it wasn't hard to figure out. Then there was the famous Harry Potter. A name you knew only in passing; rumours spread all around the world about him. Hermione slides a piece of parchment across the table. Along the top sat the days of the week and down the side were hours within the day. They were colour coded by type so each potion class and potion study sessions were in green and so on. Pretty much every square had been filled in with one boring task or another. "This is... a lot."

"Considering our classes this morning, you seem rather behind so I thought it was best that we take every opportunity to bring you up to speed," Having moved to England, the accent and speed in which they spoke was rather hard to understand but you don't bring it up. "We have a lot to cover before exams."

"I'm actually rather good at potions," you protest. "Professor Snape was asking me weird questions. How am I supposed to know where to find things, I've only just moved here."

"Snape can be a right git," Ron mumbles through a mouth full of food.

"You're from America, right?" This time it's Harry who speaks. There's a part of you that wants to ask about his scar but considering you've just met it seemed too rude to voice.

"Yes," you nod. "I attended Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until my father insisted on sending me here once we moved."

"Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in the world." Hermione declares. "Or so I've read."

"I liked my old school," You'd grown used to the mechanics of Ilvermorny plus you had friends there. "Hermione, no offence, but I would kind of like to have a little fun while I'm here and this leaves no time for literally anything else? What about clubs or quidditch?"

"Studying is fun. What could be more beneficial than acquiring new knowledge," Hermione's expression is genuine but you can't see yourself thinking studying is the epitome of fun any time soon. "I will not let Professor McGonagall down by not preparing you properly. So that means hard work- we will start after lunch."

"Is she always like this?" You turn to the others.

"Pretty much." They all agree. Maybe this had been a mistake?

"So you're the new girl, huh?" A shadow lingers over you and you look up to the culprit. That vibrant red hair seemed to be everywhere, you frown a little before looking to Ron.

"Heard you came all the way from America." Another one appears beside him, a broad smile on display. Twins?

"They're my brothers," Ron answers the question before you can even ask. There sure were a lot of Weasleys in this castle.

"How many Weasleys are there?"

"I have six siblings, Ginny is the youngest. Bill, Charlie and Percy have already left though."

"I'm Fred." One of the twins announces, patting your shoulder a little. "The most handsome Weasley brother."

"I'm George and I'm much more handsome than that git," He shoves his brother playfully.

"You're identical twins,"

"No, we're not," George protests. "Fred here is adopted. I can't believe you think we look the same."

"I'm offended you think I look like this tosspot, I'm much prettier." He dramatically pretends to flip his hair over his shoulder.

"We can show you around if you like?" They both offer; as bad as it sounds you knew you were gonna struggle remembering who was who.

"We know every corner of this place." Fred declares

"Every nook and cranny." George continues. "We also the guys to go to if you ever need anything- think fanged frisbees or puking pastels. We've got you covered."

"Uh..." Glancing to your timetable, you hold it up for them to see. "I don't think I'll have time for a tour between classes and study sessions."

"Shame."

"Guess we'll see you around then, Miss America." They both leave you alone to finish your lunch.

Written down Hermione's schedule was a lot but attending sessions was ten times worse. The constant studying was exhausting; how she was able to just keep going was crazy but impressive. Today was Arithmancy study in the Gryffindor common room. You were sat beside Hermione at the desk; sketching her side profile on the parchment filled with unfinished sums as she explained what she was doing. Every so often she'd look at you and you'd look away. Careful not to get caught staring as you perfected each delicate line that made up her face.

"And that's how you get fifty-six- see?" Hermione shows you her work, tapping the answer with the tip of her quill.

Staring at the answer didn't make much sense but neither did the working out. You hadn't been listening at all so you flash her a sympathetic smile. "I don't get it,"

"Are you even paying attention?" Her brow crinkled; her quill falling to the desk.

"Yes-"

"Let's see your work then?" Before she can grab it, you drag your parchment away. Smothering the contents with the palms of your hands.

"No."

"Show me." She requested firmly. Eyes narrowing in on you as if issuing a challenge. With a heavy sigh, you back down. Handing over your work.

"Fine. I wasn't paying attention," You admit with a shrug; leaning over the back of the chair to stare up at the ceiling. "Arithmancy is just so boring."

"You chose to take it,"

"My parents forced me to take it," You correct, glancing back at her. Taking your parchment between her fingers, it's hard to miss the rush of colour that floods her pale cheeks. You didn't think your drawing was that good; definitely not even close to some of your other work. If anything you were embarrassed by how bad it was.

"It's pretty rough like I could do better if I had more time and my pencils" Drawing provided you with a distraction when it was most needed. You'd only started a year ago but it quickly developed into your hobby of choice. Learning to sketch people had been tough but after spending pretty much every class, staring at your fellow students you had gotten decent at it.

"It's..." Hermione trails off, handing back your work. "Can you please focus?"

"We've been at this for hours." A long groan leaves your throat as you slump down in your seat. Arms folded over your chest.

"Just a few more questions before we finish,"

You were finally growing used to your life at Hogwarts. Most of your time was spent with Hermione but you did manage to convince her to ease up a little. She grew busy with a club or something so she was more than happy to leave you to your own devices.

"You wanted to see me, Professor," you announce, entering the pink lion's den. It was somehow looking even pinker than the last time you stepped foot in here.

"Ah yes, please do take a seat. I'll be just a moment." Dropping your bag down beside the chair, you sit in the seat she signalled to. There wasn't a lot of time before you were supposed to meet Hermione to practice some charms. After a moment, Professor Umbridge speaks up. "Do you know why I've asked to see you?"

You shake your head slowly.

"Do you remember what I told you when you first arrived?"

"To get a tutor? I don't believe I'm falling behind in my classes." Hermione had been a great teacher overall; ensuring you understand everything before moving on although Snape still had a habit of asking you questions you didn't know. Was this about that?

"I'm referring to your choice in companions."

"Oh," you swallow hard. You didn't know what to say to that. Since arriving you'd started hanging with Hermione and her friends. You'd also found yourself drawn to the Weasley twins on the odd occasion. "Uh... I can assure you I've made friends Professor."

"I've noticed," she didn't sound pleased "Professor Snape also mentioned that you've been a wee bit disruptive in his class."

"That's not a fair judgment-" The words leave your lips sharper than intended but fall short when you notice the crease across the other woman's forehead.

"As headmaster, you must realise that I can't allow you to disrupt the way this school runs. Therefore you will be punished." Other than getting questions wrong, you wouldn't say you've done much else wrong in Snape's class. It wasn't fair that you were being punished for something so trivial but speaking up seemed like a one way trip to something worse. "Don't look so worried. You'll just be writing lines for me."

"Writing lines," you repeat cautiously. That seemed easy enough before you could reach into your bag, a quill and piece of parchment are placed before you. "What do you want me to write?"

"I must not fraternise with muggle-borns,"

"What does that have to do with Snape's class?" You wonder.

"Just do as your told," Umbridge quips quickly. "I do believe you've been seen around the castle with Miss Granger, correct?"

"Hermione?" You hardly believed Hermione had done anything to step out of line. Plus what did that have to do with anything? You were allowed to be friends with whoever you wanted. "Of course she is my tutor after all."

"It seems it may be more than that," Umbridge's sickeningly sweet giggle fills the office. "Now please begin."

"You haven't given me any ink?"

Striding behind her desk, she takes a seat and offers a smile. "You won't need any,"

Picking up the quill, you twist it between your fingers trying to figure out its secrets. It was black in colour, long, thin, and looked to be extremely sharp. Clearly, it was an enchanted quill if it didn't need ink. The tip glides across the paper with ease, gracing its surface with the ridiculous phrase you'd been forced to write in shiny red ink. How many times was she expecting you to do this? Hermione wouldn't be happy if you turned up late to one of your study sessions... again. A weird tingling spilt through the back of your hand before transforming into a sharp pain as you write the phrase a second time. Each letter appeared on your hand as you write it as if etched there by a scalpel. You drop the quill and the words slowly fade away but not without leaving your hand red. "Keep writing," Umbridge draws your attention, peering over from behind her teacup. You take a deep breath and write I must not fraternize with muggle-borns, the searing pain returned to your hand as you saw the phrase carved into your skin. You flex your hand as if that would relieve the pain but again the wound heels over. You no longer stopped between each line, the burning in your hand now a constant but it seemed after so many times the phrase was no longer fading. The hand on your shoulder startles you; the quill slipping from your grip.

"I think that's enough, you're free to go." Grabbing your bag, you leap out of your seat and rush for the door. "As a witch of your social standing, you should know better."

Head down, you charge through the castle to go meet Hermione but your speed slows as you realise tears prick your eyes. Dropping down on the nearest bench, you bury your face in your hands. Surely that kind of punishment wasn't allowed?

"If it isn't our favourite American." Head shooting up, you spy Fred and George. After all this time, you were beginning to be able to tell them apart.

"Why so glum, chum?" Your eyes drift just briefly to the scar on your hand. The twins taking up space either side of you.

"It's nothing- I'm fine."

"If you're fine, why are you crying?" Fred puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm not crying," but you have to wipe your cheeks to make sure. "I just..." you couldn't explain why you were so upset. Your thumb brushes over the back of your hand.

"Oh- it's no so bad," Fred squeezes your arm gently, they must have figured it out. "It'll fade soon enough."

"And it doesn't hurt very long, look." George shows you the back of his hand, you can't even read what it was supposed to have said. It doesn't make you feel better. "Don't cry, she's not worth it."

"Can you two leave me alone?"

"Nope," George's thumb brushes away a stray tear before tapping you on the end of your nose. You couldn't help but smile a little as you scrunched up your nose.

"We don't leave pretty sad girls alone in corridors to cry." Fred insists. "How about you show us what she had you write?"

Unsure about the decision, you let the two of them see what Umbridge had done. George takes hold of your hand, inspecting it carefully. "I must not fraternize with muggle-borns," George reads out quietly. "Do much fraternizing do you?"

"I don't even know any muggle-borns," Is all you say in response. Muggle was such a dumb word.

"Uh... Hermione? Aren't you two like best friends," Fred comments

"Hermione is No-Maj-born?" So that was why Umbridge had seemed so interested in your relationship. It was clear she held prejudice against No-Majs so it was only logical that she was trying to keep you, a pure-blood wizard, from mixing with Hermione, A no-maj-born.

"No-maj?" George questions

"Right, no-maj stand for no magic? You call em muggles." You sniffle, drying your cheeks properly.

"Ah no-maj." they both repeat.

Feeling a little better the twins escort you to your courtyard for your session with Hermione. She was packing up her textbook when she finally notices you. 0What did I tell you about punctuation? I will not tolerate sitting around here like a fool- if you do not wish to take your studies seriously then don't bother asking me to tutor you at all." The fire behind her eyes brings you to tears only this time they were hot and fast. Spilling down your face as a result of being yelled at. Hermione's expression drops, your tears extinguishing the fire. "I- Uh... sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I-It's alright," With the sleeve of your cardigan, you try to wipe away all evidence of your breakdown.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

"Umbridge," You don't even try to conceal it now. "I don't think she likes that we're hanging out."

"I'm sorry she did that to you," She takes your hand in hers, her fingertip dancing delicately over your scar. It was ripe to the touch causing you to flinch a little; pulling your hand away. "You should tell your parents."

"And cause more trouble?" Was she crazy? "I don't want to give her any more reason to drag me into the office again."

"Then... if you don't wish to continue our study sessions, I would understand. I don't want to get you into trouble." Hermione fidgets with the strap of her bag, unable to look you in the eye. It was probably the smartest choice to never hang out with Hermione again. It would certainly save you from future punishments but if you did that you'd undoubtedly miss her. She'd become such a constant In your life, you could imagine it without her in it.

"I like our sessions together," You declare, offering her the warmest smile you could muster. "Can we skip today though? My hand stings and I'm really not in the mood anymore."

"Sure," Her smile looks almost sad in comparison. "Should we go get some dinner?"

Finishing up packing, the two of you head for the great hall. There was no way Umbridge was gonna dictate who you can be friends with even if it meant more punishment.

Christmas approaches fast and brought with it a merry aura that filled every inch of the castle. You linger in the courtyard with your suitcase waiting for Hermione. She promised to meet you before you left but had a commitment to attend to first. You don't question her but you do wish she'd hurry up; it was awfully cold out here. It's a miracle when she finally shows up, a bright smile as she approaches

"I just wanted to give you this before I go." Digging through your pockets, you produce a folded up piece of paper; taking a few steps closer.

"What is it?"

"Open it," The nerves settled in your stomach as she unfolded the paper. This time, using your pencils, you'd manage to create an almost collage of sketches. Each one of the girl who stood next to you right now during different times in the past month. It seemed like a nice little farewell gift. "Have a good break, yeah?"

"These are... you're really good." Hermione meets your soft gaze. Her face pink in colour but that may have been due to the cold. "Thank you." She wears a small, embarrassed smile. "When did you have time to draw these?"

"Never underestimate my ability to avoid my responsibilities and draw pretty girls instead," you tease. Leaning toward you place a kiss against her cheek before pointing to the address you'd written on the bottom. "Write to me."

#Hermione Granger #Hermione Granger x reader #Hermione x reader #Harry potter #hermione granger imagine

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suituuup · 4 years ago

Photo

pieces - chapter nine

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

“Chlo?”

Beca called out when she came home that evening, pizza box in hand. She dropped her keys into the bowl by the entrance and toed off her boots, rounding the corner to the living room.

She had noticed a definite shift in Chloe’s overall demeanor ever since Chloe decided to keep the baby.

A light in her eyes that wasn’t there before, which reminded her of the Chloe she once knew, who was slowly coming back to life.

It was weird and a little scary to think about how a newborn was going to be living with them in six months. She didn’t know how involved Chloe wanted her to be, but Beca was ready to help, whether it be with prepping the room, shopping for little Bean, or getting up at night to change diapers and feed them a bottle.

“Hey,” Chloe greeted softly from her spot on the couch, clad in sweatpants and Beca’s Bellas hoodie she had kept since that night. “How was work?”

“Good.” They’d just finished layering the song, but Beca chose to keep that to herself, as she wasn’t sure she was ready for Chloe to hear it, yet. “How was your NA meeting?”

Chloe smiled and grabbed her purse, fishing for something in it. She produced a chip, showing it to Beca. The words 60 days clean and serene were written on it, the NA logo on the other side.

Beca beamed. “Holy shit, Chlo! That’s amazing!”

She knew some days weren’t easy, even if Chloe’s overall mood seemed brighter, and she was insanely proud of her friend.

“Yeah, I’m... “ Chloe shook her head. “I honestly didn’t think I would make it that far, when I got out of rehab,” she paused, meeting Beca’s eyes. “Thank you. For believing in me, and supporting me. I honestly-- I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you.” She fiddled with the chip and smiled softly. “Now let’s make it to six months.”

“Six months,” Beca echoed, nodding. “That sounds like a great goal.” She tilted her head to the side. “Have you talked to your parents today? How’s your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s good, I think. I feel like he wouldn’t tell me if he was in pain, though.”

“Did you tell them about Bean?” Beca asked softly.

“No, I… I really want to tell them in person, once I’ve… told them the truth. Which is why I wanted to ask you…” Chloe nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly hesitant. “Would it be okay if I borrowed some money so I could visit them? I hate to ask this with everything you’re doing for me, and I promise I’ll pay you back when I get a job.”

“Chlo,” Beca said gently, smiling. “Of course it’s okay. I’m glad you’re visiting them. That’s the first goal on your list, isn’t it?”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah. And I was also wondering if-- you’d like to come with me? I know you’re busy, so I totally get if you can’t.”

Beca pondered on that for a few beats. She was touched that Chloe offered for her to come along, and she hadn’t taken a break in a long time. “I’d love to. When did you want to go?”

“Ideally before I start showing to the point where I can’t hide it anymore,” Chloe answered with a cringe as she rubbed the small bump hidden under her hoodie. “I guess I should be good for another month and a half or so?”

Beca hummed. “Memorial day weekend is in three weeks, I could take Thursday and Friday off so we have three whole days there?”

“That sounds perfect,” Chloe murmured. “I also wanted to know if it was okay if I invited Aubrey over for dinner next weekend? Now that I feel a little better.”

“Of course. I’d love to see her, too. But I can totally hang out at Sarah’s if you guys want a one on one evening?”

Chloe shook her head. “No, no, you can stay here.” She cleared her throat. “Is Sarah… okay with the situation?”

“I uh, I haven’t told her yet,” Beca said. “About the baby, I mean. I wasn’t sure if you were okay with me telling her, yet.”

“Oh. No, you can tell her.”

“Okay, I will when I see her tomorrow,” Beca said. “I bought a bacon-mushroom pizza with pineapple on one half. You hungry?”

“Starving. I don’t know what it is with Bean, but I can’t stop eating.”

Beca chuckled and pushed to her feet, giving Chloe a boost up. She padded to the island and opened the box, then headed to the cabinet to get two plates out. “Are we watching The Bachelor? ”

She froze in her motion when Chloe zoomed down the hall, the sound of retching reaching her ears next.

“Shit,” Beca muttered, setting the plates down on the counter before following after Chloe. She knelt by her and gathered her hair in her hand, rubbing her back in slow circles.

“Bean doesn’t like mushrooms,” Chloe mumbled once she was done, reaching up to flush the toilet.

“Are you sure it’s not the pineapple on pizza thing? Now that’s gross.”

Chloe threw her a playful glare as she rested her back against the wall. “It’s definitely the mushrooms.”

“I’ll go toss the pizza and open up some windows to clear the air. Want some ginger ale?” She had stocked up on that since it seemed to help Chloe with her morning sickness, which was lessening now that she had reached the end of her first trimester.

“Sure, thanks.”

Beca came back a minute later with a can and offered it to Chloe, lowering herself next to her. “Are you excited for your appointment next week?”

Chloe took a sip. “Yeah. And nervous. Less so now that I’m past twelve weeks, but I’m scared something bad might pop up on the screen.”

Beca’s hand came to rest on Chloe’s thigh. She had read into the possible complications cocaine use during pregnancy could have on a baby: premature delivery, malformations, weaning at birth… cocaine wasn’t as bad as opiates, and Beca had read that only 3-5% of babies had birth defects, but it was still enough to trigger some worry.

“Want me to come with you?” She asked, always cautious when it came to not overstepping.

Chloe covered Beca’s hand with her own, a small smile curving her lips. “Yeah.”

Beca smiled back, then reached for her phone in her pocket and pulled up the app she was looking for. She angled her screen towards Chloe. “Bean is the size of a lemon this week.”

Chloe cocked an eyebrow. “You downloaded an app that follows the baby’s growth?”

“Yeah.” Beca’s nose crinkles in awkwardness. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I think it’s sweet. Bean’s going to have the best auntie in the world.”

Chloe’s words made Beca’s heart swell, and she cleared the sudden emotions rising in her throat. God , that baby wasn’t even born but she knew she was already a goner. Which was weird to think about, because she couldn’t stand kids. But this was Chloe’s, so it was bound to be adorable, even despite Marco’s genes.

“Aunties,” she corrects after a while. “All twelve of them.” A smirk curves her lips as she shrugs. “I’ll just be the coolest one.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “The one Bean will come to for dating advice?”

Beca’s nose scrunched up. “Yikes. I’ll swing that one over to Stacie. No , Aubrey. Can’t trust Stacie with dating advice.”

She looked down at her phone when it lit up with a text from Sarah, saying she had just got off work and asking Beca if she wanted to come over to her place and whether she had eaten dinner yet.

“Is that Sarah?” Chloe asked softly.

“Yeah… she asked me if I wanted to go over, but--”

“I’ll be fine,” Chloe assured her with a soft chuckle. “I’ll probably pass out on the couch around 8:30. You should go.”

Beca nodded. “Okay.” She pushed to her feet, sliding her phone in her back pocket. “See ya, Beale and Bean.”

She smiled at the sound of Chloe’s giggle on her way out, sliding her boots back on and grabbing her keys before slipping out. Sarah lived a fifteen-minute car ride away on a good traffic hour. Beca parked in front of her building, having stopped on her way over to grab sushi from her favorite place.

“Hey you,” Sarah greeted as she opened her door.

Beca smiled, pecking her lips as she stepped inside. “Sushi?”

Sarah groaned, plucking the paper bag from her fingers. “You’re the best.”

Beca chuckled. “Long shift?”

“Yeah,” Sarah breathed out as she padded to her living area, setting the bag on her kitchen counter. “Beer?”

“Sure.”

They caught up on their respective days while they ate, low music playing from Sarah’s speaker.

“How’s Chloe doing?” Sarah asked as she cleared up their plates.

“Pretty good, I think.” Beca twisted around on her stool, tracking Sarah with her eyes as she cleared her throat. “She’s uh, she’s pregnant.”

There was a notable pause in Sarah’s movements, before she gently set the plates down on the counter. “Wow,” she let out as she turned around. “Is she… keeping it?”

“Yeah,” Beca replied. “I didn’t tell you before now because she just reached twelve weeks and the risk of miscarriage was pretty high up to that point.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Is she okay?”

“It’s a lot, but she seems to be adjusting pretty well. If anything, the fact that she’s pregnant is helping her stay strong against her cravings.”

“Good, that’s good,” Sarah murmured. She nibbled on her lower lip, something she often did when she was nervous or irritated about something, Beca had noticed. “So um, is she going to stay at your place?”

Beca furrowed her brow. “Well, yeah. She doesn’t have a job and barely just got back on her feet, I’m not going to kick her out.”

“No, of course. I mean, long term,” Sarah corrected herself. “Because she isn’t going to move out when the baby is born either, I’m guessing.”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “Does that… bother you? The fact that Chloe is around?”

“I just--” Sarah sighed, glancing down. “I’m not sure where I fit in all this.”

“What do you mean?” Beca questioned softly, sliding off her stool and taking the few steps separating her from Sarah.

“I guess I was hoping we would move in together, somewhere in the near future.” She shrugged. “We’ve been together for over a year and we haven’t even broached the subject.”

A soft sigh flitted past her lips.

“And I feel like a jerk, again , because Chloe obviously can’t be on her own right now, and what you’re doing to help her is remarkable and it makes me love you even more, but… I want a relationship with a trajectory, not a flat line. Those sleepovers a few times a week, and having some of our clothes at each other’s place, it just doesn’t feel like enough anymore. At least not to me. I want us to start building something real, you know? Not… with your best friend and her baby living right across the hall.”

Beca licked her dry lips, swallowing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know-- I had no idea that’s how you felt.”

“Bec, is that what you want, too?” Sarah asked then, softly, almost shyly, as though afraid of Beca’s answer. “Because if it’s not…”

“Yes,” Beca said, nodding. “Of course it is.” At least she believed so. She had always struggled when it came to commitment, and that was probably the reason why an uncomfortable feeling spread in her belly at the thought of moving in with Sarah. “We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Beca spent the drive home playing her conversation with Sarah over and over in her head. She understood where Sarah was coming from, and was even surprised Sarah had stuck around when Beca was so emotionally stunted when it came to expressing her feelings. She hadn’t given much of a thought to wanting to change things so soon, as she felt comfortable with the pace they were going.

A heavy sigh puffed past her lips when she made it inside her apartment. She changed for bed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, settling in bed just past eleven. A knock at the door pulled her attention away from her phone.

“Come in,” she called out softly, smiling when Chloe’s head popped inside. “Hey. What’s up?”

Chloe shuffled in and sat at the foot of the bed, seemingly deep in her thoughts. “I’m-- I’m struggling.”

Beca straightened a bit from her slouched position and set her phone aside. “Come here, Chlo,” she coaxed, patting the space next to here. “Cravings?”

Chloe sat against the headboard, drawing her knees to her chest. She tugged on the ends of her hair, then started to bite at her nails. She was shaking. “I keep— finding reasons as to why I should— I should take something, telling myself one drink won’t hurt the baby and it would just be to—to take the edge off.” She reached inside the front pocket of her hoodie and handed Beca a twenty dollar bill, unable to meet Beca’s gaze. “I-I stole this from the bowl by the door to go buy myself a bottle.”

Beca swallowed and plucked it from her fingers, making a mental note not to leave any money laying around either.

“Thank you for telling me,” Beca murmured, imagining how hard it must be for Chloe to admit that she almost slipped up, and knowing how important for her recovery it was that she reached out.

Among the many things Beca had read about addiction, one thing stuck with her: the opposite of addiction is connexion, something Chloe had lost for a long while when she let her job and her toxic relationship consume her. But she wasn’t on her own anymore, and Beca believed that was a vital step to her recovery.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Chlo. What you’re doing is incredibly brave, and I’m in awe of you every single day. There’s no shame in thinking about it. It’s a normal part of the process. What is important is the fact that you didn’t let the addiction win.”

Chloe shut her eyes and nodded, her shoulders slumping as she released a long breath.

“Have you tried… singing it out? Or… dancing it out?”

Chloe shook her head. Beca pushed to her feet, grabbing her phone and shuffling through her playlist. Florence + The Machine’s Shake It Out started to play from her built in speakers as she rounded the bed and extended her hands out.

“Come on, Beale,” she coaxed once more when Chloe hesitated, holding out both hands.

Chloe eventually relented, but she stood there, seemingly unsure of what to do. The carefreeness that once inhabited Chloe was nowhere in sight, and Beca’s heart broke upon realizing it.

But she wasn’t giving up.

She broke into her robot dance routine, knowing perfectly well it didn’t go with the music at all. Acting like a dork did make Chloe crack a timid smile, which prompted Beca to keep going, grinning when Chloe started swaying to the beat, slowly at first as she closed her eyes, taking it all in.

“Shake ‘em out, Chlo,” Beca said, reaching out to increase the volume as the chorus hit.

And Chloe danced. For real this time, without any chains holding her back as she let the music and the lyrics carry her, spinning around as she sang to the top of her lungs.

“Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa…”

#bechloe #bechloe fic #chloe beale #beca mitchell #pieces

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harrysweasleys · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t Hide From Me

Synopsis: Slytherin!Reader suffers from major anxiety but doesn’t tell her boyfriend George Weasley. One day, the Weasley siblings find her confiding in Draco and George wants answers.

Warnings: anxiety, angst, language

Word Count: 2,703

A/N: If any of you deal with anxiety or anything else, I always have my inbox open if you need to talk. xxx

The Great Hall during breakfast was usually non-stop chitter chatter to the point where you could barely hear the person next to you if they spoke to you at a regular volume. Today was not that case. Umbridge sat proudly at the front of the room, a wicked grin on her face as she overlooked the grumpy students, loving the power she held over the room even if there was nothing for her to do.

The Slytherin house was her favourite, so your friends didn’t have much to say about her and her evil-ness, but you couldn’t stand her. She knew damn well what she was doing at Hogwarts and she was loving it.

Every morning you’d come down and right as you’d enter the Great Hall, you’d be forced to read another one of her new rules she had Filch nail up overnight. They had gotten ridiculous, including rules such as ‘girls and boys must stay 8 inches away from each other’ and even ‘no Weasley products to be used in school.’

Although you didn’t see your boyfriend George too often during the school day, the evenings where you got to see him before curfew were filled with him complaining about every single aspect of the pink witch. You complained about her a lot too, you weren’t going to lie, but it was more involving the fact that that woman had instilled stress in you that you didn’t even think was possible.

You had trouble sleeping at night, and on the occasion where you did fall asleep, you had nightmares about her banishing you from the grounds or torturing you the way other students had told you she's done. You were anxious out of your mind about every little thing. You had started to lose patience with the people around you, and found yourself feeling drained nearly every second of the day. Umbridge really had a tight grip on your mental health.

“You seem lost in thought,” Pansy’s nasally voice brought you back to reality.

You snapped your head in her direction, shrugging, “I’m just thinking about OWLs, I guess.”

Pansy nodded, “Who cares? They’re stupid exams anyways. Just go with the flow and stop overthinking.”

You nodded along, not really caring about her opinion on anything school related anyways. She barely ever showed up to class so listening to her academic advice was at the bottom of your to-do list. You knew the OWLs were a huge deal and there was no way you wouldn’t ‘overthink’ because you would be damned if you didn’t work your ass off to pass those exams.

“I’m going to go to the Common Room, I’m drained.” You waved bye to your friends and started making your way out of the hall, being interrupted along the way by a tall ginger boy.

“Y/N! Hey, wait, I have an idea to run by you.” George gave you a wicked grin, almost making you do the same. His smile was contagious, no one could deny it.

“What is it, Georgie?” You smiled, letting him lead you out of the Great Hall where he knew no one could hear him even if they wanted to. He wasn’t exactly a quiet talker.

You walked further down the corridor, way out of sight from the Great Hall, and sat on a bench, turning to face the twin.

“What do you think about making sugar that takes your voice away? That way we can slip it into Umbridge’s tea before class starts and she’d have no voice for the whole lesson.” He gave you jazz hands as he finished explaining his idea, his eyebrows high up on his forehead.

“Oh, um, do you really think that’s a good idea?” You leaned back, slouching your shoulders slightly, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the idea of pranking her, it’s just I don’t want her to realize it’s a prank and then make this whole situation worse than it should be.”

George sat back, almost disappointed that you weren’t on board, “Really? I thought you’d be all for getting back at her for the Black Quill thing.” He finished talking, running his fingers over the faint scar on his left hand from when Umbridge punished you all after finding out about Dumbledore’s Army.

“Look, if you want to prank her go ahead,” you sighed, feeling defeated, also running your fingers over the back of your left hand, “Just don’t involve me.”

George furrowed his eyebrows, “Wait, what? You always want to be involved.”

You adjusted your robe, feeling uncomfortable, “I… I’m just drained, George. Sorry.”

He shook his head, standing up, “Alright, fine. That’s fine.” And without another word, he took off down the corridor, leaving you sulking on the bench by yourself.

You internally groaned, hating that you upset him, but also not feeling up to running after him and explaining why you’ve been so off lately. You sat there for another few minutes, guilt seeping into your chest on top of everything else you’ve been feeling.

You eventually got up, went to get your books in your room, and head off to potions class. You sat at the back, hoping no one would sit next to you so you could avoid any sort of conversation or social interaction, and opened your book, ready to attempt to take notes despite the fact that you couldn’t focus on anything for more than two seconds before your mind wandered outside of the class.

The class went by excruciatingly slow.

Snape must have been in a worse mood than usual, glaring at the class as if you guys had caused every problem in his life, and assigning homework like you had no other classes to focus on.

You went to the great hall for dinner that night feeling a million times worse than you had that morning. You tried sitting away from your friends, not feeling up to talking to them, and munched on the tiny portion of food on your plate. You let your eyes wander over to the Gryffindor table, your heart clenching in your chest as you noticed George looking over at you, his expression unreadable.

You wanted to mouth ‘I’m sorry’ over to him, but before you could, he turned to his left and started laughing at a joke Ron had made. You felt your face drop. You had upset him more than you thought. He usually couldn’t keep his eyes off of you at dinner time.

You made your way back to the common room that night with a slight drop in your step, overthinking the current situation with George. What if he broke up with you because he thought you were over him? Or bored with him? George oozed confidence where you lacked it, and maybe he’d realize that and move onto someone who aimed for the same level of fun as him.

When you two first started dating, you did everything together. Pranks, jokes, you even helped him develop candy ideas with Fred. All of that seemed so far away now that everything at school had changed and fun seemed to be non-existent.

You turned a corner, immediately realizing you were in the completely wrong area of the school. To be honest, you had no idea where you were. You looked around, not even sure where you had come from, and leaned against a wall in complete defeat. You slow fell down to the ground, feeling the hot tears pricking at your eyes and making your throat itch.

Great.

What if Filch found you and brought you to Umbridge?

You brought your knees to your chest, the tears already flowing down your cheeks as you leaned your head down, crying silently in the middle of a random corridor.

“What’s your problem?” A voice grabbed your attention, and you brought the sleeve of your robe up to your eyes, wiping away the pathetic tears.

Draco Malfoy stood there, arms crossed and a confused expression on his face, “Y/N? Why are you sitting here crying?”

“I was lost,” you mumbled quietly, cursing yourself for showing your emotions in front of someone who was bound to make fun of you for it.

“That’s it? You’re just crying because you’re lost?” He asked, eyebrows raising in amusement.

You rolled your eyes, “No, it’s more than just that…”

He seemed to debate something in his head, but brushed it aside and slowly walked over to you and sat down, “Um… do you, like, I don’t know, feel like venting or whatever?”

“Really? You want to listen to my problems?” You asked, a dry chuckle accompanying it.

“Why not? What else have I got to do? Besides, I’m not on duty anymore since we found the secret club you had with your friends.” He leaned his head back against the wall, a proud smirk on his lips as he thought back to how he barged in to the Room of Requirements and dragged you out by your hair alongside people you had grown really fond of.

“You told me I was an embarrassment to Slytherin, Malfoy.” You reminded him, watching him roll his eyes.

“Whatever, do you want to vent or not?” He asked, turning to face you with an emotionless glare.

“Fine. I’m stressed.”

“And?”

“And what?”

He waved his hands, “What else? You’re not just stressed. Everyone’s stressed, we don’t all cry about it.”

“Fine, you really want to know?” You took a deep breath, “I’m stressed about failing my OWLs, I’m stressed about Umbridge kicking me out, I’m stressed about the millions of homework assignments we have to do, I’m worried about my family with this whole ‘dark lord rising again’ situation, I’m worried about George, his entire family hates me and I think he’s starting to as well. I haven’t slept properly in two months, I don’t eat, I want to avoid talking to people as much as possible. I also get really bad headaches sometimes, but maybe it’s because I’ve got a thousand things going on in my mind.”

Draco’s eyes were wide as you started crying again, “That’s impossible. People can’t feel that many things at once.”

“Just because you don’t feel at all doesn’t mean other people can’t, you idiot.”

He chuckled at your comment, “I’m not good at advice, but I think for starters, you need to eat and sleep. And then, talk to the Weasel and sort out your drama there.”

You nodded, wiping your tears once more, “Yeah, I know. It’s just hard. I can’t focus on doing anything.”

Before he could answer you, a crowd of voices came around the corner and your eyes widened when you noticed the ginger bunch looking down at you two.

“Y/N?” Ginny asked, arms crossed, “Should have known we’d find you with Malfoy eventually.”

Ron scoffed, agreeing with his sister. You looked behind them and noticed Fred scowling at you.

“What? No, we were just talking. Where’s George?” You asked, standing up quickly to face them.

“Please, as if we’d let you near our brother. I know you’re a Slytherin but I thought you’d be more loyal than that.” Ron glared at you.

“What? I am loyal, what are you talking about?” You felt your face go pale, worried they’d run back and tell George something that wasn’t true.

“You and Malfoy. It’s blatantly obvious.” Ginny mumbled, pointing behind you to the platinum headed boy who was now standing behind you.

“Let me just cut you off there,” Draco spoke up, “If you guys are thinking what I think you’re thinking, don’t. As if I’d be interested in her.”

You wanted to be insulted, but you knew if you reacted they’d think you have feelings for him, so you nodded, “Why the hell would I run off with Malfoy? You think I can stand looking at his face for more than five minutes a day? I was lost and crying and he somehow found me… Don’t know why he was down here, but anyways, he listened to me vent. That’s it.”

Ginny scoffed, pushing her brothers the other direction and out of sight. You wanted to call after them but you knew not to piss them off, you didn’t want to sink your reputation even deeper in the Weasley family.

“So… that was harsh,” Draco whistled lowly, “Why do you hate my face?”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” you rolled your eyes, “Lead me back to the common room, I want to go to bed.”

He complied, and the two of you walked back in silence. You felt defeated, heart broken, and you knew damn well George would hear all about how you were sitting next to Draco Malfoy in a dark corridor.

You sulked up to your room and crashed down on your bed, not even bothering to change your clothes as you thought of all the ways you could talk to George and clear things up. You had a feeling he probably wouldn’t talk to you, but right now, that was your top priority.

The next morning, you stormed down to the great hall, determination in your step, and bee-lined straight towards the ginger haired section of the Gryffindor table. You could hear Ron groan upon seeing you, but you ignored it, facing the twins.

“George, we need to talk.”

He looked at you with squinted eyes, “You sure your boyfriend would allow that?” He pointed his head behind you. You turned to face where he was looking, eyes falling on Malfoy who was deep in conversation with Goyle.

“We need to talk.” You repeated, placing your hands on your hips.

George stood up slowly, much to the distaste of his siblings, and followed you out of the hall. You turned right and found yourselves in along the courtyard - thank God.

“Now, I’m only going to say this once, I am not cheating with Malfoy, or whatever the hell it is you were told last night,” you spoke up, cutting him off with your hand before he could say anything, “Malfoy found me crying and he tried to comfort me, I guess the one decent bone he has in his body acted up or something, I don’t know, but anyways, he sat there and listened while I vented to him about everything that’s going on.”

“And what is going on?” George pressed, crossing his arms.

You sighed, “I haven’t told you but I think I have anxiety issues.”

“Wait, for real?” He asked, his face softening slightly.

“Yeah,” you nodded slowly, “It’s everything going on with Umbridge and the exams, there’s so much school work, no one’s doing anything about the Dark Lord being back, I’m worried about my family, I can’t focus in class. I can’t sleep, I don’t eat, I’m always tired because I overthink every tiny situation and I feel like I’m failing at everything.”

You stopped rambling, catching your breath and gaging George’s expression. His face softened and he dropped his arms, “Oh Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging, you looked down to your feet, “You just seem so… I don’t know. You’re always having fun, I didn’t want to burden you with all of my baggage, I guess. Your siblings keep saying you could do better than me and I feel like they’re right.”

George pulled you into a hug, rubbing your hair softly with his hand as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “No, no, there’s no one better than you. I’m so, so sorry I overreacted and acted like a complete tosspot,” he pulled away and gave you a comforting smile, “Please, never be afraid to open up to me about anything. I want to help, I want to be here for you. Don’t hide from me.”

You smiled into his chest, “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have known you’d want to help me.”

“Of course I do, you’re my girl,” he mumbled against your skin, sending warm vibrations down your spine as you revelled in the feeling of his hug.

“Now, you wanted to prank Umbridge?” You pulled away and grinned at him, a twinkle in your eye.

“Oh, yes.”

#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley one shot #george weasley one shots #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfics #george weasley x reader

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be11atrixthestrange · 4 years ago

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 12

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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[Hermione]

It takes all of Hermione's effort to maintain focus. Her wandering mind threatens to suck her in like quicksand, taunting her with the recent memory of her perfect morning in bed with Ron. She can still feel Ron's legs tangled up with hers, swimming together in the luxurious satin sheets. The way his hands explored her body, tracing every curve with both firm confidence and tenderness, leaving a trail of goosebumps that reappear now. The faint smell of his cologne clings to her skin, leftover from when he pinned her to the bed, and remembering the taste of spearmint and coffee as he kissed her makes her mouth water. She wants more.

Ron's casual demeanor of the present moment isn't helping. She watches him down the line, deep in conversation with Seamus and Dean. His whole face lights up as he laughs at a joke Seamus just told. When he speaks, he uses his entire body; his eyes glow with enthusiasm, and his hands punctuate his every word. Unlike Hermione, he doesn't seem acutely aware of what he's doing with his arms, how he's standing, or whether he looks natural. He makes looking normal seem so easy.

Be cool, Hermione.

Any hope of emulating his calm confidence shatters when he catches her eye and winks. Her cheeks burn, her heart drums against her chest, and butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Or not.

The group is waiting patiently for their turn to enter The Slug Club, which can only be defined as a combination of a nightclub, theme park, and a casino. Hermione and Ron landed on this location for Harry and Ginny's joint hen and stag party for its all-in-one benefits. Less time wasted traveling between multiple venues means more time to kick back and relax, while eliminating the risk of losing someone during transitions.

Ginny jolts Hermione back to the present when she sidles up next to her and flings an arm around her shoulder. "So, where'd you sleep last night?"

Panic sets in as Hermione glances at her friend — Ginny's wearing a smug, knowing expression. She decides to play dumb. "What do you mean, Ginny?"

"C'mon, you weren't in your room. I came by to check on you! Did you spend the night with that guy from the bar?" Her eyebrows raise suggestively as she awaits an answer.

Hermione isn't sure how to respond. She's not keen on Ginny knowing about her and Ron yet, but she's even less keen on lying and saying she was with Cormac what's-his-name, but she'd have to pick one…

"Um—" she stalls, before someone interrupts her.

"She was with me." Lavender appears on Hermione's other side and smiles at Ginny. "Turns out that guy from the bar was the worst, so we went to my room so he wouldn't know where she was sleeping."

Hermione releases an audible sigh of relief, which Ginny mistakes as disgust.

"Ugh, I hate men," she says. "Except Harry, of course."

"Yeah. Men are the worst," says Lavender, and Hermione watches her gaze shift momentarily toward Ron and the boys.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," says Ginny. "All you wanted was a fun night out, and for some bloke to try and take advantage of you? I should have stuck by your side."

Feeling guilty, Hermione waves off her condolences — she had a great night last night, and wishes she didn't have to lie to Ginny. But alas, 'I shagged your brother!' isn't what most brides want to hear from a bridesmaid at their hen party.

The doors to The Slug Club open, and the bouncer waves them through, which absolves Hermione of the need to change the subject. Perfect timing.

Ginny skips toward the door to meet up with Harry, and Hermione turns to Lavender.

"Thanks for covering for me. I appreciate it."

Lavender nods but doesn't smile. "No problem. And for the record, I don't want details."

"Wasn't going to offer any," she returns, glancing at Lavender to discover she's watching the doorway, where Ron is passing through. He's still laughing and joking with the boys, and his eyes are bright and elated.

Looking back at Lavender brings a pang of sympathy. It's obvious by her expression that her mind is working a mile-a-minute to process the bittersweet emotion of seeing him so happy. Ron's laughter is contagious enough to bring a smile to Lavender's face, but it doesn't reflect in her eyes. Maybe it would if it had been her, not Hermione, that made Ron feel that way.

"Are you okay?" asks Hermione, even though she already knows the answer.

"Yes," says Lavender, meeting Hermione's gaze. They share a look of understanding, silently agreeing not to call out her lie. "Just don't hurt him."

Hermione looks back to Ron, catching his smiling face once more before he disappears into The Slug Club. She knows that neither of them can promise not to hurt the other, but something in her gut tells her that won't be the case.

Passing through the doors feels like entering a different world entirely. The venue appears much bigger on the inside than the outside suggested. She scans the room, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activities within reach. On one end, there's a dance floor, a glistening swimming pool, and a casino guarded by a fake willow tree. On the other end, there's a karaoke bar, a series of thrill rides that shouldn't fit inside the space and an elaborate miniature golf course made to look like a hedge maze. On closer inspection, it appears that each obstacle is guarded by a mythical creature — partiers laugh and point their clubs at talking sphinxes, dragons, and merpeople.

"Hey beautiful," Ron whispers in her ear, and his sudden appearance causes Hermione to jump.

"Hey," she croaks back; her voice catches in her throat, but the familiarity of his cologne soothes her rising heart rate. "I should start the tab."

"You're cute when you're flustered," he says, smirking.

Her cheeks heat up, and Ron chuckles with amusement. Hermione glances around to check if they've caught the attention of anyone in their party, but it seems like the grandiosity of The Slug Club is the perfect distraction. They've decided to keep the details of their relationship quiet for now, so as to not draw focus away from Harry and Ginny, but the way Hermione's body reacts to everything Ron says or does today might prove that difficult.

"Yes. The tab," says Hermione, feeling the weight of her wallet in her purse. She'd agreed to cover the bar tab for Ginny's party, but that doesn't mean she's ready to hand over her credit card to a stranger tending the bar, and let the coins fall where they may. She feels a little better when she lays her eyes on a familiar face at the bar. "Rosmerta?"

The blonde bartender smiles at Hermione. "Hey there!"

"You work here too?"

"Yes ma'am," she says, "and, please tell me you ditched that asshat from last night."

Hermione laughs, thankful that Rosmerta doesn't harbor any hard feelings toward her based on Cormac's behavior the night before. "Don't worry, he's long gone."

"Good. Ginger's better looking anyway."

"I agree," says Hermione, chancing a look at Ron. His ears turn pink, and Hermione hopes she hasn't embarrassed him.

"Would you two like something to drink?" asks Rosmerta.

"Actually, I'd like to start a tab," says Hermione.

"Under what name?"

"Harry and Ginny. It's for their entire wedding party," she says, wincing as she hands over her credit card.

"That's very generous of you," says Rosmerta. Tugging Hermione's card from her resisting fingers requires a little extra force.

Observing the interaction, Ron fishes into his pocket for his wallet.

"Can you split the tabs over two cards?" he asks, sliding his credit card across the bar to Rosmerta.

Hermione turns to him to protest. "You don't have to—"

"I want to!" he interrupts.

"I budgeted for this night," says Hermione.

"And have you seen how much these boys can drink? Let me split it with you."

The look in his eye tells Hermione there's no point in arguing with him, and she doesn't want to insult his pride. "Fine."

"Thank you, Rosmerta," says Ron.

"You're very welcome, handsome!"

Ron flushes at her comment but immediately directs his attention back to Hermione, flashing his adorably lopsided smile. Hearing another woman call him handsome, even non-threateningly, makes Hermione want to sidle up next to him and reach for his hand, something that would show the world he's hers. The fact that they agreed not to engage in any public displays of affection makes it all the more tempting.

Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione have also agreed to refrain from drinking tonight. It makes sense to have a few people thinking clearly in the group, just in case things get out of hand.

"Well, Hermione," asks Ron. "What should we do?"

Their friends seem to be drawn into the miniature golf course, and Harry, holding two clubs, waves them over.

"I guess that settles it," says Ron,

The walk toward the miniature golf course feels a mile long, especially in front of their friends. She knows that apart from Lavender, everyone's oblivious to their relationship, but their watchful eyes still feel like scrutiny. Once again, Hermione wonders how much distance there should be between two platonic friends walking together. The distracted chatter grows louder as they approach, which quiets her worries, and by the time they join, the group has already begun a round of golf, and is no longer paying them any attention.

"I bet you a drink that I can get a hole in one," says Ron, reaching for two putters. He hands one to her and casually bumps his shoulder against hers, sending a tingle down her spine. His confidence makes her nervous. Is she always this awkward?

"Didn't you want to stay sober tonight?" asks Hermione, silently hoping that he backtracks on their agreement. She could use the calming effect of a cocktail right now.

"Yep. But the drink can be any night."

"Deal," she says, taking the golf club from his extended hand, and knowing full well she'll probably be buying him, and herself, a drink later.

They follow behind the rest of the party, taking turns putting for the first few obstacles. Neither of them are any good, and they only get progressively worse as they continue further into the course. Someone's always heading back to the bar to replenish everyone's, save for Ron and Hermione's, drinks, and after a while, Hermione's too caught up watching everyone loosen up to think about the running tab.

Ron and Hermione continue to keep a safe distance apart, but as everyone else continues to drink, she questions how necessary it is. Harry and Ginny only have eyes for each other; Dean, Neville, and Seamus are in their own world, and Luna, Demelza and Lavender are quickly becoming too tipsy to pay any mind to Ron and Hermione, opting instead to try and attract the attention of a nearby group of men.

Everyone is equally terrible at miniature golf, but as time passes, and blood alcohol levels climb, Ron and Hermione start to look pretty good by comparison. The drunker everyone gets, the more affectionate they become, celebrating completed obstacles with high-fives, which turn into hugs, and then to kisses on cheeks. When Ginny jumps on Harry's back, Lavender and Demelza lock their arms around each other, and Dean picks up Seamus to carry him to the next hole, Hermione considers inching closer to Ron. No one would even notice, would they?

Hermione hits her next golf ball way off course, and it plunks down into a moat. Ron laughs.

"Wow, you're really terrible at this. Have you ever played before?"

She scoffs at him with mock indignation. "Hey!" she says, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "But no, I can't say I play much miniature golf."

"I guess I should show you how to swing," he says, taking a step closer to her. She scans for anyone's eyes on them.

"That's not really necessary," she says, and Ron grins at the suggestive tone of her voice.

"It's definitely not necessary."

She places another golf ball in the lane, and Ron positions himself behind her. He wraps his arms around her sides and grips her hands over the club. His hips press against her backside, and his body's instantaneous reaction suggests that keeping his distance from her is just as difficult for him too.

"So much for keeping our hands off each other," she whispers to him.

"No one's watching right now," he whispers back. "Plus, I'm just showing you how to hold a club. This is perfectly innocent."

Hermione presses her hips back against him, and he groans. Perfectly innocent.

"Is this right?" she asks.

"Fuck, yeah, it is."

Hermione can't help but laugh as Ron guides her club into a swing, then reluctantly pushes herself away from him. The longer they stay pressed together like that, the more likely they are to draw attention to themselves. He looks pained at first, but his expression turns smug when her golf ball sinks into the center hole on the first putt.

"Ha! You owe me a drink," he says.

"What are you talking about? That was my hit!" she argues back. "You owe me one."

"Okay," he says, smiling. "It's a win for me either way."

They lock eyes, and Hermione is tempted to give in and kiss him. His face is so close to hers, and would anyone really notice a short and sweet kiss?

Someone behind them clears their throat, and Hermione stiffens, only relaxing when she turns to see a couple she doesn't know. "Are you two almost done?"

"Erm, yeah. We are," says Ron hurriedly. "Sorry 'bout that." His face shines red, and they rush to clear the course.

Their friends seem to have disappeared, which nearly sends Hermione into a panic, but one glance around the club reveals they've just dispersed to their own activities. Seamus and Dean are now at the bar, Luna and Neville are off in a corner admiring an indoor garden, Ginny is cheering Harry on at one of the slot machines outside the casino, and Lavender and Demelza have taken to the stage for karaoke. Hermione smiles as the girls dance along to Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' — Lavender's enjoyment looks genuine, and it eases some of her dormant guilt for being with Ron.

Lavender and Demelza's voices grow quieter as Ron and Hermione approach the other side of the club, where the lights are darker, and a thick crowd is growing on a dance floor, bouncing to the music produced by an eccentrically-dressed DJ.

"Come and dance?" asks Ron, raising an eyebrow at her.

"In front of everyone? Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asks, but reaches for his outstretched hand anyway.

"The best idea," he says, tugging her toward the middle of the dance floor, where they'll be obscured from view. "It's just a dance. It's not like I'm asking for a snog." His voice lowers as he pulls her body close to his, and Hermione senses a touch of irony in his response. In a way, it sounds like he is asking for a snog.

"So as long as we don't snog, this is perfectly innocent?" To test the waters, she shifts closer, letting her lips brush against his neck as she speaks. His resulting shiver makes her smile.

"No, I guess not," he says. "But only because I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." As if to prove his point, his hands shift to her lower back, dangerously close to non-innocent territory.

"You're insatiable."

"I know."

Even though the music is quick and upbeat, Ron and Hermione remain intertwined on the dance floor, swaying slowly, almost daring each other not to kiss. Hermione's earlier anxiety about interacting with Ron while sober seems so far away — being with him feels natural, as if they've been together forever. It doesn't make sense; her feelings are too advanced, considering she barely knows him.

She thinks back to her very first sober interaction with him. She had just broken up with Viktor a few months prior, and her self-confidence was at an all-time low. When they met for coffee back in England to go over logistics for this trip, her immediate reaction was to push him away, and it was no surprise that she left with a negative impression. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. That day, Hermione watched everything he did and picked apart everything he said, attempting to convince herself that he was insufferable because then it wouldn't matter if he thought the same thing about her.

From the beginning, she tried to sabotage this. It makes sense — in relationships, she has to weigh the benefit of even trying. She hates failing, and love isn't like academia, which comes easily to Hermione. If she needs better exam scores, she can work harder, practice more, and simply try again. But personal pursuits are different. She learned the hard way that second chances are rare, and first impressions are everything. People are unpredictable, and failure is personal. It's not like studying harder will make someone love her.

Maybe that's why she looks for the worst in people — because that's what she decides to show them first. If she doesn't try to attract a man, it won't hurt when she winds up alone. She can blame it on her lack of effort, rather than her personality, her looks, or anything else on her laundry list of personal shortcomings.

Just as tears sting her eyes, Ron's arms wrap more tightly around her body, and his lips press against her forehead. His embrace feels secure, protective, even loving. Her heart fills for him, and she's finally fully aware of how deep her emotions run. Somewhere in the mess of the last few days, her defenses melted away, and she fell hard for this man. Despite her efforts to push him away, she wound up married to him.

She's always had a lot of questions about love; how long does it take? What does it look like? Is it a noun or a verb, something she's supposed to feel, or just do? Maybe it's more simple than that. At the moment, all she knows is that if things fell apart now, she'd be devastated, and she'd kick herself for not trying harder. She can't imagine not trying at all.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

She winces at his question.

Ron pulls away to turn her face toward his. A look of concern crosses his eyes as he wipes a loose tear from her cheek. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nods and averts her eyes.

"I don't believe you," he says. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" His voice is calm and unwavering.

"Yeah, I know." Her grip around his neck loosens so her arms hang comfortably. She wants to see his full face.

"So, what's on your mind?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "Wifey?"

And there it is again — a swarm of butterflies unleash in her stomach at his playful words, his goofy smile, and the genuine tender expression on his face.

Hermione's always been the analytical type, never doing anything without thinking through the consequences, or giving emotions more mind than logic. But this week has offered a reprieve from her cautious, methodical side. It would be easy to convince herself that Vegas-Hermione isn't really her, but that wouldn't feel honest. In Vegas, she's more honest than she's ever been.

She meets Ron's curious gaze with confidence. London-Hermione would probably run away right now, not daring to speak what's on her mind, instead choosing to sabotage it all. But, London-Hermione probably isn't qualified to give relationship advice.

And deep down, she knows how she feels about this man, even though the truth is completely insane. But so is marrying someone she just met, and that ship has already sailed. Now she has an opportunity to let him in fully; if she wants to.

Her heart is telling her to take a giant leap and go for it, but her mind…

Well, her mind is still in London.

"I'm probably mental for saying this," she begins, her voice soft and careful, "but I think I'm falling in love with you."

As soon as the words slip out, her heart starts pounding in her chest. She averts her eyes, unwilling to watch his reaction to her admission.

He doesn't respond right away, and every second that passes cuts like a dagger to her heart. What a stupid thing to say, she thinks, panicking. They've barely been together for twenty-four hours, and she's probably freaked him out.

Ron squeezes her arm, encouraging her to look him in the eye. She meets his ocean eyes with trepidation, and isn't sure how to feel when his ears are fiery red, and his expression is one of pure shock. He looks like a frozen computer, unable to process her confession.

Fuck. Her palms break out in sweat, her eyes well with tears, and her stomach sinks. She should have kept her mouth shut.

But then he beams at her. "Well, Hermione, you might be falling in love, but I jumped. Flung myself off that cliff. So, I guess that makes us both mental."

She has no words, but relief sweeps over her body, and she blinks the tears from her eyes. Ron pulls her into another embrace, and her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on the top of her head, and for the next few moments, they're the only people in the room.

Did they really just say that to each other?

"Are you serious?" she asks, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Yes. I'm serious."

She smiles from both elation, and the fact that they're definitely, completely mental. Who brings up love so soon? It's Barmy. Insane. Crazy.

But it's also Las Vegas, and if there's something Hermione's learned from her time in this town, it's that life is better with a little bit of crazy.

#Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #muggle AU #be11a_vegas #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hpromione

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heirloommtomatoes · 5 years ago

Text

you’re in a car with a beautiful boy

I’m at least 90% sure this ask was not sent with the intent of receiving a fic as a response but. Here we are. This got way longer and more convoluted than I had intended it to be and I’m jus gonna post it at this point bc i’m losing my mind re-reading it jsksk ! The title is from part 24 of Richard Siken’s poem “You Are Jeff”. Perfect poem for their first kiss, I think! Enjoy reading! :)

Warnings: Two instances of canon-typical homophobic language; canon-typical swearing.

Word Count: 2.6k~

The day Ian Gallagher shows up at his door, red-cheeked, out of breath, and wanting, no — “I need to see you” — needing him, Mickey knows he’s done for.

What comes out is: “I thought you were working today.”

Nice, dumbshit, that’s helpful, he registers the thought somewhere in the back of his mind, but mostly he just can’t stop staring at Ian. His eyes flick over his face, and he doesn’t have time to be shocked by how much he cares.

He’s embarrassed to reveal that yes, he did memorize Ian’s work schedule because he was in fact listening to the guy when he was busy running his mouth at the convenience store. Instinctively, he casts a quick glance over his shoulder. He can’t let Terry see this gay shit, Ian all worked up about some mommy issues and Mickey trying in his own way. To do what exactly, he’s still not completely sure. Comfort him, maybe? He doubts his father would clue in, his head’s too far up his homophobic ass for that, but like hell Mickey’s gonna risk it. Nothing’s gonna touch Ian. Fucking ever, if it’s up to him.

“I’ll meet you there in twenty,” Mickey says a short while later. He closes the door and goes back inside to stand around the dining table where Terry was going over some kind of raid or bust or heist while somehow managing to boss Mandy around every other word.

Mickey can’t focus on anything. He’s going to see Ian in twenty minutes. He’s bubbling with palpable excitement and fear and feelings he has no name for. What if Ian wants to talk about everything? Does he smell bad? What could Mickey say so he doesn’t leave? So Ian doesn’t see what a miserable shit he is? He hates Ian fucking Gallagher for making him care about dumb stuff like this, for making him incapable of hearing a word his Dad is saying to him and his brothers, for making him want to do some astronomically stupid thing like kiss him.

“Mickey, why you over there starin’ like some dumb fuckin’ fag?”

He doesn’t work up the courage for over another year.

Mickey slams the door to his room after running errands with Iggy all morning. It smells stale and one of the posters is curling off the wall in the mid-summer humidity. He’d changed his sheets this morning. The same red ones from the day Ian had burst in here like a maniac demanding the gun back. From then on, the two had been inseparable; no matter how hard their South Side circumstances had tried to pry them apart, every time they came back together like magnets.

Mickey knows he can’t really hide from Ian, and it scares him as much as it excites him. Ian reads him like no one ever has. The guy even had the nerve to smile that adorable smile that makes Mickey’s chest tight when he’d told him he’d rip his tongue out back in juvie. For some reason that Mickey cannot begin to fathom, Ian seems to want to spend time with him. Seems to believe in him.

He had thought himself perfectly fine to live a life half-awake, to spend his days either in prison or in the Milkovich household (one in the same, he thinks - except that juvie doesn’t have Terry), probably die by shivs or bullets or fists, and have his body buried in some unmarked grave all before his 50th birthday. Ian had wedged his place in the timeline of Mickey’s life. There was a before, and an after, and neither of them would ever be the same. Mickey pretends that its not this thought that keeps him up at night.

As soon as he realized that Iggy and Colin and Terry looked at girls and actually wanted them, that it wasn’t just some bizarre social act they all bought into, he knew he was fucked for life. His whole existence feels like some grand joke that everyone is in on but him, and when he lays down at night and stares at his ceiling and thinks about Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher, he wonders if maybe he was the butt of it all along.

Ian Gallagher, who knew him and wanted him anyway, who took the time to care about him, who sought him out to spend time with him just because he wanted to. When had their ten minute fucks turned into smoke breaks? When had their smoke breaks turned into —

Mickey’s phone dings in his pocket as he sits on the steps of the Milkovich house, a cigarette dangling idly from his mouth.

Ian

what are ur plans today

He swallows his heart back down as it leaps into his throat, almost dizzying him with excitement. Get a grip, you fuckin’ girl. He’d done all that he needed to do for the day. He’d helped Iggy with some errands in the morning and had planned on laying low, playing Halo 3, and chain-smoking his way through a pack until dinner.

He chews on his lip as he considers what to say. He texts back:

Mickey

don’t have any

He wants to say “why, what’s up?”, he wants to say “let’s go to the dugouts”, he wants to say “let’s do something”, “let’s hang out”, “i want to see you”, “i want you”. But he’s not allowed to want things. Certainly not…this. Whatever this is. He receives a response almost immediately and can’t help but crack a fond smile. Someone’s eager.

Ian

come with me to that abandoned building near the L

you know the spot

That’s how Mickey finds himself sitting atop a wooden platform, watching Ian run military drills below at 1 in the afternoon on a Sunday.

He fires his gun into the sky while resolutely pretending not to be checking out the younger boy below.

“Hey,” Ian says, breathing heavily and squinting against the sun and Mickey finds himself realizing he is made of things he cannot ever have, “You know that guy you beat the shit out of at that club?”

Of course Mickey remembers. His stomach flops at the mention of him.

“He wants me to sneak into his mansion and take all of his crap.”

“Really,” Mickey responds dryly, firing off another shot. He doesn’t want Ian to keep talking about him, “Hi-larious.”

“Can’t get it himself,” Ian continues, as if Mickey cares. And the worst part is that he thinks maybe he does — he cares about everything this alien-looking ginger has to say and he hates it and he can never, ever get enough of it, of him, of Ian, “Divorce. Says I can take whatever I want. He’s loaded. You want in?”

Mickey fires shots at the ground by Ian’s head where he’s crawling under some boards. He’s remembering seeing them at that bar in Boystown, out in the heat and in the sun and in public, cracking jokes and living a life Mickey can only watch from behind glass, from behind bars. Fuck that old guy for getting handed on a silver platter what Mickey so desperately craves but cannot have. Not just Ian — freedom. Though Mickey thinks they’re one in the same these days.

“Jesus! Use blanks, maybe?! Fuck.” Ian shouts up at him, dragging himself up off the ground.

“Bring my cousins?” Mickey asks, refusing to look at him. Every time he does he sees them together and wishes that it had been him, sun-drunk and laughing and free by his side.

“Yeah,” Ian shrugs.

“‘Aight, I’m in,” Mickey fires off another shot. He’s angry at Ian for nothing other than exercising his complete right to see other people since they weren’t really together anyway, he’s angry at that old ass man for being able to go out for drinks with him, touch him, kiss him, and most of all he’s angry at himself.

He feels broken for wanting him. He feels broken for not being able to be brave enough to admit that he wants him. He gets cut on his own self-hatred any direction he turns.

“I dunno what you see in that geriatric viagroid,” he says, forcing himself to meet Ian’s gaze, if for a brief moment.

“He buys me stuff, orders me room service,” Ian says nonchalantly, looking up at Mickey. It’s obvious how much he’s been working out. His shoulders are hard and defined, his chest chiseled through the dark green of his military shirt. Mickey feels the familiar sting of contempt rising in his throat and fires off two more shots.

He can’t buy him anything, let alone room service. The fuck kind of response is that? More than anything, it annoys Mickey because he knows it isn’t really true. He’s bullshitting him, and that gets to him more than Ted or Ned or Fred or whatever the hell is name is ever could. He knows he’s not that superficial. Sure, he doesn’t doubt those are nice bonuses, but he knows there’s more to it than that.

He knows Ian. He knows Ian and he wishes that didn’t have to mean he loves him, but it does. He doesn’t understand how anyone could know Ian and not love him. But he’s not quite ready to admit that yet, least of all to himself.

“He isn’t afraid to kiss me,” Ian adds.

Ah. There it is.

His world has become a breathing thing with Ian in it. Before it was stagnant, stale, drowning. It has become a beast with teeth that threatens to tear him from the careful scaffolding he has built around the most fragile parts of his life.

If he kisses him, then everything he fears he is will be true.

Some dumb fuckin’ fag.

So Mickey brings his cousins later that evening and doesn’t stop thinking about Ian’s comment for the rest of the day. The van ride is full of loud music and rolled down windows that let in the warm, fresh summer air, and Iggy and Colin are endlessly bickering and hitting each other in the back of the car.

“Can you assholes quiet down when we get closer? You’re gonna wake up the old lady and everyone else in the goddamn neighbourhood before we even roll in the fuckin’ driveway,” Mickey says, swatting at them from where he’s sitting in the passenger seat. Ian glances his way with an amused smile that Mickey only just catches when he settles back. He grins in return around the cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Oh hey, pass one?” Ian asks, holding out his hand. Mickey’s about to give him one before a car speeds around a corner and almost T-bones the side of the van. Ian’s hand snaps back to the wheel to swerve out of the way, and Mickey drops the cigarette to the floor of the van in all the commotion.

“Asshole, watch it!” Ian exclaims as he uselessly flips off the car that’s now long gone down the road. Mickey lets out a guffaw of a laugh and abandons handing him the lost cigarette in favour of placing his own half-smoked one right between Ian’s lips.

The intimacy of the action doesn’t strike him until he’s nudging the cigarette against his mouth and his eyes are tracing the outline of his lips and he can feel the warmth of his breath against his tattooed knuckles. The raw familiarity of the action and the fact that Mickey’s own lips had just been on the cigarette that’s now resting on the edge of Ian’s mouth has his heart racing so quickly he can feel it in his chest like a ton of bricks. Ian casts him a side-glance out of the corner of his eye as he parts his lips to accept it. Mickey takes his hand away and clears his throat, glancing at the rear-view mirror to an oblivious Colin and Iggy.

“Thanks,” Ian mumbles, remembering himself as he snaps out of whatever it had been that passed between them just now.

Mickey wants to kiss him. He really, really wants to kiss him. He’d tried fucking girls and had been less turned on than he was just now doing nothing other than placing his cigarette in Ian’s mouth.

Ian pulls into the drive minutes later, cigarette since burned through and discarded out the window. Mickey tries not to feel the absence of it as though it were his own lips against his and not just the ghost of them stained onto the cigarette.

Colin drags open the side door and hops out with Iggy, zipping open a duffel bag full of guns. Mickey’s grateful for the distraction, for the absolute focus violence requires that he hopes will shove his desire to do something as stupid as kiss Ian out of his head.

“Hey! Whoa, guys, guys! No fucking guns, alright? It’s just a drunk old lady in there,” Ian says, brow furrowed as he looks at Mickey.

Trust Gallagher to be the defender of drunk old ladies. Mickey bites at his lip, trying and failing to ignore the way his chest swells with adoration at Ian’s request. Soft motherfucker. He’s right, though — any unnecessary violence and this could be a way bigger deal than it needs to be. Plus, he’d rather not piss off his only and best friend. He grabs the guns back from his cousins, much to their disappointment, and makes off toward the house.

He hadn’t woken up this morning thinking that today would be the day he’d kiss Ian. Hell, even now he’s sure that if he thinks about it any more he’ll chicken out and never kiss him at all. Mickey Milkovich, with the F-U-C-K U-U-P knuckles, who wears dirt and a scowl like they’re permanent accessories, is going to kiss Ian Gallagher, the freckled boy who protects drunk old ladies and smiles at him like he hangs the damn stars. He figures he was about to storm into an old lady’s house brandishing firearms without second thought or fright. Is kissing someone really that much more terrifying?

Abso-fuckin-lutely.

But there’s nothing between them but the van and Mickey’s fear. And fuck the fear. Fuck it.

He can pretend that he kisses him for no other reason than to prove a point, than to fulfill some implied dare.

At the end of the day, he kisses him because he wants to.

He kisses him because he likes him.

He kisses him because he loves him.

Mickey’s heart is racing so badly he feels that he might throw up and well, what an impression that would leave. Every part of him is shaking as he turns and takes one step, two steps, pulls himself into the van and…

His lips are against Ian’s. They’re so much softer than he’d imagined (and he had imagined, often) and warm and Mickey can feel the breath from his nose against his own face. He tastes like smoke and freedom and something sweet Mickey can’t place -- a fucking Snickers bar? -- but loves the taste of anyway.

His brain short-circuits. He lingers longer than he had intended to, but it’s real and it’s better than he ever thought it could be. He’d kissed Sarah Perkins on a dare back in 7th grade and he’d gargled vodka afterwards to wash his mouth out.

He’d thought himself broken for it just not feeling right. But this…this feels right. Ian makes him feel right. He had expected, hoped even maybe, that it would feel wrong. That he would kiss him and feel as though he had done something terrible, something worse than stealing from an old lady’s home, but if it does he can’t bring himself to care at the moment.

On his tongue, in his touch, with his laugh, Ian has given him the vocabulary to understand himself. To put a name to feelings mostly only understood in the illuminating glory of hindsight.

He’s spent his whole life outside of himself. Is this what it is to know yourself? Is this what it is for everything to suddenly make sense? He isn’t allowed soft things. He isn’t allowed this.

But here he is anyway.

And the world spins on.

He wants to kiss him again and again and again but he remembers his cousins in the house and what he suspects was probably less than five seconds feels like an eternity and Ian’s lips are starting to respond and move and is that his hand starting to lift to touch him? oh shit what if they come back to get him and this is what they walk in on and --

He pulls back and retreats as quickly as he’d arrived, throwing up a middle finger at Ian. Afraid to kiss him, Mickey’s ass.

Fuck he thinks as he runs back to the house, and can’t think much else but fuckfuckfuck, every inch of him charged and shaking and electric.

“Forgot somethin’,” he says breathlessly to the two boys who are, as it turns out, barely paying him any mind as they bicker between themselves about how they’re going to manage picking up a cabinet heavier than the two of them combined. Mickey’s not listening to them as they end up dropping it to split up and tackle smaller bait.

He grins wickedly to himself. He did it. Mickey goddamn Milkovich made a choice that wasn’t about pain or hurt or violence. He’d made a choice that was his and his alone and it was soft. Mickey Milkovich could choose to be soft, and gentle, and maybe even caring.

And if he can kiss Ian Gallagher? He can do anything.

#reposting this in a better format i think #gallavich #gallavich fic #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #why is read more not working brruhhh this is so long im sorry #IS it working??? idk #if it isnt #sorry!!!!#my bOYS~!!!!#my writing

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confused-android · 4 years ago

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DGHDAtober, day 2: Farah - Dance.

---------------

"I don't – I don't dance," Farah says, hand immediately slipping into her right jacket pocket. Her keys are in there, and she holds them tightly.

I have my keys, I don't have to stay anywhere I don't want to stay. I can always go home. I have my phone, I have my wallet. I'm not stuck anywhere.

"That's not what you said last year," Dirk reminds her in a sing-song voice. "You danced at the festival and back at the station."

"That was different," she says, running her keys through her fingers. Three keys, four keys, five keys, and brass knuckles. Three keys, four keys, five keys, and brass knuckles. "I was under the influence of a spell. That's not the same as choosing to dance. I choose to – to not dance."

"It's a club, though," Todd says awkwardly. He understands. Dirk has never been self-conscious a day in his life, but Todd knows what it's like to feel constantly judged. He's usually the one judging himself, but he knows. "And everyone who reported seeing the, uh, the ghost, they were all on the dance floor."

"I know that," Farah snaps. "But I can, I can watch from the side, and provide backup for when one of you sees the ghost. If it is actually a ghost."

"It's a ghost," Dirk says confidently. "I'm sure of it."

"I don't want to know why you're so sure," Todd wearily. Dirk opens his mouth and Todd holds up one hand. "No, seriously – I don't want to know if you have ever seen a ghost before. I just don't."

"We have to dance," Dirk says. "That's the only way we'll get to the bottom of this. Besides, we could use a night out!"

Farah looks out the window and hopes that they can't see her eyelid twitching.

----------------------------------

Amanda bursts into her apartment, ten minutes before they're due to meet Dirk and Todd in the lobby, and immediately says, "no way. You're not going out in this."

"What? Yes – yes I am. This is a perfectly practical outfit." She's wearing boots with a low heel, stretch jeans, and a button down blouse with enough give at the bust that she can throw a punch without worrying about popping a button.

"Yeah. It's practical," Amanda says, sweeping past Farah and into her bedroom. "That's the problem. You look like you're ready for a fight."

"I'm always ready for a fight," Farah protests.

"You can't look ready for a fight at Le'Etage." Amanda throws open Farah's closet, pulls open all of the drawers of her dresser, and starts rummaging through her clothes, tossing a few garments on the bed. "There's a dress code. If you're not classy enough, they won't let you in."

"That wasn't in my research!" She's touching my clothes, she's touching my clothes, but I can fix it later, I can sanitize them, I can iron them. She's touching my clothes but it's okay. It's Amanda and it's okay.

"It's a Saturday night," Amanda explains, rifling through Farah's underwear drawer. "Most clubs get, like, fancier on the weekends." Finally satisfied, Amanda shoves an outfit at Farah's chest, and throws the rejected clothes onto the chair by Farah's bed. Farah's fingers twitch, eager to shakes out the wrinkles and hang the clothes back up, but there simply isn't time. She settles for shooting a dark look at Amanda, now poking through her make-up bag, and unbuttoning her blouse.

------------

"Where is she?" Dirk frets, looking at his phone. "She's never late, and we're never early, so I'm concerned that something genuinely terrible has – Farah?" His voice rises in an astonished squeak, and Todd turns around to see what his boyfriend is staring at.

"Damn," he blurts, then claps a hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters, from between his fingers.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Farah mutters, arms crossed beneath her breasts. She's still wearing her practical boots, but now she's got on a black leather mini skirt with blue floral tights, an orange tank top, and a sheer blue scarf knotted around her neck. She's got a thigh holster for her phone and wallet and the black leather strap peeks out from beneath her skirt, framing the musculature of her thigh.

"I have literally no reason to laugh," Todd assures her, dropping his hand. "You look, uh, you look amazing. Like – wow."

"Ew," Amanda says, coming up behind Farah. "A) I didn't need to hear that, and B) what the hell are you wearing?"

Farah brushes past all three of them, pulls out her phone to call a Lyft, ignores the bickering behind her. They need to get to the club and find this ghost so she can come back home and get out of these clothes and never speak of this again.

It's for a case. It's for a case, and I don't have to dance. I look ridiculous but it's for a case, and it's okay, and I don't have to dance. It's okay, I don't have to dance, and it will be okay. It will be okay.

--------------------------------

They get past the bouncer without much trouble, though Todd has to slip her a twenty to excuse his jeans. Farah bitterly glares at his back, wishes she were still wearing her jeans, know that their group wouldn't have gotten in with two members in casual wear. Once they're in the door, Todd steers her directly towards the bar in the back, and makes her order herself two whiskey gingers.

"I can't get drunk tonight," she scolds him, paying for the drinks anyway. "We're here to investigate, not to party."

"You're way too tense to blend in," he explains. "It's not like you're a lightweight – you just need to chill out a little bit." He turns back to the bar to order some insufferably bitter beer, and she drains the first glass in one long swallow, eager to get one hand free.

Oh crap, this is strong. This is a nice club, they don't water down the drinks; am I going to get drunk? No, no I'm not. I'm not going to get drunk, Todd is right, I'm not a light weight. This is fine. This is fine.

Farah sets the empty glass back down on the bar and tips the bartender, and allows Todd to tow her to an open spot by the wall. She tugs her skirt down a smidge and tries to lean casually, but feels like her skin in buzzing. The music is loud and the beat is palpable in her lungs and stomach, and the dance floor is filled with people moving and writhing, jumping and grinning and spinning and holding.

"I guess it looks fun," she mutters, mostly to herself, but Todd laughs kindly.

"No it doesn't," he says, and she's reminded that he understands her. Kind of.

Todd hates himself. He's working on it, and dating Dirk and working for the agency are incredibly good for him, but he made years of bad choices, and the consequences are still catching up to him. Farah doesn't hate herself, per se, but she doesn't always like herself very much. Years of knowing, knowing that she's a disappointment doesn't vanish in six months of embracing her inner freak, and there's always a little voice in the back of her head repeating What would dad think? This isn't appropriate behavior for a professional, and I have to try harder to be better to earn his approval.

It means that she and Todd end up second guessing themselves on a regular basis. If they can jump in the deep end of a case, instinct takes over and they don't worry about what other people think, how they're behaving, how they're perceived. But if given a few minutes to stew, Todd will spiral down into hopelessness and Farah will work herself up into a tizzy. They're sure a hell of a pair.

A flash of the familiar catches her eye, and Farah squints into the crowd until she spots Amanda and Dirk. They haven't stopped by the bar, haven't imbibed at all, but they're both dancing joyfully. Sometimes holding hands and jumping around, sometimes spinning around each other, sometimes grinning at strangers and pulling them in, dancing with them. Farah looks over at Todd to see how he feels about watching his boyfriend dance with a muscly ginger man, but he's just smiling fondly, sipping his beer.

He catching Farah looking over at him and shrugs. "He likes dancing and I like watching him do things he likes," Todd explains awkwardly. "And I usually don't have to dance, so that works out pretty well for us.

"That's – that’s fine," she says. "I mean, I don't get it, but I get it, you know?"

"I know," he says, and finishes his beer. "Come on, drink up. Let's see how painless we can make this."

This is awful. I don't want to dance. I'm going to look like an idiot, I'm going to move my body the wrong way, and I am going to stand out in the crowd, and I'm going to give away the whole case. The ghost – it can't be a ghost, it can't be a ghost – will know that I'm a detective and it will stay away tonight and we'll have to come back and do this again. I can't do this again. I can't. I don't want to dance.

She throws back the rest of her whiskey ginger, places the empty low ball on a nearby high top, and lets Todd drag her into the crowd.

It's exactly as crowded and hot and close as it looks from the outside. There are people all around her and she has no idea who is at her back, who's near her blind spots, what their capabilities are, what their motivations are. It's almost enough to overwhelm her, to make her chest tighten and her shoulders tense, but the fizz of alcohol hitting her system seems to be just strong enough to keep her breathing, keep her moving. She and Todd reach Dirk and Amanda, and the two of them shout in delight.

"Farah," gushes Dirk, patting her upper arm enthusiastically. "I'm so excited you're here! Did Todd get you soused?"

"Shut up," hisses Amanda, but loudly enough to be heard over the music. "She wasn't supposed to know that was the plan."

"You guys aren't that subtle," Farah says dryly.

And then the current song ends and spins seamlessly into a new one, and Amanda reaches forward to yank Farah's elbow and she's dancing. Well, she's moving in the awkward two-step that every middle school dance chaperone knows so well, but at least she isn't standing out in the crowd as much as she would if she were solitary.

This is fine. I just need to keep moving so I don't stick out, and everything will be fine. I don't have to look good, I just need to dance. I don't want to dance, I don't want to be here, but this will be fine. This is fine. This is fine.

Dirk and Amanda seem to have abandoned their non-agency dance partners, and form a defensive square with Todd and Farah; it's easier, honestly, when the three people that she can see most clearly are also the three people that she cares the most about. Amanda isn't in town very often, and to see her looking almost carefree – it's really refreshing. They usually only get to interact when the threat of violence is imminent. Not that the threat of violence isn't imminent now, too, but it feels… it feels okay.

This is okay. This is okay.

The stilted two-step lasts through a few songs as the buzz in her veins rises and then settles into a comfortable warmth. Her muscles loosen and her smile becomes less of a grimace, less forced. Dirk has seized Todd and is moving all around him, treating him as a bit of a mobile prop, and Farah finds herself laughing at the tolerant expression on Todd's face. Her shoulders drop from their defensive stance, and as the beat spins through her chest, her arms start to move along with her legs, and her torso feels more fluid in its presence. There's an unexpected sensation of grace that runs down her spine, and Farah realizes that it feels almost like a flow of fighting stances. One pose moves into another moves into a third; her feet don't trip, she doesn't hit anyone else, she's aware of everything around her. Proprioception works as well for dancing as it does for training, as it does for fighting, and she's good at those things.

She's good at this.

The voice that's always muttering in her ears, worrying, tells her that she still probably looks stupid, that she isn't blending in, that this is unsafe. But the voice that she feels streaming in from her fingers and ears and hips tell her that she's smooth and sharp. Says that she looks deadly, in a good way. Says that this is a place she can also belong. That she does belong.

Farah dances.

Farah dances, and she looks good and she feels good and she is so, so good.

Three songs run into five songs run into seven. She’s sweating and she dances with Amanda and Dirk and Todd and by herself. She throws her head back – never unaware, never uncareful, but joyful – and dances.

Naturally, that's when the ghost attacks, and Farah smiles radiantly and lets the beat spin through her. Let’s go.

----------------------------

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth

#dghda #dirk gently #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #DGHDAtober #fanfiction #Farah Black #anxiety #dancing #It's me y'all #I'm Farah #my favorite anxious bean #Farah thinks 'let's go' the way that Holtzmann says it #lesbian badasses unite

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popentertainmentmusic · 4 years ago

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THE GO-GO’S (2020)

Featuring Belinda Carlisle, Charlotte Caffey, Jane Wiedlin, Gina Schock, Kathy Valentine, Margot Olavarria, Elissa Bello, Paula Jean Brown, Ginger Canzoneri, Miles Copeland, Richard Gottehrer, Lee Thompson, Lynval Golding, Dave Robinson, Pleasant Gehman, Kathleen Hanna, Chris Connelly, Martha Quinn and Stewart Copeland.

Directed by Alison Ellwood.

Distributed by Eagle Rock Entertainment. 98 minutes. Not Rated.

It was a story that could only happen in the 1980s. Five women who could not play instruments but loved the punk scene, got together to form a band. A couple of years later, their first album hit number one – the only album ever by an all-girl group to reach that pinnacle. The group had three hit albums in three years including several hit singles, becoming huge stars before imploding due to drug usage and internal infighting.

“We didn’t really have time to stop and think about what was going on, because we were worked to the bone,” Go-Go’s lead singer Belinda Carlisle had told me in 2010 when I was speaking with her about her autobiography Lips Unsealed. “We had no time for ourselves. Life was constant work, constant being on the road, constant interviews. We didn’t know how to say no to anything. It was kind of a blur. Of course, going from a band that didn’t know how to play instruments or write songs two and a half years prior, and then becoming the number one band in America – it was pretty daunting. And unexpected. We thought that if we could sell 100,000 copies of the album – that would be a big success. We had no idea it would explode like it did.”

The Go-Go’s are both an inspirational story and, in some ways, a cautionary tale. They changed music and fashion and had an excellent time doing it. Their hits – including “Our Lips Are Sealed,” “We Got the Beat,” “Vacation” and “Head Over Heels” are still played regularly. And even though their first iteration – and their glory years – lasted about three years, the band has been an on-and-off situation for decades now. Carlisle (and to a lesser extent guitarist Jane Wiedlin) had successful solo careers, the others have worked in songwriting and production, but they always seem to gravitate back to each other.

The documentary on the band’s rise and long, winding road is now streaming after an acclaimed run on Showtime. It is an endlessly entertaining look at three crazy years of fame and a deep, enduring sisterhood. The relationships have had highs and lows, but they keep ending up back together.

And the highs were sometimes literal “highs.” The Go-Go’s were a notoriously hard-living, hard-partying group. There is a legendary story about Ozzy Osborne throwing guitarist Charlotte Caffey out of a dressing room once because she was just too fucked up to deal with. When Ozzy Osborne was worried for your sobriety, you’d been doing some serious partying.

While the members of the Go-Go’s have moved on from their hard partying days, they don’t pretend they didn’t have an excellent time with a lot of it.

However, the best part of The Go-Go’s is an opportunity to revisit the music of the band. Beyond their obvious hits, terrific album tracks like “Lust to Love,” “Skidmarks On My Heart,” “This Old Feeling,” “Beatnik Beach,” “Surfing and Spying,” “How Much More” and “Yes or No” have all aged incredibly well, showing that the band has a much deeper songbook than a group with only four albums to their name should claim. Even their 2001 comeback album God Save the Go-Go’s had some terrific moments.

Of course, now they have grown older, gotten sober and slowed down some. So has their audience, although to this day they do still reach fans of all ages. And from their punk roots, the ladies are now decidedly mainstream. Hell, their music has been turned into a Broadway musical called Head Over Heels (which was very cool, but so not punk…) and “We Got the Beat” is currently being used in a now ubiquitous commercial for a drug used to combat heart attacks and strokes.

The concert scene is shut down – at least temporarily – due to Covid. Time has passed. (This year is the 40th Anniversary of Beauty and the Beat, how crazy is that???) The world has moved on. To quote from one of their moodier songs from the early days, “It’s everything but party time.”

Yet, seeing The Go-Go’s recording their first song in nearly 20 years, a surprisingly strong comeback single called “Club Zero,” closes The Go-Go’s out on a positive note. The women have grown and changed, they have been through some hills and valleys, but they still got the beat.

“Logically none of it should have happened,” Carlisle told me in that interview a decade ago. “When I look back on it, obviously it’s one of those things that was meant to be. I think there’s a karmic thing with the band, that we were put in each other’s lives for some sort of reason, and not just to make music. The relationship that we have with each other is really intense. It’s love/hate. It’s kind of indescribable, but it was obviously one of those things that was meant to be. There’s no reason why it should have happened.”

The Go-Go’s captures all that heady excitement, the burgeoning energy, the DIY aesthetic, the giddy “eighties-ness” of Go-Go mania. Not only did they make great music, but they had a great time doing it. The Go-Go’s allows you to revisit those halcyon days. It’s one of the best music documentaries I’ve seen in a long time.

Jay S. Jacobs

#The Go-Go's #2021 #Music Review #Belinda Carlisle #Jay S. Jacobs

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elaz-ivero · 4 years ago

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It's an Honour to Eclipse | {New WIP} |

[image description: a storefront during midday with the sunlight bleaching giving the photo an orange tint. the glass door has a 'yes we are open sign' on it but the door and windows are behind iron bars. a rainbow is painted on the front of the building, on an angle white text in bold Garamond font reads, 'It's an Honour to Eclipse' beneath it in smaller font, 'A novella' is typed over the image. /end id]

Genre: LGBT +, Young Adult, Mild Mystery

Setting: Wellington, capital city of New Zealand

P.O.V: Third Person, Omniscient

Synopsis: Neveah after leaving university and moving into her first apartment is reinventing herself, discovering the city she lives in, finding the short-cuts, the cheapest restaurants, shaking her head. But when her estranged ex-boyfriend Oka disappears, no one seems invested in his disappearance, no one seems to be looking for the boy she stopped loving and yet his name keeps appearing, turning up in the margins of her life and Neveah is forced to confront the twisted history and secret life of the boy she intended to leave behind.

CW: Religion, drug use, smoking, police violence

[image description: a skyline at dawn, the bottom of the image is cluttered with the tops of colourful houses, hotels, stores and apartment buildings, the sun brings out warm tones hidden in the paint. Above the tops of the buildings, a great blue sky stretches upward and clouds tinged with the yellow of a rising sun. Over the clouds in the centre of the images words in white bold Garamond font that read, 'WIP Beginnings' /end id.]

Frequently my subconscious approaches me with a set of storylines, a character name and a set of random scenes, It's An Honour To Eclipse was a small series of ideas that naturally grew the more I thought about them. I suppose this story came as the result of me moving into a boarding facility in the middle of the city and having to adapt to the fast-paced individualistic world of the great city. My own fear of the housing crisis and the crime rate of a busy city translated neatly into my main character whose whole life surrounds her trying to perfect some form of self-preservation.

The main drive of this story is her relationship or now lack thereof with Oka, a mysterious unfinished boy who drifts in and out of the story. I still don't know where this novella might leave, maybe Oka's captured by an underground secret society of 'face stealers' or people that replace talented local artists. I honestly have no clue but for now, I'm putting it under the vague category of 'mild mystery'. Often, when writing I don't have a firm understanding of my characters or of the ending that is about to surface I follow the flow of expectations and allow my characters personalities and ambitions to drive the story toward its conclusion. Right now Oka takes over the passages, slips into chapters not intended to be given to him, simply because he is a mystery to me and I want to figure out why this boy disappeared and the clues in his behaviour, in the known parts of him.

[image description: a pale arm is turned toward the camera, the cuff of a chunky knit mustard coloured sweater can be seen at the top right-hand corner of the image. At the centre of the image is a coloured tattoo, a renaissance angel holding a branch of baby's breath and wearing a brown and creme-tone cloth himation. In the bottom left-hand corner of the image white bold Garamond text reads, 'Characters' /end id.]

[image description: two images are collaged together, one portion of the image is a close up of a women face she has dark skin and brown eyes, the other portion of the image is another woman on public transit adjacent to a window showing a brick apartment passing by. Slightly central is text in bold white Garamond font that reads, 'Neveah' /end id.]

Neveah, the main character, Spanish and the first female in her family to graduate from university. She's stuck in a cramped apartment and her style consists of what she finds for free on the sidewalk and the brightest clothing at the second-hand opportunity shops. Committed the relationship sin of getting matching tattoos with a boyfriend she couldn't introduce to her parents, a tattoo of the window of their shared apartments in Neveah's there is a sunset in Oka's it's a night full of stars. Neveah is cautious and constantly conscious of how she can improve her situation and herself and tries to best facilitate her own growth.

More points:

Loves sparkling peach and mango juice

Deals with her problems mainly by listening to audiobooks all night and visiting the aquarium to feed the manta rays and stare at fish for hours, at least their coping mechanisms that aren't too harmful.

Neveah has an obligatory shrine to Jesus with the little framed photo...well painting of the son of God sent to her by her parents.

Dangly earrings and platform sneakers are her ish.

[image description: an overexposed photograph of two people, a girl and a boy in a lounge. The girl is sitting up on the couch, a blanket piled over her, one bare leg is extended in front of her. A boy leans against the couch, shirtless and with curly brown hair he looks off into the distance a pillow balanced in his lap. There is a pot plant on a small coffee table in the upper right-hand corner of the image and the ends of some pale curtains fall in the frame at the top of the image. On the bottom left-hand corner text in white bold Garamond font reads, 'Oka', there is texture on the image as though some tape had been laid over the left edge or a rip has been repaired. /end id.]

Oka is a mess, a boy reliant on Neveah's help to get dressed, make the bed, do the groceries. He's tall with brown hair he dyes grey and when he first meets Neveah he's almost quit smoking but crashes back into his addiction when they start dating and every week picks up a bulk box of discontinued unfiltered cigarettes. His dealer likes Neveah and gives her chocolate as a part of the deal and Oka made his living by picking up odd artistic jobs, being a nude model every Thursday, volunteering at an art club and working as a waiter at a local bar. Absolutely hates his Art history degree and will fight their landlord if the rent rises.

More brief points:

Thinks he's super cool for owning a white zippo.

Unironically owns two cowboy hats.

Is actually a pretty good artist but rarely finishes a piece.

Likes ginger drinks and strawberry milk.

Is temporarily nocturnal.

[image description: a wall of framed photographs and paintings, they are organised together in a way that is both scattered and organized. In the bottom right-hand corner there are two lit candles and on the right of an image, a monstera plant is in the corner of the cream-coloured walls. Someone holds a mug in the bottom right-hand corner. In the centre of the image text in bold white Garamond font reads, 'Planning Excerpts. /end id.]

A set of opening lines;

[image description: Over a dark image of pale pink roses growing against a white concrete wall. White text over the image reads, 'For two months all I could think about was diluting detergent- She took the time to change herself, paint thick lines around her eyes and contour muscles she didn't have. She remembered, however, the intricate way that he took up space-" /end id.]

[image description: A city skyline against a greyish blue sky, the building are in tones of brown, red, orange and yellow. In the upper right-hand corner orange text in Garamond font reads, 'Oka took his time, hours to get dressed, hours to eat, every day was half-lived from midday till three hours before midnight.' /end.id]

I see this story changing and developing the more time I put into it but for now, it is made up of its central characters, the colours I associate with the grand city and the mysterious implications of finding someone yourself.

That's an Honour To Eclipse in its rough beginning stages, I'm looking forward to sharing its progress.

-E

#wip intro #wip excerpt #amwriting #writeblr #writingcommunity #novella #ya novels #novel #character analysis #my characters

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