#just. a lack of education. and my mum explained this to her and she asked questions and learned

[lucielovekj]

I love how Nimona portrays Ballister’s curiosity as not inherently bad, and that when he’s respectful and gentle and acknowledges the sensitivity of the question Nimona is completely willing to explain and to show him. Because no matter what you use that as an allegory for it’s so often the case irl, if a stranger asks something invasive disrespectfully that’s completely different from a supportive loved one asking out of concern or a desire to understand you better, and that in close personal relationships asking questions, even if there’s a risk of stepping out of line or saying something insensitive, is usually good and healthy so long as it’s done properly.

Most of us (just like Nimona) are actively excited to talk about this stuff with those we care about, are happy for people we love to want to know us better, but it’s (obviously) stigmatised by strangers doing so rudely making people think they can’t ask any questions ever, which only increases the ignorance and stigma surrounding whatever the topic is. If someone knows they can tell you when a question is too much, when they trust you and understand what you’re intentions are, it’s good and natural to be inquisitive.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 [𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader [Modern!AU]

SUMMARY — Violet and Eloise spend time together by giving back to their community. Reader and Violet celebrate some unexpected news.

WORD COUNT — 5.3K

WARNINGS — drinking

NOTE — And chapter 8 is finally here! Just a small note, with school starting for me again, I'm going to change the posting days to Saturday so that I can get them out on time (hopefully!)

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑽𝑰𝑰𝑰: 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑲 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑻𝒀 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬

“Mum!”

Violet almost winced at the loud voice, but no matter how old Eloise was, she could always count on her second daughter to yell for her from across the room. 

It had been a while since she had seen her daughter in person, and she was happy they could catch up in a meaningful space. 

“Eloise, oh, I missed you my darling,” she pulled her daughter in, both hands on her cheeks to kiss her forehead and the twenty four year old squirmed under her mother’s touch. 

“Mum,” she whined. 

“Oh stop it,” Violet shushed her. “Come and visit me more, and maybe I won’t be as dramatic.”

“Is that a promise?” Eloise asked. 

“Not at all, I’m your mother,” she teased. “Alright, tell me where we’re working today.”

Eloise smiled, clapping her hands together before linking her arm with her mother’s and leading her in the proper direction. 

“You and I are going to be talking to sixteen and seventeen year old girls about scholarships and educational opportunities,” she explained. “You talk about the money, I talk about the opportunities.”

“Seems straightforward enough,” she nodded. “This is different, you often have me doing homework help with the younger ones.”

“While that is true, I thought you might enjoy something a little more sophisticated,” she shrugged and Violet smiled.

“You missed me.”

Eloise looked particularly unfazed. 

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Violet chuckled and kissed her daughter’s cheek before they entered the classroom together, where a group of girls were waiting for them. 

“Eloise, you brought someone with you today,” one of them, who was sitting cross-legged on her desk, noted. 

“Yes, guys this is my mum,” she introduced. 

“Hi, Eloise’s mum,” they waved and Violet laughed.

“You can call me Violet,” she told them. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

They smiled while Eloise went to the front desk,pulled out some papers and pamphlets, and had one of the girls help her to hand them out. 

“Are you really Eloise’s mum?” one of the girls asked. “You look so young.”

“Unsure if I should be offended by that,” Eloise nudged her, and she chuckled. 

“No, Jill’s right, there’s no way,” another chimed in. 

“I can assure you, I am actually her mother,” Violet nodded her head, coming to join Eloise at the front. “I have the birth video to prove it.”

“Ew,” Eloise scrunched her nose. 

“We were one and done with those, yours was enough to explain the rest of them,” Violet chuckled and pinched her cheek. 

“Okay, enough about my birth video, although I should have expected this kind of conversation after bringing my mum in,” she remarked. “Let’s talk about school.”

There was a bit of a groan among the crowd, and Violet looked over to Eloise to see how she would handle the lack of enthusiasm. 

“Not the school you’re in now, I mean university, trade school, vocational school,” she listed. 

They seemed a little more interested in that, but it still wasn’t the most popular topic of conversation. 

In a perfect world, school should have been accessible to everyone, but the reality was that it often wasn’t, and for those that were told they couldn’t afford to go to any post-secondary education, they weren’t given the tools to properly apply for funding. 

Eloise seemed to know this as the reality for the girls in her group, which was part of the reason why she had brought Violet in the first place. She knew her mother had plenty of experience navigating the world of tuition and scholarships through the work that she and Anthony did together, and it made sense to have someone with her expertise help guide these young women on that path. 

Once Violet began to share a bit, they seemed a little more engaged. Probably just because it was a new voice, and they’d become a little too comfortable with Eloise, which she kept telling herself was a good thing, even if it meant she got teased relentlessly. 

They walked through the step by step process to apply for schools and entrance scholarships along with how different institutions handled their bursaries before Eloise took over and started to explain the different routes and options people could take in their schooling. 

“Violet, did you go to university?” a girl named Priya asked. 

“I did actually,” she nodded. “But my story is a little complicated.” 

“How so?” Tilly added.

Violet and Eloise leaned against the edge of the teacher’s desk while Violet gathered her thoughts to share. 

“Well, my husband and I, we got married quite young,” she said. “I was actually just a little older than you are now.” 

They looked astonished at that notion, but nevertheless she continued. 

“And I thought at the time the thing that felt the most right and made the most sense for me was to stay at home especially after I became pregnant with Eloise’s older brother Anthony, but my husband encouraged me to study something, and we would find a way to make things work between us. So, naturally, I picked business because that’s what he was doing and I didn’t really know what I was interested in, but it was not a particularly easy decision. For some people, everything came so easily, but it took me a while to understand a lot of the concepts that were being taught, and I absolutely hated accounting. However, I quickly came to realize that just because things didn’t come as quickly to me, didn’t mean I couldn’t do them. I just had to work harder than others and so I did, I tried my best, both my husband and I did, and by the end of our schooling we had two young children, and I decided I wanted to stay at home with them.” 

Eloise noticed how engaged the girls had become and made a mental note that perhaps having guests to come and speak about their experiences was a good way to tie in what they were learning about into real life situations. 

“That decision was what I thought was best for me at the time and I don’t regret making it,” Violet continued. “It allowed me to be with my children during those crazy and important times in their lives and I enjoyed it. I know it’s not for everyone, but it was right for me.” 

“So did you ever end up using your business degree?” another girl named Emily spoke. 

“I did, but it wasn’t until much later,” she said. “After my husband passed away, I decided to go back to school and get a Master’s degree while also taking over all of the work that he had been doing before he died, and I’ve been using my degree ever since.” 

“Do you enjoy what you do?” Jill asked. 

Violet looked over at Eloise and nodded her head. 

“Especially when it allows me to come and do things like this with my children. Eloise has always been passionate about education and making sure women everywhere have access to it, and I am more than willing to support and encourage that drive.” 

Everyone seemed happy with Violet’s answers, including Eloise, and she expressed to her as much as they were leaving the school where the program happened after everything had wrapped up. 

When they reached the car, Eloise leaned into the side of the vehicle, looking at her mother. 

“Why don’t you ever let me drive?” she asked. 

“Because you drive like you have a death wish,” Violet said while unlocking the door. “I love you, but you really shouldn’t have passed your driver’s test.” 

Eloise rolled her eyes and got into the passenger’s seat. 

“Then at least stop somewhere for coffee, I just finished my summer course exams, and I’m still recovering,” she sighed. 

“Why don’t you wait until we get home, I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“Mum, tea stopped working a long time ago, and you hate coffee, just please take me to a cafe,” she turned her head against her headrest, and Violet sighed. 

“Fine.”

That was one thing they definitely wouldn’t see eye to eye on.

After her coffee was acquired, Eloise was in a much cheerier mood, and Violet asked her about some of the things she was learning about in her program, which Eloise gladly spoke about until they reached home. 

When they entered the house, there were sounds coming from the TV room, and Violet assumed Hyacinth or Gregory were watching something to pass the time. 

“Why don’t you go see what your siblings are up to, I’m going to hop in the shower then we can visit more, hmm?” 

Eloise nodded, and they quickly exchanged kisses on the cheek before parting ways. 

Violet was more than happy to get underneath the warm water in the shower, feeling the need to be clean and refreshed after a long few days, only having the sound of the water hitting the floor of the shower filling the room.

That wasn’t to say she couldn’t hear the faint chatter coming from downstairs, or Gregory in his room playing video games with his friends, but she elected to ignore them and focus on how the tension in her muscles disappeared under the water. 

When she stepped out of the shower, she grabbed a towel that was hanging on a nearby hook to wrap around herself, and before she could figure out what clothes she was going to wear, a sweet scent filled her nostrils, and her attention was diverted. 

The sweet smell, which she could have sworn were brownies, reminded her of her empty stomach and feeling the hunger overpower her need to be in dry clothes, she walked out of the washroom, hair still dripping, and made her way downstairs in her towel to see if the brownies were ready to eat. 

When she came into the kitchen, she noticed the baked goods on a tray, partially served, and she knew it wouldn’t hurt if she stole a piece. 

She cut out a square and picked it up from the pan, a small hum escaping her lips as she realized it was still warm before turning around to go back upstairs and seeing you standing with your eyes wide open at the entrance to the kitchen. 

“Christ! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, a hand going to her chest to calm her racing heart. 

You were having a hard time finding words to respond to her. Your eyes were transfixed on the water glistening against her freckled, sun-kissed skin, how the droplets seemed to connect dots as they rolled from her thighs down her legs. 

Her hair was dripping wet and slightly pushed back at the scalp before falling around her shoulders in waves, her lashes full, dark, and wet against steel blue eyes. 

And the towel, oh, the towel was almost cruel. How it covered just enough to keep your mind going and veering off in places it really shouldn’t have been, especially when the woman in front of you was your boss. 

But still, it didn’t stop you from wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers across her shoulder, down her arm, hooking your fingers around the fabric of the towel and pulling it down and leaving her completely bare and dripping in front of you. 

You heard her say your name once more, and you realized your mouth was slightly agape, so you closed it and cleared your throat. 

“I-um-Hyacinth-she-” you were a bumbling mess and no matter how hard you tried to avert your gaze, your eyes stayed completely and totally on her. 

“Damn, Mum,” Eloise came waltzing into the kitchen behind you. “Couldn’t even wait until you were dressed?” she teased, and it seemed that was when it clued in for Violet that she was, in fact, quite exposed. 

You didn’t think you’d ever seen her face go that red and she quickly swatted Eloise’s hand away as she playfully tugged at the damp towel, clearly only trying to get a rise out of her mother. 

“I-I’m going to go get changed,” she shook her head and ran out of the kitchen, brushing past you before making her way up the stairs, an extra hand tugging the back bottom portion of the towel down so she didn’t expose herself further on the way up. 

Around ten minutes later, Violet came back downstairs and made her way into the kitchen again to procure the brownie she never got to eat before heading to the TV room where you, Eloise, Hyacinth, and now Gregory were all sitting on the couch, scrolling through options of something to watch.

“Mum, hi!” Hyacinth grinned. 

“Dearest,” she smiled and took the only empty seat which was next to you on the couch. “I’m guessing Hyacinth called you?” 

You were having a hard time looking her in the eye and instead settled on nodding your head. 

“Her exact words were that she would rather jump off a cliff than spend time alone with Gregory, which I thought was a little dramatic, but it seemed the feeling was quite mutual.” 

Violet looked over and noticed how you didn’t turn to her when you were talking like you usually did and then her mind drifted back to the kitchen, and she could feel her cheeks heat up once more at the mere thought.

“Well um, I suppose I should thank you for making sure that I remain a mother of eight instead of six,” she attempted to joke, but it came out much flatter than she had wanted. 

“So, do you guys do this often?” Eloise asked. “I feel like all the fun stuff’s happened since I left.” 

“Well, I am here quite often for work,” you told her. “And sometimes it just happens.” 

“Like ice cream with Franny,” Hyacinth said. 

“You don’t have to mention that every chance you get,” Gregory replied. “I get it, I should have come with you guys.” 

“Now what fun would that be,” Hyacinth grinned and leaned back into the couch. “Why don’t we watch Blended?” 

“Absolutely not,” Gregory took the remote. “I am not watching another Adam Sandler rom com.” 

“Gregory, what do you want to watch?” you asked. 

He sighed and thought for a moment while continuing to scroll through options. 

“I don’t know, just not a rom com,” he said. 

“Wait, I have a solution,” Eloise said, and everyone listened up. “Mum and Hyacinth like romance, I like books, you like Colin Firth,” she pointed to Gregory. “And I’m note sure how you would fit into all this, do any of those sound appealing?” Eloise asked you. 

“All three actually,” you nodded. “Loved Colin in The King’s Speech.” 

“There we have it, the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice,” Eloise grinned. 

Surprisingly, everyone seemed content with the choice and Gregory went to find what service it was available on. 

“Oh no need, Greg, I bought it ages ago, just go into the purchased TV shows,” Eloise explained to her little brother. 

“You do realize this is a six hour commitment,” Hyacinth said, looking at the episodes. 

“Oh, we can’t sit and just watch the telly for six hours,” Violet shook her head. “We’ll just have to get together again and finish it in chunks.” 

“Party pooper,” Eloise grumbled, sipping her coffee, and Violet leaned over you to pinch her cheek. 

“Come on Violet, it’s your day off, you sure you can’t spare it?” you finally looked over at her. 

She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but the thought of sitting next to you for that length of time did seem appealing. 

“And if we start it now it’ll still be a decent hour out,” you said.

She looked at you and her three kids who all had pleading looks on their faces, even Gregory, who wasn’t particularly fond of romantic movies and TV shows, seemed to be invested in finishing the story in one go.

“Gregory, you really want to do this?” she asked. 

“I like Austen,” he nodded his head. “Lizzie and Mr. Darcy remind me of Kate and Anthony.” 

Eloise almost spat out her coffee.

“Okay now I’m not sure I want to watch this anymore,” she joked, and Hyacinth nudged her. 

“Shut up, El. Just play it,” she urged, and Violet sighed with a chuckle, clearly she was now definitely required to commit. 

“I hope you know my hair is going to frizz because of this,” she looked over at the rest of you sitting on the couch, touching her still damp hair. 

“Don’t worry, Mum. You’ll look like an 80s babe, it’ll be great,” Eloise assured her. 

You chuckled a little at Eloise’s comment and imagined Violet with her wavy hair poofy and slightly untamed, much different than her usually straightened or perfectly loose curled hair. 

It was a rather distracting thought and consumed your mind for a large portion of the beginning of the episode. It was good you were familiar with the storyline already. 

You felt comfortable enough to curl a little further into the couch, taking some of the blanket Hyacinth had thrown across the couch. You offered some of the blanket to Violet, and given how little was left she was practically pressed against you to get under it. 

It was remarkable how your body could feel as though it was burning even when you weren’t even remotely close to being hot. Simply Violet’s touch, her arm against yours, and you felt as though you were on fire. 

By the time you had reached the end of the second episode, you finally gathered the courage to look over at Violet, seeing that her hair had, in fact, gained some volume and only a slight outline of the wet waves that used to frame her face remained. 

“It’s bad isn’t it,” Violet said softly as the end credits came up. 

“Hmm?” 

“My hair, it’s a mess,” she tried to gather it into a ponytail to hide it, but your hand instinctively went up to move hers away. 

“It’s fine, Violet,” you assured her. 

She was unconvinced, but something in your eyes made her listen to you anyway, but not without a bit of protest first. 

“Does it look nice, or is it just fine, because those are two different-”

“You look beautiful,” you interrupted her. The admission was so quiet the Bridgerton children sitting next to you didn’t catch it over the sound of the opening theme.

Violet had been expecting some half-hearted response about how it didn’t matter, and she was simply going to stay at home for the rest of the day and could fix it later, but instead, was met with striking sincerity. 

She tried to play this off and smiled gingerly, tucking her hair behind her ears and focusing again on the TV screen. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hey, does anyone want popcorn? Or snacks?” Eloise asked, looking at both ends of the couch, redirecting your attention.

“I could go for some snacks,” you nodded. “Let me give you a hand.” 

Both you and Eloise untangled yourselves from under the blanket and headed into the kitchen, leaving Violet with the two younger siblings. 

“So you seem pretty chill,” Eloise noted while pulling out the popcorn kernels from the cupboard. “Why on earth do you hang out with my family?” 

You chuckled a little while plating some of the brownies and shrugged your shoulders. 

“Your mum would call it an occupational hazard,” you told her. “I don’t think she realizes I just enjoy spending time with you all.” 

“God, I don’t know what could ever compel you to do that,” Eloise shook her head and you rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t know, Eloise, have you spent much time around your family recently?” you asked. “In my experience, they’re quite kind and welcoming.” 

“I suppose so, but they’re also incredibly annoying,” Eloise remarked. “Have you met Colin yet? He’s the worst of the lot.” 

“I have not met Colin, but something tells me you’re only saying that because he is engaged to your best friend,” you teased her. “Don’t worry, I would find him annoying if he was my brother.” 

“At least we can agree on one thing,” Eloise sighed, heating up the pot and some oil on the stove. “But in all honesty, you’ve probably gathered enough from  Mum that we don't really have a lot of close friends. A lot of people we see out of obligation or out of duty, but only a really small handful we spend time with just to enjoy ourselves. Her especially, the rest of us branched out a bit, but she was close to Dad and Agatha and, well, that was it.” 

You listened to her intently while grabbing some more food to bring with you from the pantry. 

“She likes you, I can tell,” Eloise smiled. “And it’s good for her to have more friends, I think, anyway. She needs to let loose, get that bloody stick from out of her behind,” she waved her arm about dramatically. “She won’t listen to us, but she might listen to you.” 

You pressed your lips together and smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Eloise.” 

And lo and behold, her advice came in handy much sooner than you expected.

—

Violet didn’t think she would ever get used to when the house was completely silent, but she supposed she would have to soon enough with both Gregory and Hyacinth approaching that age where they would be looking to start their own lives. This was just a taste of what was to come. 

She was walking past the foyer of the house when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She picked it up and saw your name flash across the screen. Violet frowned curiously and accepted the call, placing the phone against her ear. 

“Hello?”

“Violet?” your voice seemed exuberant for the late hour. “Can you hear me alright?”

“I can hear you fine, what’s going on?” she asked. 

“Check the news,” you replied simply. 

“What?”

“I’m almost at your door, just hang up and check the news,” you said, and Violet was even more confused. 

She listened to your instructions, hung up the phone and went to the news application, scrolling through a few of the top suggested headlines for her until her eyes fell on what you were referring to. 

BREAKING: Landon Norris Retracts Statement About Lady Violet Bridgerton

A hand went to cover her mouth on instinct as she heard the door open behind her. She turned around and saw you standing there with a wide smile on your face, but she was still processing the information. 

He had actually retracted his statement. This was the best case scenario. 

“Oh my God,” she looked at you, astonished, as you came close to her, shutting the door behind you. “Oh my God.”

What came next was natural; Violet wrapped her arms around your neck, and you wrapped yours around her waist and you pulled each other into a tight embrace, disbelieving chuckles escaping both your lips. 

This wasn’t to say that everything was over, but surely it made things easier. 

“Did you come all the way here for this?” Violet asked with a laugh, pulling away from you for a moment. 

“I was in the area,” you shrugged. “Violet, this is huge, we need to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” she looked at you skeptically. “It’s past ten, how do you plan on celebrating?” 

“Champagne, obviously,” you pointed to the bag you’d left at the door, “Don’t worry, it’s chilled.” 

Violet bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Hyacinth was staying with Daphne for the weekend and Gregory was at a friend’s place, perhaps it was alright for her to indulge, just this once. 

“I’ll get the flutes,” she nodded, and you grinned and clapped your hands together, getting the bottles and moving to join her in the kitchen where you started. 

You knew Violet was partial to a glass of wine here and there, which is why you figured a bottle of champagne between the two of you wouldn’t amount to much. 

Violet drank the first glass so fast she began to hiccup before her second, which turned into a third as you migrated towards their more informal living room. 

“Oh, bollocks,” she looked at the bottle, seeing it was empty, trying to pour the last few drops into her glass. 

“You want more?” you looked at her, noting her rosy cheeks in the dim light. Barely any time had passed since you’d opened the bottle and you were quite surprised to see you’d finished it between the two of you. You hadn’t quite had enough to be more than tipsy, but you thought maybe Violet’s tolerance was not necessarily as high as you had anticipated. 

“It’s too quiet,” she shook her head, ignoring your question, disappointed with the atmosphere of the space. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“How do you want to celebrate?” you repeated her question from earlier, putting your glass down on the coffee table. 

She stole it from you and walked over to the stereo, sipping at whatever champagne you’d leftover, fiddling with the buttons until the loud sound of the radio echoed through the room. You both winced before she turned it a little lower, changing the channel until it landed on a throwback station. 

“Fuck, I love this song!” she grinned. 

“Oh my God, Violet,” your eyes grew wide as you chuckled, never having heard the very polite and refined woman swear, even in the intense circumstances you’d encountered together over the past few months. 

“I’m British, I think it’s a felony if I don’t like this song,” she informed you.

She downed the rest of what was in your glass and came up towards you, poking you roughly in the shoulder. 

“You’re not celebrating right.” 

“Oh really?” you chuckled. 

“Yes, really,” she insisted, frowning at the fact that you weren’t agreeing with her. “We should be doing something.” 

Violet came even closer to you, first placing her hands on your shoulders before resting her arms across them, your bodies mere inches apart. 

“Don’t you think so?” 

“I think you’re drunk,” you said, and she shook her head. 

“No, no, no, I’m perfectly fine,” she attempted to assure you, but remained unconvincing as a hiccup escaped past her lips. 

“Violet, you’re drunk,” and the reality of the situation dawned on you. “God, I got my boss drunk,” you whispered to yourself. 

Feeling a need to rectify the situation, you told her you’d be a moment and stepped closer to the exit of the room and pulled out your phone, looking through your contacts for a number and calling it. 

You listened as the phone rang, not paying attention as Violet quietly left the room when the line connected. 

“Mate, it’s almost midnight,” Benedict’s voice rang through the speaker. 

“Who are you, a grandma?” you asked him with a scoff. 

“Are you drunk?” he said, hearing the slight slur of your words. “And you could have said grandpa.” 

“No, grandma,” you insisted while Violet came back into the room, again, not that you were paying any attention. “And I’m not drunk, I’m just a little tipsy.” 

“And you called because…” he urged you to continue. 

“See, I called you because your mum is drunk,” you sucked in some air through your teeth. 

“You got Mum drunk?” he laughed, clearly amused at the notion. “Very bold move.” 

“Oh shut up, we were celebrating,” you rolled your eyes. “Now, how do I make it stop?” 

“What is she doing right now?” Benedict asked, and you finally turned back into the room, noticing Violet had procured a bottle of wine and was now pouring some into the champagne flute and drinking as she danced quietly to the music, simple movements of her feet, hips swaying along. 

“Uhh, she got into some more wine and is dancing…I think?” 

“Yeah, good luck,” he smacked his lips together, and your eyes went wide. 

“What do you mean, good luck?” you asked. “Benedict, I got my boss drunk! I got your mum drunk!” 

“Christ, relax,” he laughed. “At this point, there’s no going back, just…enjoy yourself.” 

“So, your solution is for me to get drunk?” you confirmed. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded. “I left a vodka soda in the back of the fridge, help yourself. Now, I am going to bed.” 

Before you could protest, Benedict hung up, and you pressed your lips together before shoving your phone in your pocket, attempting to decide what you would do. 

Before long, you said screw it and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge until you found the vodka soda Benedict told you about, cracking it open and doing your best to chug its contents. 

When you returned to the living room, the music still blaring, you walked up to Violet and stole the champagne flute out of her hand and began drinking the wine from it. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed, but began giggling when she saw you downing the wine. 

“Payback,” you poked her shoulder and she took your hands, pulling you closer. 

“You ready to celebrate?” she asked. 

“If, by celebrate, you mean dance, then yes, I am most definitely ready,” you nodded your head, the alcohol slowly making its way into your system, lowering your inhibitions as it had already done for Violet. Clearly, it was less bad if both you and your boss were drunk than if only she was, that made logical sense, right?

You were a little shocked when her hands went to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Your faces were so close you could feel her breath on you, the scent of wine and champagne mingling and emanating from you both. 

Your hips travelled together in smooth, rhythmic movements, and your eyes closed, focused on the warmth you felt from having her against you, or perhaps it came from your own body, slowly crawling and travelling to every extremity. 

You let your arms wrap around her neck lazily, one hand even daring to tangle itself in Violet’s hair. 

It was so easy to lose yourself in the music, or it was, until you could feel Violet’s breath against your ear.

“You look pretty when you dance,” she murmured and you could feel her nose press against your temple and then, suddenly, that was all you could think about. 

The song eventually faded out into the background, and Violet pulled away slightly. Her face was red and whether it was from the alcohol, the dancing, or the close proximity, you couldn’t tell. 

She seemed a little embarrassed, quickly using your shoulder to hide her face, her grip on your hips still strong. 

“You alright, Vi?” you chuckled. 

“No, I never dance.”

The hum and vibration of her voice against your neck was enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“Really?” Your voice came out a little more strangled than you had anticipated. “I have a hard time believing that.” 

A very hard time, with the way she moved against you, there was no way. 

“Believe it,” she insisted. 

“Well, if it’s only for lack of a dance partner…” your voice trailed off, and Violet looked back up at you, the beginning of a giggle escaping her lips. 

“You would dance with me again?” she asked. 

“Only if you paid,” you teased. “For tax purposes, of course.” 

She laughed at your joke, unable to control herself even though it wasn't that funny, using you for support to stay upright. 

“God, Violet you’re so pissed,” you laughed while holding her up. 

“Am…not,” she tried to insist, but her overwhelming joyfulness said otherwise. 

“Is this how you wanted to celebrate?” you asked her, trying to get her to look up at you, but it took her a moment, her balance compromised and using you as a human pillar, her arms now comfortably wrapped around your waist. 

“Definitely,” she nodded. “What were we celebrating, again?” 

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sound bubbling up from your throat and causing your chest to rumble while warm tears streamed from your eyes without much control. 

“Oh Violet,” you sighed after finally calming yourself down. “Never change.” 

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch @etherynn @lilisdarling @fictionalized-lesbian

[gothicwidowsworld]

Next adventure C.M

Platonic!Cillian x Platonic!Reader (father/daughter like relationship)

Y/N L/N’s wouldn’t call herself an emotional person, hell she could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d cried in the past 3 years… other than work of course. 8 years, 96 months, 417 weeks or 2922 days however you wanted to look at it they were significant numbers. And the life that had become her norm was coming to an end. It could be seen as dramatic but it really was the end of an era. The sixth and final series, the y/h/c young woman’s journey as Viola Shelby was coming to a close. Goodnight Vienna so to speak. 

Scrolling through her phone the y/s/c 20 year old frowned, she loved watching the edits and fan theories regarding the show and soon that would cease to exist as well. Sighing heavily Y/N stabbed at her lunch miserably. “That was a mighty big sigh” Cillian teased, taking a seat from across the girl, concern filling his sharp features at the lack of response from the young actress. Over the years Cillian had become protective of Y/N, he was practically her work parent at this point. They’d met pretty early on in the show’s production, the casting directors wanting to make sure they could work well together considering how large a part their characters played into each other's storylines. The then twelve year old had been wide eyed and in awe of the cameras, makeup trailers and sets. “Are you ok?” Cillian asked gently, The Irishman often spent his lunchtime with the girl if neither of them were filming. Despite still wearing his character's familiar wardrobe his concern and soft spoken nature was like night and day. 

“It’s just… I can’t believe it's going to be over.” Y/N sighed again placing her phone down. “Are you going to miss me even just a little bit?” the young woman asked, nibbling her bottom lip anxiously at the thought of it all ending. “You guys are like my own little family now…” Y/N added quietly, her plate of pasta seemingly forgotten. “We’re still going to talk… You’ll probably still facetime me at insane hours. Nothing’s going to change.” Cillian replied reassuringly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he watched Y/N absorb his words. “It’s not the end of the world sweetheart.” Cillian added quickly, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it. He’d begun calling Y/N sweetheart after a couple of days on set up until her 18th birthday when she claimed she was too grown up for a nickname any more… at least one that was ‘super cringe’. The actor had to routinely remind himself Y/N wasn’t a little girl anymore, she’d grown up before his eyes into a lovely young woman. 

“Have you got any project’s lined up for once this wraps?” the dark haired man asked, taking a bite of his own lunch. Shaking her head Y/N laughed “Not yet but Mum thinks I should focus on Uni just so I have a back up ‘if the acting thing doesn’t work out.’” the woman explained mimicking a small extract of her mother's lecture. “Your Mum’s a wise woman.” Cillian praised chuckling at the young adults' face of disagreement. The displeased look was paired with Y/N’s infamous scowl and a roll of her y/e/c orbs. “Since when has acting and education gone hand in hand for me. You know I only auditioned for Peaky to get a day off school…. Had a maths test.” The girl shivered slightly at the memory of the Year 8 mock test. Maths had never been her strong point, in fact while revising for her math GCSE’s Joe had offered to help her with the homework… let’s just say he never offered again. Y/N had all these memories, memories full of cast members, crew and soon she’d never see some of those people again. It was a bit scary leaving the safety of Peaky Blinders. Leaving the little family she’d built over the years. She just had to remember to look for the next adventure. 

“Well I'm sure whatever you turn your hand to you’ll be fantastic. No, I know you’ll be fantastic.” Cillian corrected himself. The man was sure Y/N had a brilliant career ahead of herself. He’d seen her grow from an awkward, excitable preteen to a confident, talented and devoted young woman. He didn’t want to seem too soppy but he held a torch of Father-like pride towards the girl and he couldn’t wait to see her next chapter.

 Memories 

[helnjk]

Snowed In - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes! by my love @lupinsclassroom

Ah HA I finally came up with a Charlie request. Okay, of course it’s professor reader because I’m obsessed with them but like....Charlie visits hogwarts, and then (I know logistically this isn’t possible bc ✨magic✨) but he gets snowed in and has to stay in the castle for the weekend and it’s just cozy and soft 🥺

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: sometimes, it takes just the right circumstances to get what you want. 

Warnings: meal mention, reference to/implied sex (blink and you’ll miss it), winter fluff! 

A/N: this took me so long to get done aaaaaaaa 😩 but yay ! more COMC professor & charlie 🥰

– 

Christmas at Hogwarts was always a spectacular sight. The professors always loved to go above and beyond with the decorations, but even without them, the grounds and the castle looked, well, magical. 

“Professor L/N?” a voice from across the room mumbled. 

Y/N looked up from the stack of papers she was grading to see Eloise Abbott, wrapped in her cloak and her Hufflepuff scarf, standing at the entrance to her office. A neatly wrapped present was clutched in her gloved hands as she waited for her professor to invite her inside. 

Athena was perched on her stand behind Y/N, resting after a long afternoon of delivering various Christmas gifts. Her sleeping figure seemed to appease the student’s apprehension slightly as she called out, “Come on in, Eloise!” 

“Isn’t the train supposed to be leaving soon? What’re you still doing in the castle?” Y/N questioned, stashing away the stack of parchments on her desk, that way her attention would be fully on the Hufflepuff. 

“Yep!” Eloise replied quickly, “I just wanted to drop off a present for you before I go! I know that you’re staying here for the holidays, right?” 

“You’re right.” Y/N smiled. “Thank you for thinking of me, Eloise, that was very sweet of you.”

A swift nod was her reply, and as quick as she had come, Ms. Abbott turned on her heel and darted out of the room. Thankfully, she remembered to yell a hasty, “Happy Christmas!” over her shoulder before she was fully out of hearing range. 

Y/N shook her head with a soft smile on her lips. Even after being her professor for nearly six years now, Eloise was still a shy little thing when it came to communicating with professors or any sort of authority figure. Still, the gesture warmed her heart greatly. 

The thought of gifts and spending Christmas alone, well, not exactly alone, but not with the Weasleys this year put a slight damper on her mood, though. Minerva had asked her if she could spend the holidays at Hogwarts this year since they were running short of staff who could chaperone the students. Of course, Y/N could never say no to her favorite teacher turned cool boss. It was the least she could do. 

With a sigh, she stroked Athena’s soft feathers and came to the conclusion that she was too distracted to continue her grading. 

Despite her attempt for some alone time, Minerva managed to stop her in the hallway. 

“Ah Y/N, just the person I wanted to see,” the older professor smiled.

“Anything I can do for you, Min?” Y/N replied.

She nodded, “I need your help with a particularly odd creature in my office. It doesn’t seem to want to leave.” 

The two professors briskly walked towards the Headmistress’ office side by side, their winter robes swishing around their legs. Professor L/N’s brows furrowed at the lack of concern Minerva had shown at the fact that there was a creature in her office. Of course, the older witch was highly skilled and educated, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a problem. What did she need Y/N’s help for then? 

“Er, Minerva,” Y/N began as they turned a corner, “What creature exactly is in your office? Do you think we need backup?” 

“I didn’t exactly get a good look at it, I just saw that it had orange-colored fur.” 

“Minerva.” 

The sly grin that she was met with did nothing to help the situation. Y/N simply rolled her eyes and went along with the all too obvious scheme the Headmistress had hatched up this time. 

The pair said nothing else as they continued their journey to the Minerva’s office, save for the password–’panthera leo’–once they reached the gargoyle statue. Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her as they ascended the spiral staircase, especially since the older witch hadn’t stopped grinning. 

“So, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on despite the fact that you’re grinning at me like a cheshire cat?” Y/N probed, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’ll see, dear.” 

The younger professor had to push down the urge to roll her eyes. Thankfully, they had reached the top of the staircase, and the words she was about to say got stuck in her throat as she saw what, or rather who, was in the office. 

“Charlie?” she gasped, after pushing the door open. 

Leaning against the large oak desk with his legs crossed in front of him was Charlie Weasley with a shit-eating grin. Y/N paused at the entrance to the Headmistress’ office, her eyes darting between the redhead and her boss. 

“He’s the orange-furred creature that you can’t seem to get out of your office?” 

Even as she spoke the words, her head couldn’t wrap around the absurdity of the situation. Charlie let out a loud laugh at her question, his eyes moving his former professor and head of house, who had just slipped past Y/N and into her office. 

“I asked Minnie here to help me out some with surprising you,” he grinned cheekily. 

He pushed off the desk and took a few short strides. Faster than she could comprehend, he was standing in front of her, soft eyes staring down at hers and rough hands grasping at her arms. 

“Hi,” he spoke softly. 

In an instant, she practically melted in his arms, “Hi Charlie.” 

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought them out of their little bubble and their heads turned in Minerva’s direction.

“Alright Mr. Weasley, I helped you surprise Y/N,” she smiled knowingly, “Now off with you two! I’ve got a school to run.” 

With a shout of thanks, Charlie took Y/N’s hand and practically dragged her out of the office. Biting her lip to contain her grin, she felt like she was a student again, laughing through the deserted hallways as she and her boyfriend ran towards her quarters. 

There was a lot of tripping over their own feet and a lot of giggling, but she hadn’t felt this elated in a long time. Whenever Charlie would turn to look back at her, the edges of her lips would turn upwards automatically, as if he was the source of her happiness and her laughter.

Which, in a lot of ways, he was. 

Y/N had never been so glad to see the castle empty. It meant that she could let her professional professor facade down and let loose without having to think too hard about the repercussions. 

“So,” she started as they reached the hallway containing her room, “Care to tell me when you planned all of this?” 

The sparkle of mischief and delight in Charlie’s eyes nearly made her swoon, “I can’t stay long, unfortunately. Mum’s expecting me at the Burrow tonight, but I got an early portkey so that I could see you before Christmas.” 

Pushing up on her tiptoes, Y/N kissed him softly, “You’re wonderful, do you know that?” 

“Careful there, love, we don’t want to boost my ego too much.” 

–

“You all set?” Y/N asked, smoothing out the creases in Charlie’s scarf and trying to busy herself in an attempt to distract her mind from the thought of not spending Christmas in his arms. 

With a deep sigh, he answered, “Yep, just about.” 

Majority of their afternoon together was spent in bed, much to their joint amusement. In Charlie’s defense, he had come to do whatever it was that Y/N wanted, and well, that was what she ended up choosing. In hindsight, it was probably their best option anyway, since the weather outside the castle had slowly begun to worsen. 

By the time they had stumbled out of the warmth of Y/N’s bed and had gotten dressed once again, it was practically dark outside due to the snowstorm that rolled in. 

“It’s looking pretty rough out there,” she noted, as the pair of them walked hand in hand down the deserted hallways. 

Now and then, a student staying at Hogwarts for the holidays would pass by them and try their hardest not to stare at their hot Care of Magical Creatures professor and her equally hot dragon tamer boyfriend. 

Each time a student rushed past, Charlie would wait until they were out of sight before making eye contact with Y/N and smiling so big it shouldn’t have been humanly possible. 

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbled after the third student they encountered disappeared around the corner. 

“You love me,” he shrugged. 

The bickering pair paused mid step when they heard a new set of footsteps approaching them. For the second time that day, Y/N watched as Minerva approached. 

“I’m afraid your journey to the Burrow has to be put on hold, Mr. Weasley,” she spoke as she reached the pair. 

“What?” Y/N and Charlie said together. 

“The storm outside is much too harsh for anyone to walk past the apparition wards, even with impervious charms,” she explained.

“What about your floo, can’t he use that to get to the Burrow?” 

As Y/N spoke, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the pang of excitement she felt at the thought of being able to spend more time with Charlie. 

“Ministry’s just gotten back with word that the Floo Network is under maintenance until further notice.” 

Charlie’s eyes flickered from Minerva’s solemn eyes to Y/N’s slightly confused ones, before he nodded, “Alright. Seems like I’m spending the night at Hogwarts then.” 

–

Dinner that night was amusing to say the least. As most students were at home with their families, those who stayed behind all fit in the long table that was usually the Head Table. Minerva, Charlie, and Y/N tried their hardest to contain their smiles at the incredulous looks that some of the students had. 

For some, it was their first time being in such close and intimate proximity to their professors. Others were wary of the attendance of the non-Hogwarts staff member, partly because he was a dragon tamer and mostly because he was Professor L/N’s boyfriend. 

Y/N’s heart had melted, however, at the sight of Charlie having a chat with the younger students. She had a flashback of summers at the Burrow when his younger siblings still weren’t old enough to attend Hogwarts, and how they looked at him with wide eyes and thought everything he said was gospel. 

“And then he opened his mouth so big I thought I was done for,” he spoke with such a tone that even Y/N was drawn in, “But turns out the old bugger was just going in for a yawn.” 

The end of his story elicited a giggle from the youngest student at the table and Y/N was sure that her heart was positively a pile of goo.

As discreetly as she possibly could, she placed her hand on top of Charlie’s thigh and grinned cheerfully as he took the signal and placed his larger one on hers. 

“Is it bad if I said that I’m glad you’re going to be here tonight?” she whispered when most of the attention wasn’t on them anymore.

“Absolutely not.” Charlie grinned and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you think the Floo being down sounds a little odd, though?” 

The pair glanced at each other and then their eyes drifted towards the Headmistress. As if she could read their minds–which was entirely possible–Minerva caught their eyes and smirked from behind her goblet as she took a sip from it. 

“Honestly, who knows what Minerva can come up with,” Y/N murmured, “She could tell us that there was a rogue Ministry gryffin creating potions in the dungeons and we would believe her.” 

The nonchalance of her statement choked out a loud laugh from Charlie. The stilted noise coming from him as he tried to contain his amusement ended up making her giggle as well. As the group finished up with their meal, the pair of them would catch each other’s eyes once in a while and another round of trying to repress their laughs would begin. 

They waited as everyone shuffled out of the Great Hall, stomachs full and eyes slightly droopy from the big meal. Their hands found each other as they walked down the chilly halls, providing a source of heat and comfort in the midst of so much cold. 

Once they reached Y/N’s quarters, Charlie flopped down on the bed with a sigh, stretching out on the comforter with a groan. 

Y/N couldn’t resist the urge to crawl onto the bed, tucking herself at his side. The familiar warmth of Charlie’s strong arm wrapping around her was enough for her to sigh contentedly, closing her eyes and succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep. 

“Wait, wait…” she heard him mumble, feeling the words vibrate through his chest. 

A groan escaped her lips as she felt him shift, pulling the both of them into a seated position. 

“Can’t, ‘m comfy here,” she grumbled, refusing to open her eyes. 

Instead of replying, Charlie carefully maneuvered them so that she lay back on the cold sheets and he slipped off the bed. It was silent for a few moments, save for the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. Y/N was tempted to crack open her eyes just to see what he was up to, but the comfort posed by the bed was too strong. 

She knew he would eventually come back, and he did, the bed dipping as he kneeled on the space next to her. 

“Love,” he whispered, his hand brushing her cheek softly. 

“What’s it?” she mumbled, finally easing her eyes open. 

Beside her, sitting on the backs of his heels, Charlie held out a wrapped gift. The sight of him with a sheepish smile on his face, hands fidgeting nervously with the ribbon wrapped around the package, was enough for Y/N to sit up quickly. 

“Charlie?” she asked, tentatively taking the gift from him, “What’s this?” 

Her boyfriend cleared his throat before speaking, “I, erm, I was going to wait to have this delivered to you on Christmas morning but, I figured I’d rather see you open it in person.” 

Y/N didn’t need any more explanation as she tore open the wrapping. An intricately designed box opened to reveal the most beautiful necklace she had ever laid her eyes on. It was fairly simple, the design, a single pearl-like object in the center of a silver chain. If it weren’t shifting through iridescent hues of pink then blue then green then purple, she would have thought it were a pearl.

Tentatively, her fingers glided over the small round thing and it was warm to the touch.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, her eyes flitting upwards to meet Charlie’s.

“You like it?” he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I love it!” she grinned, “Will you put it on me?” 

For having such large and calloused hands, Charlie was nimble and quick with the clasp of the necklace, his fingers sending shivers down her spine as he placed the necklace on her. 

“It’s made out of the shell of an Antipodean Opaleye’s egg,” he explained when she turned to face him once more, “I asked a friend of mine back in Romania if he could fashion it onto a necklace. I saw the shell and thought it would look stunning on you, I was right.” 

With a soft smile, Y/N’s arms snaked around his neck and she pressed a soft kiss on his lips, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

“Love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The couple stayed in each other’s arms for a long time, relishing in the warmth and comfort of the other. When they finally managed to get dressed for bed and Y/N was tucked under Charlie’s arm for the night, their hearts were full. 

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispered as they were lulled to sleep. 

–

add yourself to my taglist!

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @lumos-barnes​ @cruciostyles​ @writingsomewrongs​

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic​ @lifeofkaze​ @oldschoolkiddo​ @turtletaylor98​ @id-kill-to-be-an-assassin​

[lelitachay]

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: An accident in the North mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna’s care. And during this time, Anna begins to notice there are peculiar things about Elsa’s life she wished she could understand. Everything starts to make sense after a family reunion.

Modern AU. Kristanna - Frohana - Kristoff & Elsa BrOTP. Chapters 1 to 10 - Here   Chapters 11 to 20 - Here Chapter 21 - What to do Chapter 22 - What’s there to lose? Chapter 23 - Seek the truth Chapter 24 - An abrupt end Chapter 25 - A fresh start Chapter 26 - A promising future

-

Olaf katten

With a tired sigh, Elsa crumbled the piece of paper in her hand and threw it into the bin near the table, where the rest of the paper balls were lying. She had been sitting at her kitchen table for over an hour writing ideas for her business, like Marshall and she had agreed to do; but so far, she had nothing worth sharing.

Sometimes she wondered whether people struggled so much to put their ideas into words, or if it was only her who had trouble with it. She guessed her lack of education could be an obstacle at times. But still, this time she felt there was something else stopping her. She had ideas about her business. Several ideas in fact. But the moment she wrote them down, she began to wonder if they were good enough, or if Marshmallow was going to like them. Her knowledge about businesses was limited and the last thing she wanted was to drag Marshall down with useless suggestions. Part of her suspected he was going to agree with whatever idiotic thing she came up — just for the sake of being nice. And that was the last thing they needed. For that very reason, she was putting extra effort in the way her ideas were worded.

She grabbed a blank piece of paper ready to start again when a knock on her door called her attention. Kristoff and Anna were coming to have dinner that evening, but she was surprised they had arrived so early.

When she opened the door, she was greatly surprised to see her mother standing on the other side. “Mum?” she asked, with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Can't a mother simply miss her daughter?” answered Gerda as she stepped into the house. “Why don't you visit me more often?” 

Elsa smiled at her mother’s playful tone. Gerda had always enjoyed making Kristoff and her feel guilty for the silliest things, and they knew exactly when she was just trying to trick them. “You changed me for some boring dinner when I did,” Elsa said with a smirk, trying to guilt-trip her just the same. “Is dad with you?”

“No, he had to work. I took the bus.”

“The bus?” Elsa had lost count how many times Kristoff had asked their mother not to take the bus on her own. It was relatively safe, but the two of them didn’t like the idea of their mother walking the trail to the cottage alone. “You should've called me. I would have waited for you at the bus stop. You know the trail here isn't in the best condition.”

“Are you insinuating I can't walk on my own?” Gerda replied, annoyed.

“No, of course not.” Sadly, it was useless to tell her mother what to do, the more they insisted on taking care of her, the more defensive she’d get. Kai was easier to deal with in that sense.

“I may be getting older, but I'm completely independent, thank you very much.” Gerda handed her daughter the purse she had been carrying and walked to the kitchen, ignoring anything else Elsa had to say about the topic.  

Elsa laughed at her mother’s childish behaviour and followed her. “You don't need to get offended.”

“I’m simply stating facts," she said matter-of-factly.

“Whatever you say…” There was no point in arguing with her. It was easier to let Kristoff deal with those things. It was a good thing her brother was going to show up later that day. “Kristoff's coming with Anna to have dinner, by the way.”

“I know,” said Gerda with a smile. “He told me to come and join you.”

“Then why didn't you travel with him?”

Gerda shrugged. “He said he was coming after work. I was bored at home and I wanted to spend some time with you.” She sat down at the table and looked around, noticing the mess on top of the table for the first time. “What were you doing, sweetheart? I'm not interrupting your studies, am I?”

“Not at all.” She knew Gerda didn’t mind the mess, but she began picking up everything she had lying around nonetheless. “I was writing down some ideas for next winter season.”

“That's wonderful!” she exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “Kristoff told me you'll give your business another chance.”

“Yes!” She loved the way Gerda always encouraged her to keep working on her own business. She had been the one who originally gave Elsa the idea when she moved to the mountain. “Marshall and I will try to work together.”

Gerda raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean your friend Marshall?”

She nodded and explained, “Westergaard kicked him out for no good reason and he had no idea what to do.”  

By Gerda’s expresion, Elsa noticed she wasn’t surprised by what Westergaard had done. More than once Gerda had warned her about not getting involved with Marshall’s boss. She never liked the idea of her asking him for a job.

“That's terrible,” her mother commented as she helped Elsa pick some of her papers. From time to time, Gerda peeked at the ideas written in them. Elsa didn’t really mind; if she was honest, any help her mother — or anyone — was willing to give her was welcomed. What did call Elsa’s attention was the way her mother looked at some of her notes and then smiled at her. “I'd like to meet Marshmallow one day. You seem to really like him.”

“Maybe you already know him,” Elsa said, unaware of her mother’s teasing remark. “He's lived here his whole life. The cottage he lives in belonged to his grandfather.”

“What's his last name, again?”

Elsa was about to answer when a knock on the door interrupted her.

--

Marshall fidgeted in his place as he waited for the door to open. The box in his hands moved for the third time in the last minute and he let out an exasperated sigh. He was nervous and the little beast inside the box wasn’t helping.

The box moved again and he opened the lid just enough to look inside. “Please, behave,” he said tiredly. A small paw scratched his fingers playfully, running his patience thin. “I said behave. Why won't you listen to me?”

The wooden door in front of him opened suddenly, surprising him, and he put the lid back into place.

Elsa smiled broadly at him from the door and said, “speak of the devil.” She then noticed he was on his own and asked, “were you talking to yourself?”

His cheeks turned red as a beet and he cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time. The last thing he needed was for Elsa to think he had lost his marbles. “No,” he said. “What was that about the devil?”

“My mother was just telling me she'd like to meet you.”

“Me?” He wasn’t even sure which mother she was talking about, but he thought it was best not to ask. He had already embarrassed himself enough, there was no need to start asking uncomfortable questions.

“Yes. I told her we'll be working together.” Opening the door widely, she invited him into the house. “Come in.”

He gripped the box in his hands tighter and entered the house. He was nervous enough about giving Elsa the gift as it was. Meeting her mother was something he was not ready to do. Something told him the woman was going to read right through him as easily as Anna had done, and that wasn’t good. He wasn’t mentally prepared to explain to Elsa the way he felt. “I was just passing by. I wouldn't like to interrupt–” he tried to excuse himself, but it was too late. Elsa had closed the door behind him.

“Don't be silly,” she said with a lovely smile and then disappeared into the kitchen. “Mum.” He heard her say. “Marshmallow is here.”

To his surprise, the woman who entered the room wasn’t Anna’s mother. So that meant the old woman standing in front of him was part of Elsa's adoptive family. 

The woman seemed happy to see him there, so that helped Marshall relax. As far as he could tell, she looked like a sweet woman, someone he could easily get along with.

He wished he weren't holding the box so he could extend his hand and greet the woman properly, but he was not going to risk the little beast jumping out of the box and causing chaos. So, instead of extending his hand, he nodded his head and smiled at her.

“When I said I'd like to meet him,” said the woman as she turned to look at Elsa. “I didn't mean right this moment, Elsa.” She then laughed and turned to him. “Pleased to meet you, dear.”

Her silly joke helped him relax once again. "Pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Bjorgman.

"Bjorgman is my husband's name. Just call me Gerda."

Marshall nodded. He was pleased to know her mother wasn’t a serious nor structured person. It definitely made things easier for him. He looked at her again and realised her features looked familiar, but he couldn't point out where he knew her from.

“Would you like to join us?” asked Elsa, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?”

“I said we were about to have some tea. I could make some coffee for you if you'd like.”

The fact Elsa remembered he didn’t like tea made him ridiculously happy. “I– umm… no. It's okay. I just stopped by to–” He looked at the box in his hands and wondered if it was the right moment to give Elsa the gift. He could easily keep it for another day or two. “It doesn't really matter. It can wait.”

“Don't mind me, dear,” said Gerda, interrupting their conversation. “You two talk all you need. I'll be in the kitchen making tea.” Before Elsa or he could answer, she left them alone.

A cold hand touched his arm, and Marshall was drawn back to Elsa once again. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course.” He was a nervous wreck, but he could handle it.

He tried to excuse himself and apologise for interrupting Elsa’s time with her family; but before he had the chance, the little pest inside the box decided to introduce itself. The lid of the box opened, falling to the floor, and the white head of a cat showed up. It meowed once in Marshall’s direction and then it realised Elsa was only a few steps away from them, so it stretched its paw to play with her.

“Whoa! Hey, you,” said Elsa, surprised to see the cat. “I wasn't expecting you.” She stretched her own hand and allowed the cat to grab her finger. “Did you adopt another cat? Won't the Snowgies get jealous?”

“No,” he said, quickly. “I mean yes. But not for me. It's– umm…” He wondered why it was so hard to explain himself. “It’s yours. If you want it, that is.”

She blinked a few times at him. “Mine?”

Marshall avoided Elsa’s confused look and admitted, “that's what I was doing here. You don't have to accept it. I know it's a lot of responsibility…”

Elsa chuckled and said, “hey, it's okay.” She then allowed the cat to smell her hand. “It's just– I don't know what to say. Why?”

“You’re giving me the chance to stay here at the mountain and work with you. I wanted to give you something you'd like as a thank you.” He held the box with one hand and picked the cat with the other. He put the empty box on the floor and held the cat correctly as he explained, “I remembered you saying you'd love a pet of your own. That’s why I adopted him — It's a he, by the way.”

Elsa stopped for a moment before reaching out and petting the cat in his arms. “He's lovely,” she finally said with a smile. 

Her grin was sincere, and Marshall let a nervous sigh escape his lips. At least she seemed to like the gift. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Umm… I'm not sure how to–”

“He's really friendly. Here.” While he waited for her to pick the cat, he thought it was funny how nervous she looked, as if the cat was a fragile object she could break if she held it the wrong way.

“Hi,” said Elsa with a soft voice once the cat was in her arms. “What's your name, little fella?”

“He hasn’t got a name yet,” Marshall explained. “He's been living with me for a week, but I wanted you to name him.”

“He's too cute. I'll need to find a fitting name.”

The cat bit and licked her fingers and then tried to play with her hair, making Elsa laugh. Her smile became impossibly bigger and Marshall beamed back at her. “Do you like him?”

“Yes! Thank you so much, Marshmallow.” All the nervousness he had felt disappeared when he noticed her excitement. 

“I've already taken him to the vet,” Marshall said as he got closer to them and began scratching the cat’s ears. The little pest — as he liked to call him — had caused so much trouble in his house the previous days, he found it strange to see him so calm in Elsa’s arms.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay?” asked Elsa, making him aware of the fact Elsa’s mother was still waiting for them in the kitchen. “We're having dinner later tonight.”

He knew she was trying to convince him to stay. She knew food was his weakness. But he wasn’t ready to share a family meal. Deep down he knew it was ridiculous to be nervous about meeting her family but he couldn't help it. “Maybe some other time. I really need to get going.”

“Okay…”

He smiled at Elsa once again before cupping the cat’s face and forcing it to look at him. “Don't be a pest and behave, alright?” he told the cat before he leaned down and gave the animal a kiss on top of its head.

Right at that moment, Gerda came into the room and exclaimed, “oh, would you look at that! Where did he come from?”

Choosing it was best to leave before Gerda started asking questions, Marshall bid his goodbyes. “Okay, I'd better go. Gerda,” he said, turning to the old woman in the room. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, dear.”

He walked towards the door, but before he could leave Elsa stopped him.

“Come visit us one of these days,” she said with a tender smile that disarmed him completely.

“You can count on that.” He wasn’t going to admit at loud that he was hoping the cat could be another excuse for him to visit Elsa more often.

--

After the door closed behind the tall man, Gerda was surprised to see Elsa stay where she was, looking longingly at the wooden door with a smile on her face.

More than once Gerda had heard Kristoff and Anna talk about Elsa and Marshall’s relationship, but never had she imagined Anna’s claims were so close to the truth. She even remembered taking sides with her son once, saying it was improbable Elsa felt something for the mountaineer. But now that she got to see them together, she wasn’t sure she had taken the right side. She had to admit she was curious to know the way her daughter truly felt about the man.

“Will you take care of his cat?” asked Gerda, unsure of what to say without sounding too nosy. 

“No,” Elsa said, as she turned around to look at her mother. “He adopted it for me. Isn't he adorable?”

Gerda couldn’t tell if she was talking about the cat or her friend being adorable, but she thought it was best not to think too much about it. She was more surprised to see her daughter so excited about having a pet. She still remembered how nervous Elsa had been around Sven at the beginning, always fearing she might hurt the dog. “Are you up for it? You used to be apprehensive about pets.”

“I've got to admit I'm quite nervous,” Elsa said sincerely. “But Marshmallow knows I've wanted a cat for a long time. I have no excuse not to accept it now. And look at him, it’s hard to say no.”

Gerda chuckled as she looked at the cat in Elsa’s arms. It truly was hard to say no to a cat like him. Beautiful white fur covered his body, except for his paws and ears where the fur was a dark brown colour. He looked like a really friendly animal and the way he tried to play with everything around him made him even more adorable.

“Sven loves you,” said Gerda as she walked towards her daughter. “I don't see why this little guy wouldn't love you too. You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Do you think he minds my cold hands?”

It was painful for Gerda to see Elsa so concerned about her powers, even when she had no reason to be. The cat seemed more interested in attacking her sleeve than anything else. “He looks comfortable if you ask me. I wouldn’t say he minds.” 

Luckily, Gerda's answer seemed to help Elsa control her insecurities. She made sure she was holding the cat correctly before asking, “Is tea ready?”

“Mmm?" Still distracted by the cat, Gerda took a moment to understand what Elsa was talking about. "Oh, yes, it is. I came to tell you that… It's a shame your friend couldn’t stay a little bit longer.” 

"Marshmallow's like that. He comes and goes all the time. You'll get to talk to him some other time."

Noticing the cat was getting tired of being held, Elsa picked the box Marshall had brought with him and put a cushion inside to make a bed for the cat. It didn't take long for the animal to find the spot comfortable and fall asleep.

Once the new member of the family was comfortably sleeping in the box, Gerda went into the kitchen to serve their tea. Elsa followed her and finished picking up her things.

"I can't believe he took the trouble to find a cat for me," said Elsa after they had finished their tasks and they were sitting down, enjoying their tea.

Gerda noticed Elsa was still very much distracted by the gift Marshall had given her. And if she was honest, Gerda found the whole situation endearing. 

When Kai and she had adopted Elsa, they knew things were going to be different for her. Her life wasn’t going to be exactly like Kristoff’s. But, even if at the beginning that had proved to be true. Little by little Elsa was developing the social skills she hadn’t had the chance to develop during her childhood.

Every year, Gerda noticed the way Elsa tried to improve and become part of society, as if her powers weren’t there. The young woman still struggled a lot with them, and every mistake she made was a huge step back in her learning process. However, that year Elsa had had the chance to spend her time with people outside the family and that had helped her grow a lot. Anna and Marshall had, in their own special way, helped her overcome her mistakes and learn from them in a way that was completely different. Both of them got her out of her comfort zone, forcing her to face new challenges, and learn how to interact in the real world.

Marshall, in particular, was Elsa’s best and worst companion. He was exactly what Elsa needed to overcome her fears and learn to deal with her powers and a healthy social life. The fact he didn’t know about her powers made it a bigger challenge; but still, she kept trying and learning with him. 

All in all, Gerda was happy Elsa had found a friend outside the family. The only thing she worried about was how he was going to react the day Elsa finally decided to come clean about who she was and what she could do. That made the whole situation worrisome, especially if Elsa was developing feelings for her friend without noticing.

The last thing Gerda wanted was to ask inappropriate questions about her daughter’s life, Elsa was an independent adult after all; but if she could spare her daughter future pain and heartache by doing so, then she was willing to do it.

“May I ask you something, dear…” Gerda said, cautiously. 

Elsa chuckled, surprised Gerda was asking for permission when she usually just said whatever was in her mind. “Sure. Anything.”

“Do you love him?”

Elsa stopped for a moment to think about her answer. “Not right now. But I'm sure I'll love him soon enough. He's perfect, don't you think?”

Gerda gaped at her daughter’s answer. Never, in a million years, she’d have expected Elsa to be so straight forward about her feelings.

“What?” asked Elsa, not understanding her mother’s astonishment. 

“I wasn't expecting such an honest answer.”

“What?” repeated Elsa.

“What are you talking about?” Gerda said, hoping they were talking about the same thing.

“The cat.” Elsa looked at her mother and laughed. “What are you talking about?”

If Elsa hadn’t been her daughter, Gerda was sure she would have thrown something at her. Only Elsa could think she was asking about her feelings for a cat. “I was clearly asking about Marshall.”

“Oh…” exclaimed Elsa when she realised what her mother had been asking. “No! I mean, it's not that I don't– But he's not–” she struggled to explain herself. “Stop asking weird questions.” 

Gerda’s frustration disappeared in an instant when she noticed Elsa's embarrassment. She didn’t want to make fun of her, but she had to laugh at Elsa’s mortified expression. “It's a completely normal question, dear,” Gerda explained in between chuckles.

“Why do you ask?” Elsa asked, trying to avoid the original question.

“You used to call him almost every day when you were living with your brother. You seem genuinely happy whenever he's around. Not to mention you tried to convince Anna and me you weren't even friends, when it is clear you spend a lot of time together…”

“That has nothing to do with-”

“I'm starting to think Anna may have been right all those months ago," Gerda continued with a smirk. "Maybe you don't consider him your friend because you wish for him to be more than that.” Gerda knew she was putting Elsa in an uncomfortable situation, but sometimes that was exactly what she needed to understand things around her.

“You're being ridiculous.” Elsa didn’t look at her mother, showing how embarrassing the conversation was for her. "I do consider him my friend. I wasn’t sure he considered me his at the time, that's all.”

“Are you sure you don’t feel something for him?” Noticing her daughter’s unamused expression, she clarified, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Elsa. I’m just asking…”

Still not meeting her gaze, Elsa said, “You know I don't date.”

Gerda smiled tenderly at her. “Dating and having feelings for someone are two different things.”

“You and Anna need to stop spending time together,” she murmured.

Gerda tried to cover the smile that drew on her face. "You haven't answered my question, dear.

"There's nothing between Marshall and me."

Maybe she was reading too much into it, but Elsa's avoidance was in itself a confirmation of some sort. Maybe it was too soon for Elsa to realise, but there was something there.

Of course, there existed the possibility Gerda was mistaken and Elsa only felt admiration or respect for her friend, but it was best for her to keep an eye open. Especially if Elsa ever decided to tell her friend about her powers. 

Regardless, Gerda thought it was fun to push the conversation a little bit further. "That wasn't the question."

Elsa let an exasperated sigh out, but before she could answer, a scream coming from the living room stopped her.

--

One of the things Kristoff loved the most about his girlfriend was her energy. The girl could spend the whole day studying or working, and she still had enough energy left in the evening to do something fun or entertaining. It was something he had always admired. But there were days when he felt Anna's overenthusiasm was too much, even for him. That evening in particular, was one of those days.

"Can you please slow down?" asked Kristoff as he tried to catch up with Anna, who kept walking in front of him at a fast pace.

"I can't," she said, turning around to look at him. "I'm too excited!"

"I know you're excited about the letter and whatever it is your mother sent Elsa." Anna had talked about a special gift on their way to the mountain and he knew she couldn't wait to give it to Elsa; but still, there was no need to walk the trail at such speed. "But we'll get there eventually. Slow down."

"Stop being so dramatic," complained Anna. "You can easily walk faster than me."

"You haven't been moving ice bags all day."

Anna stopped just enough for Kristoff to catch up with her, and then began walking at a fast pace once again. "You're an old man trapped in a young man's body."

"A handsome man's body."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hurry up!"

When they got to Elsa's cottage, Anna climbed the steps two at a time and went straight to the door, not stopping to knock. Kristoff tried to stop and warn her about entering the house unannounced. "Knock on the door, Anna. The last few times I entered her house without knocking she almost killed me." 

She shrugged, not giving it much thought. "She knows we are coming." 

"Fine. Don't listen to me, but don't–" Before he finished his idea, Anna entered the house ignoring him altogether. "Why do I even bother?" Kristoff wondered out loud.

Kristoff got to the door, but stopped when he noticed Sven smelling the front steps. Something was definitely calling the dog’s attention. Probably a squirrel or something, Kristoff thought to himself as he returned where Sven had stopped. He pulled from his collar to take him into the house. The last thing he needed was for Sven to get lost, trying to chase wild animals in the forest.

Putting up some resistance, Sven didn't obbey Kristoff and tried to continue smelling the front steps and everything around them. 

"Sven, what's gotten into you? Come on."

It took a few tries for Kristoff to finally get Sven to move and get into the house. When he did enter, he thought it was strange to find Anna standing by the door. 

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in a hurry."

Anna didn't answer. Instead, she put her hand on top of his arm to call his attention and pointed towards a box in the living room.

"What?" he asked, not understanding what he was supposed to look at.

"That box just moved."

"Don't be ridic–" he tried to say, but the box Anna was pointing at moved at that exact same time. "What the hell is in there?"

"Do you think it's a rat?" Anna whispered. "Ugh! Do something!"

"It must be…" Kristoff was glad he was still holding Sven. He knew his dog was going to run straight to the rat as soon as he noticed its presence, and that would make catching the rat even more difficult.

He looked around and tried to find something heavy enough he could use to kill the rat, or at least knock it out.

The box moved once again, falling to the floor, startling them both. "Grab the box," he instructed Anna as he walked to the fireplace to grab a log.

"I don't want to!"

"Just do it. We can't let it escape."

Anna walked to the box carefully, trying her best not to startle the animal inside. When she got close enough, she jumped over it and held the box against the ground. She could feel the animal moving inside, and shivers ran down her spine.

"Ew! It's still inside!" she cried in disgust.

"Just held it there!" Kristoff yelled back as he tried to hold Sven back.

At that moment, Elsa and Gerda entered the living room in a hurry.

"What the hell is going on?!" asked Elsa, looking at Kristoff angrily. Kristoff knew he was a dead man for entering the cottage unannounced once again.

"There's a giant rat in there!" He pointed to the box Anna was holding with disgust.

"Rat?"

He walked towards Anna and held his weapon high in the air. "I've got a log. Where is it?"

"No!" yelled, Elsa, standing in front of Kristoff. "That's not a rat! Give me that." She took the log from his hand to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. "Are you crazy? It's just a cat!"

Anna sighed, relaxing and letting the box go. "That's a relief."

The cat inside the box saw its opportunity the moment Anna let go of the box and escaped, running towards Elsa and Kristoff. To the animal's bad luck, Sven was in that direction too.

Elsa and Kristoff both realised what could happen if the cat got close to Sven, so they yelled at Sven not to do anything.

Their cries only startled the cat, making it run behind the couch. They had the opposite effect on Sven too, who started barking at the cat and pulling from Kristoff's hold. 

"Kristoff, stop Sven, will you?" said Elsa while she tried to find the cat and put a stop to that chaos.

"I'm on it!"

"Sven, stop," said Anna in a serious tone, calming the dog in an instant.

Brother and sister looked at each other. Not once in all their years taking care of Sven had they been able to do something like that. "How did you do that?" asked Kristoff, baffled.

Anna ignored his question and walked where Elsa was. She had already found the cat and she held it in her arms. "Is the cat okay?"

"He's fine," she answered with a nod. "I think our screams frightened him more than Sven did."

Kristoff kneeled down and scratched Sven's ears while he continued to hold him. He wasn't barking nor trying to attack the cat, but he didn't want to risk it. "When did you adopt a cat?"

"Marshmallow gave it to me."

"He gave you one of his cats?" He couldn't believe Marshall had actually gotten rid of one of the Snowgies. More than once he had explained they were part of his family, and he wasn't planning on letting any of them go.

"He'd never separate the Snowgies," said Elsa. "He adopted this cat for me."

Kristoff looked at her and then at the cat in her arms. He knew Elsa liked cats, even more than dogs – with the exception of Sven, of course. But still, she had always felt insecure about adopting one herself. Marshall showing up with a cat put Elsa in a compromise for sure. "Pets are never a good gift."

"Unless you want one." Anna gave him a warning look that clearly said she wasn't going to let him ruin Elsa's happiness.

Ignoring the couple's silent conversation, Elsa explained why she wasn't surprised he had chosen a cat as a gift. "We've talked about pets before. He knows I love cats."

As if on cue, Sven whined at Elsa and she laughed at the poor animal. "No offense, Sven."

"What are you going to do with it?" Kristoff asked, still curious about the fact his sister was so comfortable with the animal in her arms.

"What do you mean what I'm going to do?" She held the cat closer, proving she didn't want to let him go. "I'm going to keep him."

Getting closer, Anna moved her fingers in the air for the cat to play with. "He's really cute," she said with a smile as she watched him try to catch her fingers. "What's his name?"

"I don't know. Marshmallow gave it to me half an hour ago. I haven't come up with a name yet."

"Maybe you could think of something you like and name him after that," suggested Gerda. It was clear the cat was going to stay, the sooner they found a fitting name, the better.

"You mean like… food?" 

"Not everything needs to be about food, Kristoff." Anna rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "Oh, oh!" she exclaimed, calling everyone's attention. "I've got the perfect name for him right here."

Elsa gave Kristoff a curious look, but this time he couldn't help her. He was as confused as she was.

"Ta-da!" Anna announced as she took a book out of her backpack.

From where Kristoff was standing he couldn't see the cover, but Elsa's incredulous expression told him it was something she recognised perfectly well. No matter how much he wanted to ask what the book was about, Elsa's watery eyes stopped him.

He watched his sister sit down on the couch, with the cat still in her arms, and look at Anna in disbelief. "Is that? How- Where did you get that?"

Anna showed her sister a huge smile and handed her the book. "A family friend owns a bookshop. She helped mum find it." She waited for Elsa to let the cat go and grab the book before she asked, "is this the book you loved so much as a kid?"

"Once upon a snowman…" Elsa said as she read the title of the book out loud. "I can't believe it."

Finally understanding which book it was, Kristoff looked where his mother was standing. Gerda seemed as surprised as he was, but she was a lot more confused as to why Anna was giving Elsa the book in the first place. That's when he realised she didn't know Elsa and her biological parents were writing to each other.

"So?" Anna asked, still waiting for the confirmation her mother had found the right book.

"Yes," answered Elsa, still not believing she was holding her favourite book once again. "This is it. This is the book. Anna this is– I don't know what to say." Finally taking her eyes away from the book, Elsa looked at Anna with the biggest smile Kristoff had ever seen and opened her arms to give Anna a hug.

Anna said as she sat by Elsa's side and accepted her hug.

"Thank you. This means a lot to me. More than you can imagine."

"You should be thanking mum and dad," said Anna, still hugging her sister. "He came up with the idea, and mum spent a long time in Helga's deposit looking for it…” She let go and looked inside her bag for a second time until she found two letters. “They send these letters too."

Kristoff smiled while he looked at Anna and Elsa talking about the book. It was nice to see his sister so happy. Yet, he couldn't help but feel bad for Gerda. He knew how many hours she had spent looking for that book. How many times she had asked him about it and what he remembered, so they could try to find it. Sadly, she'd never been able to find it.

Once again he looked where his mother was standing, hoping to meet her gaze, but to his consternation, she wasn’t in the room anymore. Deep down he knew there was a reason behind his mother’s sudden disappearance, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Elsa,” he said, calling his sister’s attention. “Can you take care of Sven for a moment? Maybe introduce him to your cat so they can be in the same room together?”

Surprised by the sudden request, Elsa handed Anna the book and walked to where he was standing to hold Sven by his collar. “Sure. I have to do it sooner or later,” Elsa agreed. “Would you help me Anna?”

“Of course!”

Kristoff nodded at his girlfriend and left the dog in Elsa’s hands. He knew Sven was going to listen to both of them.

--

It took a while for Anna and Elsa to get Sven and the cat to meet each other. Either the cat kept moving, trying to get away from the dog; or Sven tried to bite the cat’s tail.

Elsa had to keep a tight hold on Sven’s collar whenever Anna got close to them with the cat in her arms; but after several tries, both animals understood they had to trust the girls and stop resisting. They looked and sniffed at each other for some time, until the cat understood there was no real risk and decided to start playing with Sven’s tail.

Elsa was apprehensive about letting Sven go at first, but after a few minutes, she understood it was no longer in Sven’s plans to hurt the cat.

Cat and dog began to play, finally allowing the sisters to sit on the couch once again. As soon as Elsa was sitting, she picked up the book, a smile drawing on her face as soon as she did.

“You really are happy about the gift, aren’t you?” asked Anna.

She traced the cover with her finger, copying the shape of the snowman drawn on it. “I drew this snowman more times than I can count.”

“Have you still got the copy that you made?” She seemed eager to see Elsa’s work.

“Weselton took it from me.” Elsa looked down at the book in her hands, thinking about that day. He had entered her room and just ripped the old paper sheets off her hands. “I guess he must have thrown it away.”

Disgusted by what she was hearing, Anna asked, “Why would he do that?”

Elsa didn’t feel like sharing too much about it. That copy had been the only thing remotely similar to a toy she had had back then. “He didn't want me doing anything except using my powers whenever he told me to. Playing with a piece of paper reminded him too much of the fact I was a kid, I guess.”

Anna tightened her fist until it turned white. “That bastard.”

Elsa looked at Anna and offered a sad smile. The last thing she wanted was for Anna to make a fuss about something that had happened over twelve years before. “There’s no point in getting mad about it now.”

Anna found her gaze and opened her mouth to offer some comforting words, but Elsa stopped her. “Tell Agdar and Idunn I really like the gift.”

“I will…”

Elsa knew Anna was still worried about what she had shared with her, so she tried to change the topic of conversation. “You said you had the perfect name for the cat… What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot,” she answered, taking the book from Elsa’s hands. “Look, the name of the main character of the book is Olaf. Don’t you think it’s a fitting name?”

“Olaf?” said Elsa as she looked at the cat playing with Sven.

Anna opened the book and pointed to a picture in particular where the snowman from the story could be seen. “He kinda looks like him.” 

“The cat?”

“Yes!” She got up and picked the cat with one arm as she showed the book with the other. “He's white and he's got brown paws. They look like Olaf’s arms, see?”

“I see what you mean…” said Elsa, looking at the cat and the picture from the book at the same time. 

“Besides, he looks like he likes warm hugs too, don’t you Olaf?” Anna hugged the cat close to her face and he rubbed his head against hers.

“Olaf…” Elsa tried the name at loud. “I like it.”

“Wait,” said Anna, all of a sudden, giving Elsa the cat. “I've got an idea. I'm sure I had it here somewhere…” The girl rummaged in her backpack once again until she found a bright orange handkerchief. “I never use this. I’m sure it’ll suit him.”

She got close to Elsa and Olaf, and tied the piece of cloth around his neck. “See? It's perfect.”

The orange piece of cloth fit perfectly around his neck and it was a great contrast with his fur. “What do you think, Sven?” Elsa asked when she noticed the dog was getting jealous of all the attention Olaf was getting.

The dog barked a few times and tried to jump on Elsa, making her regret asking. “Okay, easy! Careful, Sven.”

--

A new chapter! And I didn’t take three months to update this time. Yay, me! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even though nothing extraordinary happens. Well, Elsa gets a cat, which for her is a big deal. But you know what I mean… I had Olaf’s appearance planned for a really long time, but I kept postponing it for one reason or the other. I hope you like the role I gave Olaf in this story.

Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter and the characters' interactions. I think it’s pretty obvious by now how crazy Marshall is about Elsa, but well, Elsa keeps living in another dimension and she doesn’t notice. Only time will tell if she realises or not. She’s got other things in her mind right now, we can’t blame her.

As always, I’m really grateful for all your amazing reviews and all the love this story gets. I read every single review and treasure them a lot. I’ll get back to all of you who took the time to leave a review, I promise. And those who leave reviews as guests, I’m sorry I can’t reply, but you rest assured I love your reviews too!

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Read you soon!

[tinydooms]

🙈🚫🙉 for Rick;

🛌🎒🙉😈 for Evy;

🚫🙅‍♂️(the "insecure" one, it's a bit small to make out) 🤳 and 🛌 for Jonathan;

🙊💚✍ for Alex, please? :o)

This isn’t a complicated ask at all! ;-) 

Rick: 

🙈what’s my muse’s biggest blind spot?

After the War, Rick is paranoid about safety, but he doesn’t really realize it. He’s so in the habit of looking after people under his command that when stressed or in a dangerous situation, he tends to give orders and expect people to obey him. This is why, when Evelyn refuses to stay safely in Fort Brydon while he and Jonathan go to fetch Dr. Chamberlain, he locks her in her room. 

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

Rick is ashamed of the way he acted when he fell apart, between leaving the Legion and meeting the Carnahans. He got into a lot of fights, drank himself unconscious most nights, and slept around more than he should have, and always felt guilty about his bad behaviour. It’s not something he wants to go into detail with with Evie, though she knows the bones of the story. 

🙉what are two things that make my muse uncomfortable in conversation

Rick hates it when people, especially the upper crust whose circles they run in as Evie’s career grows, comment on his origins and lack of formal education. He doesn’t see the shame in being born to a hard-working single mother or learning from the school of life, and he hates the way some people deliberately try to make him feel inferior while seeming to give compliments. 

Evie:

🛌my muse’s biggest nightmare

Evie fears losing her family to a disaster of her own creation. She fears that Rick will someday take a bullet (or worse) for her, because she knows how precious she is to him. She fears losing Alex, her only child. 

🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

Sports. Evie attended a European day school in Cairo throughout her childhood, one that set a lot of store in physical activity, and while she loves to ride and swim, playing games and running about is not her idea of a good time. 

🙉what are two things that make my muse uncomfortable in conversation

Evie hates it when people make comments about her Egyptian heritage or imply that it’s amazing how far she has come in academia and archaeology "for a woman". Increasingly throughout the 1930s, conversations about racial inferiority arises and leave Evie a seething mess. As a result, she is profoundly anti-Hitler and anti-racialist, and as shadows loom over Europe, joins societies promoting anti-fascist rhetoric. She doesn’t even get mad, just rueful, whenever Rick hauls off and punches fascists--something that happens regularly in late-1930s society, alas. 

Jonathan: 

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

After being invalided home from the War after the Battle of the Somme, Jonathan sleeps with his old knit toy, a stuffed bear called Archie that was a gift from his mum when he was a very small boy. Holding onto it at night gives him a sense of security and helps him to sleep. On the occasions that Jonathan has a companion at night, Archie disappears into a drawer, and he stays safely at home when Jonathan goes on a dig, but having him makes things a little easier, and Jonathan never puts him away for good. 

🙅‍♂️what does my muse feel insecure about?

Jonathan was made to feel bad about being part Egyptian from childhood, when his schoolmasters routinely used his mixed race status as an indication of his foolishness. As a result, Jonathan has always had some imposter syndrome and a sense of having to work twice as hard to achieve the same results as his English classmates. Like Evie, he is heavily against fascism and racial intolerance as a result, and is happy to join Rick when the latter feels like punching fascists. 

Alex: 

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

Back talk. Alex knows he isn’t supposed to sass adults, but sometimes he can’t help it. He comes by it naturally. 

💚what does my muse get envious over?

Alex would dearly like to have a brother or sister and is puzzled why his parents, who so obviously love each other, haven’t produced more offspring. He asks Rick point blank about it once and Rick explains that though he and Evie would love to have more kids, it was very hard for her to get pregnant with Alex in the first place and things just haven’t worked out since. 

✍️does my muse have a learning disability?

Alex sometimes finds it hard to focus and can go on what he and his family call a “spiral”: he gets one idea for one project, which leads to another idea, which leads to another, which leads to none of the projects actually getting finished unless someone intervenes and redirects him. It’s not until he is a grandfather himself that Alex learns the term “attention deficit disorder” and everything falls into place. 

[tessiete]

So, my mum sent me a prompt, and I...I wrote it. Still working on those in my inbox, but mum’s come first, ya know?

She picked Spotify #12 (Love You Back, by Metric), and she wanted Luke and Qui-Gon bonding. I tried, mum, but Korkie just shows up all the time.

Love, your daughter.

LIFT UP, AND FALL AWAY

Luke travels to Dantooine by himself.

It’s been weeks since Bespin, weeks since he’d been released from medical supervision aboard the Dreamless Sleep and weeks since he’d left all its well-meaning but overbearing clinicians behind. He knows he should go back to Yoda, or hunt for the bounty hunter who took Han, or help Leia rally the scattered rebel forces back into order, but instead, he makes his escape.

There is little enough to recommend the planet. It is an outer rim world with no industry or economy to speak of. There are no cities, or monuments, the largest settlements boasting hardly more than a few thousand people and recent rumours suggest a small but growing number of them may be Imperial sympathisers which doesn’t bode well for him: The Miracle of Yavin; The First Hope of the Alliance. He can’t imagine anything like that will be met with particular enthusiasm here. 

But even beyond political allegiances, it is a distinctly unappealing place being both unremarkable and largely unremarked. It is off of any useful trade route. It has few interplanetary allies, and only one weak judicial body to govern the entirety of its surface. In fact, the best thing Luke can think to say of it is that it is nearly as far away from Tatooine as it is possible for anything to be.

And far from Dagobah, too.

He brings his X-Wing down in the middle of a grassy plain, and leaves Artoo to run diagnostics on the ship. It’s his second (since he’d abandoned the first in Cloud City), and so lacking in all the alterations he’d so carefully programmed and calibrated into his previous fighter. He’s trying not to think of it as a nuisance, but an opportunity. A second chance. A second ship. A second hand - he smirks at this, and adjusts the blaster at his hip. He needs a second blade.

But there is something else that he must do first.

The sun is high as he sets off, only a small ration pack slung across his chest, and the blaster with him. Artoo’s whistling complaints grow fainter as he goes, until they are drowned completely beneath the whispers of swaying grasses. They are all turned brown. It is late in the year, and so they are filled with the gossip of an entire season. They brush against his legs, eager to touch this visitor and pass on rumours of his presence to their brethren, the trees, whose voices are heard in the rustle of leaves, then carried off on the wind in birdsong. 

In the distance, he sees a herd of grazing iriaz, but they move off long before he is close enough to comprehend them as anything more than silent shadows, silhouetted against the sky. They leave prints - wide tracks scratched into dusty earth, and little pools where they have kicked up some water to sustain them. Common havoc kites circle lazily overhead, riding the updrafts on stiff, unyielding wings. They too, take no interest in Luke, and soon disappear in search of prey. The drone of some insect rises and falls and vanishes, its source remaining unseen. It seems to Luke that all of Dantooine is of a beautiful, but uncurious nature, content to live and let live without extending either welcome or censure to those who cross its lands.

It is in this manner, unencumbered by anything but the weight of his thoughts, that Luke finds himself only a few hours later passing beneath the boughs of ancient blba trees to arrive on the doorstep of a tidy stone cottage in the middle of the Khoonda plains. The base is a round structure, supporting another smaller yet equally round structure on top, like buckets of sand packed tight and upturned upon each other. Where they meet, there is a ring of wood slats, angled steeply downward as shingles to protect from run off, the door an old fashioned vertical slide that folds over itself as it springs from the floor to hide away in the crossbeam above. He knocks, and when a man with blue eyes, and gold hair threaded silver answers, Luke knows why Ben’s ghost has asked him to come.

“I’m looking for Kryze,” he says. 

“That’s me,” the man replies, his brow furrowed. He keeps one hand on the door, and the other braced against the wall within to lend him strength should he need it, but there is no fear in his voice, despite the blaster he’s clearly noted. 

“I’ve been sent to find you,” Luke says, and Kryze sighs.

“Well,” he says, shoulders sagging, and his body shifting to grant Luke admittance. “You’d better come inside.”

The space is warm, the amber light of the afternoon filtering through rippled glass windows to dance over cluttered walls, and overfull shelves. There are plants, bursting from their pots like Tusken black powder on fire. Paintings cover every inch of the wall not taken up with windows or furniture, and canvases lie stacked atop one another in various crevices and corners where space has run out. Books - proper old volumes printed on flimsi, and in some cases actual paper, stand front to back to front in orderly lines high in their cramped cases, regimented troops of education and exploration. Lower down are curiously bent sticks, twisted knots of dry grass, beetle wings, the shed scales of a rosy drayk, leaves of various size and colour, and a small river stone, smooth and black and streaked with red. 

“Various treasures,” Kryze explains, as Luke is lost in his perusal. “You can touch them, if you like. Shall I put a kettle on?”

He wipes his hands upon an old rag, leaving streaks of blue and green, tossing it down beside a murky pitcher of water, and several brushes, and it is then that Luke realises he has caught him in the middle of something personal and profound.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he says. “If you’re busy, I can wait. Or come back. Or -”

“Nonsense,” says Kryze, smiling. The expression is familiar, and Luke smiles back, feeling some common thread strum between them. “I ought to start on lastmeal anyway. We’re having muja dai-ungo for pudding. A favourite, you see, and yet I am the sole chef in this endeavour, since the other beasts which live here are prone to eating the jelly and leaving none for the glaze.”

It is some joke which Luke is not entirely certain of, so he smiles politely but doesn’t laugh as Kryze draws him into the cramped cookroom at the side. Water is set to boil on an ancient hot top, and Kryze sweeps aside a variety of holopads and half-finished string weaves to make space on the countertop. He pulls down two ceramplast cups, chipped and cracked, and smirks ruefully at his guest.

“A hazard of my unfortunate circumstances, you see. They say no plan survives contact with the enemy, and I take it to mean nothing at all survives contact with children. Everything here is somewhat the worse for wear, I’m afraid.” But there is nothing except long-suffering amusement in his voice, as though his pretensions of civility are an easy and happy price to pay for the benefit of such injury.

A shriek, followed by a chorus of laughter tumbles in from outside, and Kryze opens the window for a better view. Luke, overly alert to danger and almost surprised by joy, cannot help but duck his head to look, too.

A woman in long skirts races across the yard, followed by a girl brandishing a stick who looks only a few years younger than Luke, though she feels lightyears away. 

“Wait!” calls another voice, high and pleading. As the first two cavort out of sight, a third girl appears, only to stop at the call, and turn back as the fourth, and final member of the party staggers into view. A boy, no older than seven or so, sets himself down upon the ground, crossing his arms in displeasure as the girl walks back to soothe him. “They run too fast,” Luke hears him lament. “And I have lost the poesy you made me.”

Kryze lets out a breath of laughter, assured there is no danger except perhaps to his son’s vanity, and returns to his pot, measuring out leaves and water with equal care. Luke watches the girl give her brother a hug, and coax him off in pursuit of the others.

“My eldest, Jinn,” Kryze explains. “She’s a wild thing, like her mother. And Mav, too, but with a softer heart. Corim is the youngest, and most civilised of the bunch. Thank the stars, or I’m afraid I’d be terribly overrun out here. Do you take anything in your tea?”

“Um, no,” Luke says, thinking of the heavy spices of Tatooine brews. 

But the drink placed before him is a thin and watery kind of thing, of a pale pink colour. He can see the ceramplast through the liquid, and raises it to his lips skeptically.

Kryze watches him with that same kind amusement he seems to regard everything.

“It is a local variety of my own invention,” he explains. “Made from dried diabolix berries. Just the dried ones, mind you. The ones off the bush are deadly.”

Luke freezes, the rim of the cup pressed to his lips, the mild sweetness of sun still on his tongue, and Kryze laughs. He’s come here for a purpose, but has instead found himself trapped with a kind of domesticated eccentric.

He sets his tea down as politely as he can, while Kryze doesn’t hesitate to drink deeply from his own cup.

“I don’t want to be rude,” he says. “But I actually came here to deliver a message. From Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

At this, Kryze finally stills, his eyes meeting Luke’s with an apprehensive solemnity. “Of course,” he says. “What news?”

“He’s dead.”

The cup settles upon its saucer with only a faint chime of protest.

“Ah,” says Kryze.

In the following silence, guilt sweeps in, and soon Luke finds himself scrambling for the frayed edges of comfort and sympathy.

“It was fast,” he says. “And he knew what he was doing. He saved my life, and my friends. Vader - do you know anything that’s going on in the galaxy right now?”

That quiet, aching smirk curls upwards once more. 

“Of course,” says Kryze. “Why else would I be way out here?”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says.

Kryze stands to clear the table of their tea. 

“You say you’ve left your ship a few hours west? It is much too late for you to return to it now. Stay. Eat with us. Have a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, I should like to show you something.”

It is impossible for Luke to refuse this hospitality, not after he’s made such a mess of his own reason for coming here. He owes Kryze this much, at least.

“Of course,” he says. “If it isn’t any problem.”

“No problem at all,” Kryze insists. “There is an orchard down the path. If you follow the screams and laughter you should find it all right. The girls will collect you in time for latemeal.”

Thus dismissed, Luke removes his pack, but keeps his blaster close, heading for the door. At the threshold, he is overcome by a need to know for certain, and he turns back for one last look at the mysterious Kryze.

“Can I just ask,” he begins. “How did you know him? Obi-Wan, I mean. Why did he send me here to talk to you?”

His back to the door, Luke almost misses the reply carried back on the ghost of laughter.

“Oh, that,” says Kryze. “Well, after all, I am his son.”

 The sun of Dantooine is much too reserved to intrude, and so it is to the clatter of dishware, and eager voices that Luke wakes the next morning. He stretches, and moves from his room to the sonics across the hall he thinks without attracting notice, but he is met, upon his exit, with the startled aspect of the youngest Kryze listening at the door.

Corim’s jaw snaps shut, and he frowns before declaring quite firmly that, “I wasn’t spying. I was only checking to see if you hadn’t died in the night you slept in so late.”

Luke grins. “Not dead yet, I don’t think.”

“Well, if you don’t hurry, there shan’t be any flatcakes left, no matter what Bebu says.”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Luke assures him, and he stalks away entirely unconvinced.

Despite this threat, the table in the main room is still heaped with food when Luke emerges, fresher and more relaxed than he’s been in ages. The Kryzes are already packed tight around the table, but Mav and Jinn happily bunch over to make room for Luke between them. Mav, especially, goes out of her way to fill his glass, and pile his plate with the last of the muja preserves left over from the night before.

“Hey, that was my share,” complains Jinn, her mouth full. “You’ve already had seconds today.”

Mav blushes, and ducks her head, but her retort is vehement for all that her embarrassment is public. “We have a guest,” she says. “And your face is so full of cake you wouldn’t even taste the jelly anyway!”

“I didn’t get seconds!” Corim chimes in.

“Mother!” Jinn demands, taking her appeal to a higher court.

“Jinn, relax,” says Wyla, supremely unbothered, sipping her kaf and reading off her holopad. “Mav, be nice. Corim, I have a treat for you later.”

“S’not fair,” Jinn grumbles into her plate, but Wyla reaches over to pat her hand sympathetically.

“If you’re looking for the worst villain to blame, then examine your father’s plate. He’s more than enough jelly on that cake to last us to next harvest.”

At this, Kryze looks up to shoot his daughter a smug grin, before shoveling a heavily laden portion of flatcake into his mouth. Jelly, piled too high to survive the journey, tumbles from his fork to splatter against the flat of his plate as emphasis of his unjust indulgence.

“Delicious,” he declares. Jinn rolls her eyes, while Luke smuggles in a bite of his own portion.

It is tasty, both sweet and tart and satisfyingly thick. The meal continues through several more hotly negotiated contracts, and concludes with Wyla and Mav packing up the old speeder with the spoils of their orchard, and Jinn agreeing to mind Corim, much to her delight and his wary dismay. Kryze, it is announced, has business to attend to with Luke, and he does not expect their return before nightfall. 

“Bring your rucksack,” he says, as they prepare to leave. “It is a long walk, and I shall want for snacks on the way.”

They set off with the sun on their faces, passing once more beneath the blba trees, the little cottage growing more and more distant as they make their way forth on the plains. Luke trusts that Kryze has some set destination in mind, but after the first hour he privately wonders if his guide has been distracted, and has brought them to wander in admiration of the land.

“That there is an extremely rare simbyloona butterfly,” he says, gesturing with a long wooden staff at the erratic path of the insect. “You ever been to Konkiv? Or Sriluur?”

“No,” says Luke.

“They have butterflies there,” explains Kryze. “What about Endor’s forest moon?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, if you ever go, keep an eye out,” he says, pushing on. 

The world seems much more alive with Kryze today. Longhoppers leap from the grass as he wades through, warbling tiktiks swoop over head to catch them. One of unique boldness lands upon the top of Kryze’s staff when he stops to show Luke the little dirt mounds of puppi mice beneath their feet. He smiles, and extends a finger to the bird which cocks its head from side to side before giving in to temptation and hopping upon Kryze’s outstretched hand.

“Hello, there,” he sings, soft and low. “Aren’t you a brave thing?”

He holds the bird forth so that Luke may have a closer look at the colourful plumage before lifting it higher to the sky to release it.

“Off you go, then,” he says. “Beautiful animal, isn’t it? Usually quite shy though. You must bring good luck.”

Luke watches the course of the bird, and hardly knows he’s replied until he’s already said, “Your father said there was no such thing.”

“Did he?” Kryze beams. “Well, he always had such odd notions.”

“Unlike you?” Luke asks. It’s not that he’s insulted by the man’s amusement at a dead man, but it does seem somewhat hypocritical in light of the bird, and the paintings, and the tea.

But Kryze takes no offense, only quirking an eyebrow to say, “Where do you think I got it from?”

For all his evident curiosity this challenge seems to be exactly the sort of query Kryze was waiting for, and he begins to tell Luke all manner of things about himself as they move ever on towards the horizon.

“My mother was the Duchess of Mandalore,” he says. “A pacifist, though you’d never know it by the way the galaxy remembers us. And for a year she was under the protection of my father. They fell in love, as tragically and impossibly as any young person could wish, and when they parted my father left confident in his ignorance, and my mother was left with me. It’s difficult to say who came out ahead in that.”

“I thought the Jedi couldn’t love,” says Luke.

“And whoever told you that nonsense?” asks Kryze. “You told me my father died saving you, and he cannot have done that for anything less than the purest love.”

Luke says nothing to this, only twists a knot of grass off in his hand and releases it to the wind. They walk in strained silence until it becomes comfortable again, and Luke exhales in resignation.

“I only just met my father,” he says. “He tried to kill me.”

Kryze looks at him, then stops to look at him harder. 

“Oh, I see it now,” he says. “You’re a Skywalker. I might have guessed it, but I’m afraid I’m rather out of practice these days.”

“Are you a Jedi, too?”

“No, no,” he scoffs. “Nothing so serious as all that. But I know enough to be able to tell the blaze of a Skywalker from the general inferno of starfire. I know enough to be recognised in turn.”

“Is that why you’re out here? Hiding from the Empire?”

Kryze grimaces at this, and turns back to the path ahead. A shadow looms, rising out of the ground, and he turns their course to that.

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” he asks. Then, before Luke can parse the riddle in this, he continues. “I used to be in the Alliance,” he says. “Wyla, too. We ran intelligence rings, and sabotage missions. We fought. Even had more than a few close calls with the Empire. But at some point, around the time that Wyla found out about Jinn, we decided that was it. We’d done our part. And when the Rebellion left their base here, we stayed behind.”

“The Empire still exists,” says Luke. 

“And it will not be my hand which stops it,” counters Kryze. Then, as the shadow takes the form of a ruined temple sprung from the earth itself, he speaks again. “My parents both died for peace. I think that I owe it to them to live for it. Here we go.”

Vines cling to ancient stone, while tangles of brush climb up and over crumbled walls and gaping cracks in the side of the old building. The trees grow thickly here, still green and lush despite the lateness of the year.

“A wellspring,” explains Kryze, without Luke’s having to ask. 

He guides him past hollowed out chambers pierced only by shafts of dazzling sunlight breaking through fractured ceilings, and bouncing off shallow, invisible puddles within. Animals chirrup in the brush, and birds nest in all the little nooks and crannies of decaying architecture. Though it is long abandoned, there is still something light and sacred about the space. The air is fresher here.

“This is a Jedi place,” breathes Luke.

“It was,” agrees Kryze. “Long before the Empire. Come along. There’s something else.”

Beneath a fall of greenery and fallen rocks lies an opening. 

“What is it?” asks Luke.

“Caves,” says Kryze. Luke looks at him, still uncertain. “I have noticed that you carry no lightsaber,” he explains.

Luke flexes the fingers of his false hand, feeling the pistons and levers firing in time with his desire, but different from the muscles and sinew of his flesh. It cannot be observed by casual inspection, but somehow Kryze seems to know.

“I lost it,” says Luke. 

“Then you shall have to build another.” He gestures again to the cave mouth, and Luke braces himself to go in. He shifts the blaster on his hip, checking the settings. “You won’t need that in there,” says Kyze. “There’s nothing inside but old ghosts.”

He is halfway to moving when he hesitates, and leans back. With his eyes fixed on Kryze’s, Luke unstraps the holster from his side, and hands it and his blaster into the hands of Ben Kenobi’s son. He goes into the caves alone.

It is dark inside, and there is a chill and the sound of water dripping into water somewhere far away. Luke steps carefully. Though the ground is rocky and uneven, his steps are certain and he does not falter. After several minutes of silent exploration, with no strange whispers or startling movement, the fear he entered with begins to fall away, leaving Luke’s mind open to the growing threat of boredom. There is nothing here. He sighs, and turns to leave only to discover the way out has grown just as dark as the path going farther in. He has no torch, no light, and no sabre to guide his path, but his irritation blazes bright enough to guide him and he sets off the way he came. 

When he has walked more than twice the distance he came, and then gone back to walk the distance again, he decides there is little he can do but sit and hope that Kryze will come for him. Surely, he hasn’t brought him here to starve after feeding him so thoroughly only hours ago. And for all that Luke feels helpless in the inky pits of the caves, Kryze had not lied when he said his blaster would be of no use. There is no one here but Luke.

He sets himself down against a stone, the seat of his pants made uncomfortably damp by the floor, and quite to his own surprise, drifts off.

When he wakes, there is light.

All around him are outcroppings of crystals in various shapes and colours. Some shine more brightly than the others, and some glow so fervently it is as though they sing. He reaches out to touch one, and the rest all clamour in harmony to meet him. 

Every thought of escape is eclipsed by the beauty in the caves, and Luke trails his fingers over each crystal that calls out, following their voices deeper and deeper into the caves. Until, in the deepest chamber, on the shores of a vast underground lake, he is met by something which glows brighter than all the crystals combined.

For a moment, he is compelled to shield his eyes, as the flare bursts forth in effulgent magnificence before dying down to live within the confines of an unrecognisable form.

It is a man with long hair, a kind smile, and wearing the robes of a Jedi.

“Hello, little one,” it calls out, and Luke raises his hand in reply. “I was wondering when I might have the chance to meet you.”

“Do I know you?” asks Luke, stepping closer. 

The ghost chuckles. “Not as such,” he replies. “But I know you. You are the student of my student, after all. I am Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“You were Master Obi-Wan’s master!” 

“And Master Yoda’s, too,” brags the ghost, enjoying the awe of Luke’s epiphany, but this is a boast too far, and Luke’s face falls into lines of skepticism.

“That can’t be true,” he says. “Master Yoda is much too old to have been taught by you.”

“Ah, and must education end with the cessation of breath? Cannot knowledge outlast us? Cannot learning outlive us?”

“Can it?” asks Luke.

“We are more than what we do in life, my boy,” says Qui-Gon. He sits upon one of the larger stones which border the edge of the lake, leaving space beside him for Luke. “And there is much to be learned by death, for those brave enough to seek it.”

Luke frowns, and moves to join him, trying to puzzle out the ghost’s philosophy. 

“Are you suggesting -” he looks to the Jedi for confirmation, not convinced of his conclusion. “You’re not saying that we should just give in, are you? That we should just accept death when we could stop it?”

“Not at all,” says Qui-Gon, and Luke relaxes upon the stone. “It’s good that you fight. It’s important you fight. Don’t rush to death in the vain hope that it will bring you easy satisfaction. Life and death - they are balanced. They are equal. And there is much value to be found in both.”

“Is that why Ben let go?” Luke asks. 

“Obi-Wan was wise to concede his life,” says Qui-Gon. “But that does not make his loss any more bearable for you. Or for me. And though I am glad to be with him once again, I will always wish he’d had more time with you.”

There is a smear of clay grown dry upon his knee, and he brushes it off with one hand.

“Me, too,” he says to the ghost.

“But that is Obi-Wan’s lesson for you,” says Qui-Gon, his voice ringing clear across the lake. “He knows what it means to let go, but I -” he says. “I am here to show you how to hold on.”

And in the crystalline light of the caves, and the glittering warmth of the ghost, Luke learns of his lineage, and his family, and all the ways in which he is never alone. Qui-Gon speaks of the past. He tells him of a little boy who struggled and overcame, and a little boy who struggled and fell, and how neither of them loved the other any less. He tells the story of an ancient Order, and a girl queen; of a duchess, and a knight; of children lost to their parents, and parents lost to themselves. He tells of blood, and consequences, and desire, and regret, and joy, and sorrow, and how it all lives on in memory, and in stories, and in relics, and in paintings, and in river stones, and in muja dai-ungo, and in him.

“There is nothing lost,” says Qui-Gon. “So long as you choose to remember it. Neither life, nor love, nor people. Hold on. And don’t let go.”

And as he fades away into darkness, the song of a single crystal cries out, drawing Luke up, and up, and out of the black of the caves into the evening sun.

At the mouth of the hollow, standing with the light in his hair, and Ben Kenobi in his eyes, stands Kiorkicek Kryze. In his hands, a sabre, the kyber inside calling out.

And when Luke touches the hilt, he knows that this one is his.

“I thought it might be you,” says Kryze, smiling. He shifts Luke’s bag high against his shoulder and turns to the setting sun. “Come on,” he says. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

And when he finally returns to his ship, and Artoo, and programmes a course for home, Luke leaves Dantooine by himself, but he is not alone.

[victimhood]

God money breeds god complexes

I didn’t want to overexplain the chapter in the notes, but it turns out that yes, I do want to explore the concepts behind it after all. This is an expansion on the meaning of chapter 108 of The Beautiful Game, which is also known as “Booker’s ending” for the fic, but I have no idea how coherent these musings will be.

What is the point of the chapter? Class conflict!!!! LOLOL Why is this the point of the chapter? Err...because The Beautiful Game is really a musing on life itself? This statement really shows its colors in the final chapters.

Now, what is the class conflict in this chapter?

Merrick: owner of capital accumulated thanks to vaccine patents, owner of the football club that Booker plays for

Booker: an employee at the football club. Don’t be fooled by his massive wages--he’s still an employee on a wage contract.

For all the debate about overpaid footballers, one thing is true, and this is a line Booker said in chapter 64: After all, lord knows they will always find a way to make more money off them than they will ever pay them.

Case in point: the finances of Barcelona FC are a complete mess, and Lionel Messi is on an eye watering wage that reportedly breaks down to over 2 million pounds a week. However, with a deeper analysis, some economists dug up that Messi is responsible for practically 50% of Barça’s revenue: 

The player made 383,655,000 euros over the 3 years but he has generated 619,265,000 euros in the same time period. This means that the player has made the club a profit of 235,610,000 euros.

Football almost uniquely illustrates the surplus value equation, which is put forth by Marx as "an exact expression for the degree of exploitation of labor-power by capital, or of the laborer by the capitalist", because labor and product are the same within football--both rest within the form of the football player, whose labor generates the entertainment product that is the football game but who are in themselves marketable products--pieces of the notion of the player is turned into merchandise which can be sold. Further, the revenue-generating potential of a player is quantified into the transfer value, which is a payment made from one club to another to obtain the rights of the labor-product (i.e. the player).

Anyway, what I really mean to say is that the chapter is important for me to include, even though its purpose is very opaque at first glance. I cannot write about modern football without illustrating the capitalist machinations behind modern football.

There’s also symbolism! The mistral is a strong, cold, northwesterly wind that blows from southern France into the Gulf of Lion in the northern Mediterranean, and means “masterly”. Coming from Provence, le mistral is a reference to Booker as a masterly playmaker in the game but...it also portends storms. The chapter also calls into question who is the true master, for which the answer is Merrick, as the owner of capital and Booker’s labor rights.

Booker could not fight against Merrick--but he also isn’t given an obvious reason to in this chapter, although we’ve been told before that Merrick has a very cold approach to his players. Merrick has offered Booker a pay rise, but he’s also totally exploited the fact that Booker turned down a competitor, to offer Booker less money than his fair market value.

And then there’s another very interesting conflict between Merrick and Booker, which is exceedingly European and convoluted to explain, but European class divisions are not formed on the basis of money, but on the basis of symbolic markers (which can be cultivated by money). In polite old-money societies, money itself is crass, and talking about money is the crassest of all.

Merrick LACKS the old-money class indicators, while Booker actually possesses them: this is demonstrated in Booker’s knowledge of wine, which takes Merrick by surprise and causes resentment within Merrick. Booker was aware of this because when Merrick asks him how he knows about wine, he provides a misdirecting answer. Being French does NOT confer any special knowledge of wine. In actual fact, the supremacy of French wine is upheld by the most British of wine institutions: the Court of Master Sommeliers, and the other various British wine and spirit institutions. 

The OM academy knew exactly what they were doing when they placed Booker away from home. It’s classism, because they didn’t think a social housing environment would encourage a kid to follow the norms they want to impose. They bumped Booker into a middle class household for him to take on bourgeois values by osmosis. Some of it worked, some of it didn’t. By sheer dumb luck he had a kooky wine-obsessed host dad (As a side note: this is also a pointed callout on the bobo to antivax pipeline)

Anyway, Merrick is a total BoJo type, who is extremely insecure about their class standing (because their pedigree by birth doesn’t cut it, even if their education does), and by virtue of this insecurity continue to inflict immense damage on the world.

Merrick’s resentment of Booker’s accidental display of superior class knowledge leads him to shove Booker over when he senses an opportunity--which is pure schoolground bullying. What Merrick doesn’t know is that Booker has trauma from experiencing domestic violence in his childhood, and this random act of violence was triggering for Booker. It doesn’t matter that Merrick doesn’t know--the effect is the same. It’s an act of banal cruelty, meant to reinforce power relations.

And the end of all this, we roll into Booker’s final line, which is “his tears will not fall on her,” a line that just breaks me in so many ways. From the chapter before I’ve already gone into a whole existential musing on the duties of parenthood, and Booker and Nile are the characters who carry this duty in this fic. I think often to Philip Larkin’s “This Be The Verse”, a poem that resonated so much to me as a teen with a lot of familial difficulties.

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.      They may not mean to, but they do.   They fill you with the faults they had    And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   Who half the time were soppy-stern    And half at one another’s throats. Man hands on misery to man.    It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can,    And don’t have any kids yourself.

Now that I’m an adult who accepts my parents have flaws, I think the final verse of this poem bears a pessimism that I’ve learned to work through. I even belive I’ll do a better job of parenting, but if I have to be real, it’s because I am in a place of financial security. If we write for ourselves first and foremost, part of the overarching message of the fic has been to say that there is a better way, there is a way beyond what we know and we may not see the final work but we can build the foundations for the future.

And so I just love Booker and Nile’s final lines so, so much:

make it better, make it better, make it better.

she will always be safe with him, but his tears will not fall on her.

[literalprincess]

Essence of Murlap and Moonlight

Pairing: Fremione

Summary: Hermione finds Fred after one of his detentions with Umbridge.

Excerpt: “Fred? I need you to look at me.” She knelt in front of him, carefully placing a hand on his knee to rouse him.

He moaned groggily, turning his head to her.

“Hey, Fred. I’m going to help you, okay?”

He furrowed his brow at her. “‘Mione?” He took in the towels, the bottles collected by her feet. “Okay.” His head fell back onto the cushion.

Word count: 2500

AO3

The biting sting on his hand once again froze Fred in place. It was a tolerable pain, but now and then it would flare to near excruciating. This was one of those times, he had just brushed his hand on the back of one of the chairs. He sunk to the floor, rigidly trying to suppress a cry.

“You coming, Fred?” came George’s voice from up the stairs. He had gone ahead to crash in bed after their detention with Umbridge, eager for the day to be over.

“I’m just gonna hang out down here, maybe try and think of some way to retaliate.” Fred exerted the last of his composure to keep the pain from his voice. Thankfully the pain had subsided slightly.

“Okay. I’ll see you in bed in a bit then, yeah?”

Fred gritted his teeth, the pain flaring aggressively once again as he tried to raise himself to the sofa. “Sure.” It sounded choked but it was the best he could manage.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position on the sofa, his hand cradled in his lap before the pain overtook him.

Hermione had been at the library late. A risky decision, she knew, especially considering Umbridge’s new educational decree enforcing a curfew. It had been important though- she needed to see if she could disband Umbridge as High Inquisitor. There must be an old rule that forbids it, she reasoned to herself as she spent hours scouring old student handbooks.

It was well past eleven as she snuck in through the portrait hole, immensely grateful for the shortcut Harry had shown her. She crept in, mindful someone may see her and report her for breaking curfew, but there were no spies watching the door. She was almost to the doorway leading out to the bedrooms when she heard the muffled whimper.

Her head shot back to the common room. At first glance, it had appeared empty, but after closer inspection, Hermione saw the top of a ginger head peeking out from the back of the sofa. She slowly approached, still unsure if she was about to spring a trap and land herself in trouble.

No such trap was set, however, she saw when she found one of the twins with their faces pressed into the cushions of the sofa. She gave him a once over, noting his uncomfortable position despite his unconscious state. It was Fred, she could tell by the lack of a mole on his neck. She continued to look him over but her eyes halted when they landed on his lap. He clutched his hand to him tentatively, blood coating the entire back of his palm.

She gasped. Surely this was not a common occurrence. With Harry, she reasoned that he had been on the receiving end of all the anger of the ministry but if Fred had received the same punishment...

She dashed out of the common room and to her bedroom, returning with armfuls of supplies.

“Fred? I need you to look at me.” She knelt in front of him, carefully placing a hand on his knee to rouse him.

He moaned groggily, turning his head to her.

“Hey, Fred. I’m going to help you, okay?”

He furrowed his brow at her. “‘Mione?” He took in the towels, the bottles collected by her feet. “Okay.” His head fell back onto the cushion.

Hermione carefully got to work cleaning up his soaked hand. When she had removed the majority of the blood to reveal a gouged I must not break rules. She choked. How could this have been done to a student? A seventeen-year-old boy. She soldiered on knowing he would remain in pain until she could help him.

She needed to remove his jumper, the sleeve fell to just past his wrist and got dangerously close to the wound on his hand.

“Fred, listen we need to take this off.” She said as she tugged slightly at the sleeve of his jumper. “I’m going to bunch it so nothing touches your hand, okay? You’re going to have to trust me, but I promise it will make it better.”

He barely responded but when she stretched the wrist of the sleeve and fed his hand carefully through. He didn’t wince, and she took that as a victory. Now that his long sleeves were out of the way, she could focus on fixing his hand.

He watched her as she collected ingredients into a bowl through the haze of pain obscuring his vision. Her messy hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, a pencil still resting behind her ear. She met his gaze when she had finished mixing the paste.

“I’m going to put this on your hand. It’s going to sting slightly but it should soothe it quickly. When it’s been on for a while, we can soak your whole hand in this Murlap essence, alright?”

“Okay, Granger.” His voice was groggy but strong. He sharply inhaled when she first put on the paste, but as she finished coating his hand, the tension in his body slackened. The cooling sensation of the medicine felt like it was drawing his pain from him.

Hermione was relieved to watch the strain leave his face. After a few minutes, she moved his hand into a bowl and he instantly relaxed.

“Better?”

He sighed. “Much.”

She got up from the floor when she was sure he had the bowl balanced surely on his lap, coming around to instead sit beside him.

“What did you do?” She asked tentatively.

“The usual.” He shrugged. “Suppose we’ll just have to get better at getting away next time.”

“Is George okay?” Hermione asked, eyes fleeting to the door leading to the bedrooms.

“He’s fine. She focused on me after I said she was an old bint. He should be okay after some rest.”

“Are you mad? Why did you do that? Why provoke her?” Her tone took on a slightly hysterical edge.

He looked into his lap. “She was going ballistic on some second years, really hammering down on them. We set off some fireworks to draw her away and if she’s focusing on me , she’s not focusing on George .”

Hermione studied him until his eyes raised again from his hand. “You’re a good guy, Fred.”

“That sounds almost like a compliment.” He gave her a half-smile.

She huffed a laugh. “How’s the hand?”

“Much better, thank you.” Fred looked around, for the first time realising the lateness of the time. “Why were you down here? Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not quite, I just got in. I was in the library.”

Fred looked at her disapprovingly. “You call me the mad one. You realise if you’re spotted, you’ll get punished as well.” He raised his hand in the bowl slightly.

“Well perhaps not quite so drastically, maybe I’d just get a flogging.” Hermione tried to joke but Fred’s face remained unamused. “It was important,” She tried to reason.

“I should certainly hope so. You have to be more careful than ever now, if she does this to you there’ll be hell to pay.”

Hermione studied him for a moment. “She wouldn’t do that for breaking curfew and besides-”

“It doesn’t matter! Filch is chomping at the bit for any excuse to punish students nowadays. You can’t take that risk again and if you do I’ll go with you, I know far more short cuts and my legs are longer so I can help you run away faster.”

He had a point, if she wanted to evade the inquisitorial squad it would be a lot easier with Fred. “Alright fine, next time I want to go I’ll tell you first.”

“Good.”

“I’m tired of all this,” Hermione admitted quietly after a moment. “I wish I could just go back to when my biggest fear was expulsion.”

“Me too, though I can honestly say I never feared being kicked out. I guess I was more scared of the potential hearing loss from the bollocking Mum would give me.”

“We were quite different people when we were eleven.”

“Life was certainly easier back then.” Fred released a wistful sigh.

“I like to remember when I first came to the Burrow. Everything was all so amazing and new and everyone was so welcoming. It was the first place I think I’ve ever felt at home immediately.”

“I’m glad because, well, it is your home. We all love you being there, Dad especially, I think. You’re a lot more help with explaining how things like solar panels work. He honestly went on about it for a week after you left.”

Hermione smiled, remembering how she had made an effort to bring a textbook with diagrams explaining the conversion of light into electricity on the visit after Arthur had asked her and she wasn’t sure.

“What about you, what’s your favourite memory?”

He slid his eyes to her, his eyes squinted slightly and one eyebrow quirked. The chaotic flames of the fire casting a mischievous light on his face. “Do you remember the day you took us to muggle London last year?”

“Yeah, you insisted on going ‘full native’ so you left your wand at home.”

“Exactly. We got caught in the rain on the way home and due to my adhering to the strict rules of full immersion, I couldn’t cast an umbrella charm to shield myself from the downfall. Everyone was resolute that I deserved the soak but when they started to walk on, you offered to share your bright red umbrella with me. That was probably one of the happiest moments in my life.”

Hermione felt her throat catch. She remembered the day in vivid detail. Fred, being nearly a foot taller than her, had huddled low to share her umbrella. He had had to walk with the front of his arm pressed to the back of her shoulder to fit. When it rained Hermione could still hear his steady breaths near her ear, the warmth of his body against her side if she closed her eyes.

“Oh.”

Fred pursed his lips and nodded slowly, eyes locked on the dwindling fire.

“I think about that a lot,” Hermione admitted. Fred turned to consider her. “I enjoyed it probably more than I should have.” Emboldened by the dim light and the sincere mood, she shuffled closer beside Fred.

He looked down at her with a soft smile. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the pain but he felt brave and he took her hand in his, resting them both in her lap.

“Your hand is warm,” Hermione noted. She brought her other hand to enclose his, drawing from the warmth. “It’s nice.”

Fred smirked at her. “We should do this more often then.”

“I think we should,” Hermione said, curling into his side.

“Hermione?” Fred asked after a few minutes.

“Yes, Fred?”

“This is real isn’t it, I’m not passed out on the sofa in some pain-induced dream? Because if it is, just admit it now and I promise I won’t be angry.”

Hermione laughed slightly at this. “You really think it might be?”

“Well, you haven’t told me to get lost yet. I’ll have to make the most of it,” Fred said as he adjusted his position. Much to Hermione’s surprise, he settled his head in her lap. “How very comfortable. The view’s not bad either.”

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes at him.

“What? It’s one of my favourites.”

“Careful,” Hermione warned even as her hand came up to curl in his hair. “If you keep being so sweet, I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

Fred chuckled from his spot. “What could I ever have possibly done, to make you think that I’m not?”

“Maybe taking Angelina to the Yule Ball.” There it was, the thing that had kept Hermione from hoping Fred liked her back.

Fred raised himself on one hand, turning his upper body so their faces were level. They were half-visible to each other now the light had died to glowing coals.

“You went with Krum.” It was a statement and an accusation.

She had, and she would be lying if she said she had had a terrible time. But she had spent a large section of the night watching him.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“You didn’t want me to.”

“Didn’t I?”

Fred stared at her sternly, trying to decipher her gaze through the darkness. “You didn’t even notice me last year unless George and I were causing mayhem.”

“I always notice you,” Hermione replied just as vehemently.

Surprise crashed into him. His previous feelings of insecurity and jealousy washed away in the riptide. All that was left ashore was his love for the short, frizzy-haired girl in front of him.

“I always notice you, too.”

The blanket of darkness shrouded them from the world. The only thing each of them could make out in the wisps of moonlight was the face of the other. Hermione raised her hand slowly, hesitantly, to cup Fred’s cheek. As her soft palm slid across Fred’s skin he leaned into her touch, his face softening. They continued to stare at each other for a while, neither wanting to break the spell cast around them.

“Hermione, love,” Fred said with shaking courage. “Would you mind if I kissed you.”

Hermione brushed her thumb across his lips, her hand glided up further to again curl in his hair. She used her grip to slightly pull him towards her. Fred needed no more encouragement. He leant the rest of the way for a chaste, fleeting kiss.

When he pulled back, remaining close enough that they still shared breaths, Hermione huffed a laugh. Fred joined her with a smile before recapturing her mouth. This kiss was deeper, their longing for the other bleeding through. They held each other tightly, hands occasionally roaming to rest in a new spot.

Fred was more annoyed at Umbridge than ever. He had the use of only one of his hands, the other still soaking in the bowl. He groaned his frustration which fuelled Hermione’s impulse. She barely realised she was moving but she came to rest on her back below Fred. When his kisses lowered from her mouth to her chin, her neck, her collarbone, her eyes shot open in surprised pleasure. She could barely see anything in the silver-cast room, only felt Fred as he hovered above her.

“Fred?”

“Hmm?” He asked, trailing kisses back up her neck to her ear.

“I love you.”

Fred pulled back slightly, trying but failing to see her. All that he could do was give a light squeeze of her waist, a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you too.”

They spent the rest of the evening bundled together on the sofa, the world a distant worry in their minds.

Fred would find out in the morning if it was indeed a dream. If it was, he figured it was worth the pain in his hand when he woke up.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

The reader is from another country and Jaskier only found it out, because she sometimes speaks in her sleep in her native language. He tries everything to get her to say something in this foreign language, but she refuses to, because it makes her somehow uncomfortable. The only hint that she isn't a native speaker are the situations when there is some form of miscommunication: she mixes up words and sometimes doesn't know what a word means and is too embarrassed to admit it 1/2

2/2 (fake it till you make it 🙃) And then there is this one day when she is ill (maybe got injured on an adventure?) and feverish and speaks only her native language. Jaskier doesn’t know what she is saying (maybe asking for help because it hurts? Or asking for her mum, because she’s scared or doesn’t know where she is?)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 961Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddlestona/n: This is a little angsty but I landed it with some fluff. I hope you like it!

Jaskier had suspected you were at least bilingual. Sometimes when you spoke there were little clues. Little euphemisms or idioms that made no sense to him but tried to communicate a shared idea. You always looked a bit flustered when he could quirk his eyebrows at you curiously and ask what you meant so he hadn’t pried but then you began to talk in your sleep.

“What was that thing you said last night?” he asked, trying to broach it casually.

“What did I say?” you asked.

“You said something but it was in a language I couldn’t place,” he explained. He saw you stiffen slightly before you relaxed again.

“Oh it was probably just a dream,” you said offhandedly.

“Y/N, how many languages do you speak?” he asked.

“Two,” you said somewhat reluctantly.

“That’s amazing!” Jaskier replied, “I speak two as well! Elder and common, of course. Which do you speak?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you muttered. You knew he meant well and that he wouldn’t judge you for being from another country but you had known too many who took your beautiful language and turned it into a tool to mock and hurt you. It had become a part of you too tender and painful to bring attention to so you tried to keep it hidden. Even from the man you loved.

“Alright… but… would you teach me?” he asked. You looked up in surprise, the idea never occurring to you. Your native language wasn’t taught, it was suppressed.

“You don’t need to know it,” you said.

“But I’d like to,” he insisted.

“Jaskier put it down,” you said sharply. It wasn’t how he would have said it but he understood the intent and did as you asked. He didn’t bring it up again directly though sometimes he would casually ask you how to say something in the language, only to have you shake your head. You didn’t understand why he’d need to learn and you had fights about it. You demanded to know if your common wasn’t good enough and when he’d argued that it was perfect you volleyed that languages were there to ensure communication and if there wasn’t a barrier, there wasn’t a need to learn. He let the issue drop again for a while.

And then you’d fallen ill.

It came on suddenly. One day you were fine and the next you were feverish and dizzy and by the end of the day you’d fallen unconscious, seemingly unable to wake up. You also seemed unable to stop talking though it was all in the language Jaskier didn’t understand. He sent word to Geralt who arrived quickly with Yennefer but neither spoke the language, though they could identify it. Yennefer procured texts to help translate but it was arduous work and it had been years since Jaskier had been at university. He spent his days sitting at the desk they pulled into your room, trying to decode the language and his nights were spent curled up by your side, trying to comfort you the best he could. Sometimes you cried out in a word he thought must mean mother by the way you said it, sounding vulnerable and pained and scared. He hated himself for not being able to help you and he grew frustrated over the translations. One day Yennefer came in to change out your compress and found Jaskier sitting at the desk, both hands tangled in his hair as tears ran down his face.

“I can speak Elder,” he said, “I can speak Elder but I can’t speak to the woman I love.”

Yennefer rested a hand on his shoulder wordlessly. There was nothing she could say that would make it better, no platitudes that wouldn’t feel insulting or dismissive, but she waited with him until he took a deep breath and patted her hand thankfully. Only then did she move back out of the room and let him continue his work. Your fever slowly began to break and his struggles began to show promise as he began to develop a rudimentary understanding of the language. It was nearly the best day of his life when you called out in your sleep and he understood what you said and was able to reply. His accent was atrocious but you replied and it was the first time in over a week he’d been able to exchange words with you. He cried again but this time with hope and happiness. The best day of his life was when you opened your eyes, the fever finally broken. You were still weak but you were awake and spoke to him in common. He replied in your native language, forgetting that he didn’t have to anymore, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“How?” you asked.

“I learned,” he replied with a casual shrug as if it was something anyone could do anytime and hadn’t been the result of countless hours of hard work.

“It’s… not similar to common,” you said tactfully, not wanting to make him think you felt he was stupid.

“It’s really not,” he agreed, “But I wasn’t going to let a silly little thing like my lack of education get in the way of speaking with you.”

He tenderly brushed your hair away from your face, brow still a bit warm, and smiled at you.

“Do you still want to learn?” you asked.

“If you want to teach me,” he offered, trying to remain respectful of your boundaries but you saw the hope in his eyes. You reached up and gently pulled his face down to yours, brushing a soft kiss against his lips before pulling back just enough to look into those ocean blue depths you’d missed.

“I’d like that.”

[punkscowardschampions]

Mattie & Lulu

Mattie: Hey so, weird conversation to start, and undoubtedly a weird one to respond to but here we go… Grandma said she thought this would be the best way for me to reach out to you guys, to see if you would like to get to know me and Jay more, talk, etc. I guess this is less pressure than just showing up, right?

Mattie: I don’t know how much you know about us, or what you’ve been told in general

Mattie: But this is me reaching out, saying hi, and that I’d like to get to know you guys, if that’s something you’d be interested in too, as we are half-sisters 😌

Lulu: How beastly of Grandma to suggest such a thing behind our backs, I don’t know what she was thinking, honestly 😟

Lulu: we’re not interested, to put it bluntly

Mattie: Oh, I’m sorry

Mattie: She must have got her wires crossed somewhere along the way

Mattie: But no worries, I won’t bother you then, if you’re sure

Mattie: If you do change your mind at a later date though, feel free to contact me

Lulu: Grandma really should have told you, it’s terribly unfair of her to put any of us in this bind when she knows our minds are made up

Mattie: I’ll talk to her about it on my end but I’ll own up if it’s my misunderstanding, not hers

Lulu: She is usually an absolute brick, but this isn’t typical

Mattie: That’s for sure, I think everyone has struggled to know how to deal with the situation

Mattie: But now we’re older, I think it’s fair to let us sort it ourselves and ask them to take a backseat?

Lulu: True

Mattie: That said, I’ll respect you and your sister’s choice here and I hope you have a great Summer 😄

Lulu: Thanks, you too, we hope it’s completely thrilling

Mattie: Should be 🤞 now I’m free and fully ‘adult’ 😆

Lulu: Explains your choice of timing

Mattie: It was perhaps selfish of me not to consider waiting until you had graduated instead

Lulu: Please don’t take that maybe to heart, our answer would be the same

Mattie: That’s fair enough, you’ve both clearly thought about this and your response as much as I have and I wouldn’t ask for anything other than that

Lulu: Yeah, every time we’re at Grandma’s, it’s difficult not to

Mattie: I suppose she’s in the most awkward position, as she has contact with all of us, and she obviously feels that we should have contact too

Mattie: I can let her know how this went and to cool any further attempts though, no worries

Lulu: I’m not worried, she’ll get the message when we all deliver it back to her

Mattie: I’ll just let you know now, I am going to contact mum still, whether she wants to take it any further either remains to be seen but I will keep it between the two of us and not involve you guys

Lulu: We thought as much, good luck, hopefully it’ll go the way you want 🤞🏻🤞🏻

Mattie: Thanks 😌

Mattie: I’m cautious, obviously but it’ll be what it’ll be

Lulu: It feels like the moment I should be letting you know something, but who knows how she’ll take this

Mattie: No worries, I’m happy to find out myself

Mattie: Are you close?

Lulu: As close as you can be when we only see her in the hols, if she and Daddy aren’t away by themselves

Mattie: That makes sense… how much do you love Surval though? It sounds amazing

Lulu: IT IS! 🥰💖

Mattie: That’s so cool, you’re beyond lucky to wake up to that view everyday, that’s for sure

Lulu: We do live on our balcony 😍 and miss it when it’s not there 😭 looking out over London is a dreadful bore

Mattie: I should’ve opted for a gap year over a London Uni 😅

Mattie: I’ll have to make the most of this summer and fit in as many views as I can

Lulu: Where are you going? I could not leave Europe, I wouldn’t learn anything

Mattie: Greenwich, my dad went there and it’s like, right by my house

Lulu: Oh, at least there’s 🌳🌼 and ⛵️🚤🚢⚓️ Daddy went to [I dread to think tbh] it’s bad luck

Mattie: Yeah, it’s super pretty, as far as London goes

Mattie: Ooh, fancy

Mattie: but I get it, a downgrade vibewise

Mattie: You have so much time to work out where you want to go with the best 🌅🌄s

Lulu: If we had to study in England the only choice is Cambridge but yeah, no, we don’t have to and won’t

Mattie: Jay studies in America

Mattie: Have you thought about where you want to go already? That’s impressive, I definitely wasn’t thinking about it at your age

Lulu: More like where we don’t, New York could work, unless that’s where she’s studying, that’d be awkward

Mattie: Sorry 😬

Mattie: She’ll be done by the time you’re ready to go, don’t worry

Lulu: Grandma would be devoted to the parallel, even if it’s not another instance of same place at the same time

Mattie: Well with your education, the world will be your oyster, so you can make her buzzing without going for a parallel

Lulu: She’s v easy to please, Grandpa too, predicted ⭐️ happening for sending anything back to you which isn’t hugely bitchy

Mattie: Bless them

Mattie: ⭐️ never hurts, ey

Lulu: Again true

Mattie: I appreciate you not being bitchy but you can be as honest as you like, I’m old enough to handle it

Mattie: It’s a weird situation

Lulu: We are being, brutally if you recall, with our 🥶 lack of interest

Mattie: True enough

Mattie: There you go then, I guess I’ll survive and Grandma doesn’t need to worry too hard

Lulu: ❤️

Lulu: she worries too much, we hate to see it 😓

Mattie: She really does 😔

Mattie: I’ll take her out and treat her before I go anywhere this Summer

Lulu: Grandpa’s taking her to [some cute hol destination] too 🥰

Lulu: … Whoops, did you know? AAH! I hope I’ve not given the game away when he’s done marvellously keeping the secret 😰

Mattie: I know, they’re super sweet

Mattie: I’ll fit it in before they go, and before she needs to start packing 😅

Mattie: I did suggest he let her know with enough time in advance she doesn’t feel as if she’s running to the airport with half the clothes she wants to bring

Lulu: 🤭 that’s what happens when his clothes are all variations of the same thing

Mattie: Harsh reality 😆

Lulu: 😅

Mattie: Well thanks for talking to me, Lulu, good luck to you and Dolly with your GCSEs next year and then beyond that

Lulu: Yeah, totally, of course 😊

Lulu: enjoy uni and your summer break before xx

[itsyourchoice-hp]

Year 1: The Wrath of Professor Snape

Author's Note: I hope you are enjoying the story so far! Reviews are much appreciated, as I would love to know what you all think. ____________________________________________________________________________________   The student behind Cath had to give her a little prod before she stumbled forward onto the stage. The staff table was behind her, but she had little time to observe before she sat down on the stool and turned to face the entire student body. Professor McGonagall placed a massive pointed Wizard’s Hat on her head. It was so big that it covered her eyes. To Cathryn’s surprise, the hat began to talk to her. It sounded almost as if it were a voice in her head. “Ah, a Malfoy… Well, Slytherin could be an easy choice. You have the ambition, no doubt. But there is a brave Gryffindor heart in there, yes indeed… It seems you could belong in both houses,” it said.  Cathryn wondered if everybody else could her what he was saying to her. She was worried that it was taking a long time. What if the hat couldn’t decided which house to place her in? Cathryn couldn’t imagine the look of disappointment on her Father’s face when she arrived on their doorstep and told her parents that she didn’t belong in any house and therefore couldn’t attend school. “There is much you don’t know about yourself… so it had better be Gryffindor!” the hat exclaimed. Cathryn was stunned as the table to the far right erupted in cheers. The hat was taken off her head, and as she made her way off the stage, she caught a glance of Draco at the Slytherin table, who looked equally as surprised. In fact, most of the Slytherins were staring at her with scowls or mouths open in shock. She fought back tears as she hurried into a seat at the Gryffindor table. What were her parents going to say? Why was she the only person in her family tree who hadn’t been in Slytherin? “Cheer up, now, we aren’t all that bad!” a voice broke Cathryn’s anxious thoughts. She looked up. Sitting across from her were two identical twins, both tall and lanky with red hair and freckles - undoubtedly Weasleys. “Welcome to Gryffindor. I’m Fred,” one said, shaking her hand. “And I’m George,” the other said, taking her other hand at the same time and shaking it. “Hello,” she managed to say. Yet another redhead boy, who looked a couple years older than the twins and displayed a shiny Prefect’s badge on his robes, leaned over and glared at the twins. “Ssh!” he hissed. “That’s our brother Percy,” Fred explained. “He really puts a damper on things, that one…” George added. When Percy gave them another glare, both twins stuck their tongues out at him. As the Sorting continued, Cathryn looked around the table at everyone. She caught eyes with Harry, Ron and Hermione who all smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up. She managed to smile back, but felt a bit jealous as the Slytherin table cheered and hissed as two students in a row were sorted into their house. Ginny Weasley joined the Gryffindor table soon after (all the Weasley boys cheered the loudest) and as the last few students took their turns on the stool, Cathryn looked to the staff table. Hagrid sat at one end, beaming around at everyone and drinking from a massive goblet. In the very centre was an old man with a very long white beard and a blue pointed hat. He wore robes of light blue and gold and peered over half-moon glasses. Next to him was an empty seat where Cathryn presumed belonged to Professor McGonagall.  The professor next to the empty seat took her by surprise, for he was staring straight at her, his eyebrows knit together in a look that looked oddly like anger. He had sallow skin, a rather hooked nose and long, black hair that reached to his high-collared black robes. His staring made Cathryn feel quite uncomfortable, but as soon as their eyes met, he looked away and started at his plate for the rest of the Sorting Ceremony. Cathryn leaned over to the twins and whispered, “Who is the professor next to the empty chair?” The twins both grimaced. “Snape,” they replied. She nodded, remembering the conversation that she’d had on the train earlier. It seemed that nobody quite liked Professor Snape. And by the looks of it, he didn’t like anybody either - particularly Cath. Perhaps he was expecting her to be sorted into Slytherin too because Draco was? But why would he be so angry about it? *** Much to Cathryn’s surprise, a great horned owl dropped off a letter from home at the breakfast table the morning after the Sorting Ceremony had taken place. She opened the letter and unfolded the parchment to find a couple of lines in her mother’s handwriting: Cathryn, Congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor. I am very proud of you, and I’m sure it will grow to feel like a home to you. We hope you are settling in well at Hogwarts. If you’ve forgetting anything, don’t hesitate to send us an Owl back. Much love, Mum   Cath frowned, picturing her Father with a very disappointed look on her face when the news came that she hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. He had probably refused to let her mother write “we are very proud of you”. Cath usually wasn’t one to overanalyze, but such a short reply seemed like a good enough cause for worry. Perhaps her parents were going to shun her now. She was probably the disgrace of the family. It would cause her parents so much distress that her Father would lose his job at the Ministry and they would be forced to sell the Malfoy Manor that had been in the family for centuries… they would have to live in a small, dingy flat. They would be the shame of the Malfoy family - even Nana and Grandad would stop visiting. Or maybe, they would just throw her out of the house to begin with and she would have to start panhandling. Would Professor Dumbledore let her work in the school kitchens to earn her keep? The sound of a bell ringing shook Cath from her melodramatic thoughts. She quickly slung her school bag over her shoulder and followed the other Gryffindor First Year students out of the Great hall, deciding that she was probably overreacting to her mother’s letter. Pushing it to the back of her thoughts, she entered the doors of a cold and dark dungeon for her first class - Potions. The students were seated at round tables in groups of four. Cath joined Ginny Weasley, Esmerelda Goldsworth, Jeffrey O’Connor and, and Colin Creevy (a boy who was constantly asking to take Harry’s picture) at a table. Waiting for them at the front was a glowering Professor Snape. The dim lighting of the dungeon gave him a creepy and rather green look. “I expect my students to arrive at class on time. Not one moment early, nor one moment late. I will not tolerate my time being wasted, especially on First Year students who need all the education they can get,” he said sourly in a deep, sneering voice. Cathryn exchanged uncomfortable glances with the students around her table. “In my classroom, I expect students to behave with the utmost respect for the art of Potions. I have no patience for those who arrive late, talk out of turn, fail to complete homework, or do not follow my instruction. Failure to comply will result in punishment and deduction of house points. Am I understood?” he looked around, as if daring someone to speak up. The dungeon was silent. “We will move on to attendance. When I call your name, you will simply raise your hand,” he said, unfolding a roll of parchment that sat on his desk. Cathryn was certainly beginning to see what Harry, Ron and Hermione were saying when they had told her about Professor Snape. She was already beginning to dislike him. Whatever side of him Draco saw, he clearly wasn’t showing it today. “Adams, Christine,” he began. A girl with black, chin length hair raised her hand timidly. “Birch, Lauren… Blackstone, Michael… Creevy, Colin…” Snape continued down the list. His lip practically curled as he said, “Malfoy, Cathryn,” through clenched teeth. Cath raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit angry at his reaction to her name. Professor Snape scanned the classroom until his eyes rested on her, glaring. “Did I not instruct you to raise you hand when I call your name, Miss Malfoy?” he asked. She sighed through her nose and rose her hand in obedience. “Clearly you are already showing a lack of respect for the rules I’ve given you. Five points from Gryffindor,” he said. When he noticed the scowl on her face he added, “You will soon find out that not everything in this life will be simply handed to you, Malfoy.” He continued to take attendance as Cathryn’s face became hot with embarrassment. “He hates me,” she muttered.   “That makes two of us,” said Harry to Cathryn at a table in the Great Hall the following Saturday. The two of them, along with Ron, Hermione and Draco were gathered there, doing homework (or in Harry and Ron’s case, playing Wizard’s Chess). “Maybe he’s getting bored of picking on Harry, so he needs someone new,” Ron suggested, as his Knight took out one of Harry’s pawns. “Or maybe he just can’t favour two Malfoys,” suggested Draco with a sneer. “So he has to pick a favourite. “Draco,” Hermione chided him from behind a stack of books. “Well whatever it is, I’m not about to let him make a fool of me in front of the whole class whenever he pleases,” said Cathryn determinedly, now doodling on her Transfiguration homework. “It’s best not to fight fire with fire when it comes to Snape, like Harry does,” Hermione advised her. “I do not-“ Harry broke off before he could disagree with her. “Well… I suppose I do.” “Have you replied to Mother and Father’s letter yet, Cath?” Draco asked Cathryn, changing the subject. She just shook her head. “Were they pleased that you were sorted into Gryffindor?” Hermione asked. “It’s none of your business, Hermione,” Ron said, looking as if she had just said something offensive. Cathryn laughed as Hermione scowled at him. “They weren’t over the moon about it, that’s for sure. From what I could gather from the four sentences my Mother wrote, they were probably a bit surprised. My Father didn’t write anything at all. Maybe he died of shock.” “I’m sure they’ll get over it,” Draco said, though he didn’t look to sure of it himself. “You can always come stay with my family over the holidays if they disown you,” Ron offered. “They won’t disown you,” Hermione assured her. It was all very kind of them, but Cath couldn’t help but think that they didn’t know the proud, Pureblood Slytherin wizard that was her Father. If he was encouraging Draco not to hang out with his Gryffindor friends, the chances that he would be happy his own daughter was one probably wouldn’t please him. “Cath, you should come to the Quidditch game today,” Harry suggested. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin. You can watch me put your brother to shame.” “Eat dung, Potter,” Draco snapped. “We’ll see who’s going to be put to shame. My father got me a Nimbus 2001 as a present before the start of school.” Quidditch was the most popular Wizarding sport - one that was played in the air on flying broomsticks. Draco was a seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and practiced tirelessly every summer in their backyard. From what he had told her, Harry was also a Seeker - in fact, the youngest one in history. Normally First Years weren’t allowed to join the Quidditch team, but Harry’s skill had been discovered and he’d been given special permission from Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. Her father had mentioned something about special treatment when Draco had explained this, but even being the prideful brat he was, Draco admitted that Harry really was quite good. “You know what I got as a present before the start of school? My brothers old gloves. Gloves! What on earth am I going to need those for?” Ron grumbled bitterly. Draco snickered. “Well, it is quite cold outside, I’m sure they’ll come in handy if they haven’t got too many holes in them.” “Draco,” Hermione and Cathryn scolded in unison. *** As weeks passed, Cathryn began to feel more and more at home at Gryffindor. She got on well with the other girls in her dorm, most evenings were spent with Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny and their other Gryffindor friends in the Common Room, and (save Potions) her classes were most enjoyable. The brisk autumn air slowly gave way to wind and snow, and the day before it was time for Cathryn and Draco to go home for Christmas break, Hogwarts was covered in thick blankets of sparkling white snow. However, something very strange happened that day. The last class of the day had finished, and Cathryn and Ginny were walking along with their other classmates back to Gryffindor Tower so that they could get ready for dinner A strange sight in the corridor caused them to stop in their tracks and let out a gasp. They were standing in ankle deep water, and a cat belonging to the school caretaker was suspended in midair, appearing to be paralyzed. Ginny gave a sudden sob beside Cathryn and fled back the way they had came from. “Ginny!” Cathryn said. Before she could attempt to follow her, Professor McGonagall arrived. The sight made her eyes widen in shock. She lifted up the hem of her robes. “Your attention please,” she said immediately, loud enough for the group to hear. Other students attempting to go down the corridor were now gathered around, whispering to each other. “Everyone is to return to their Common Rooms immediately. This corridor is officially off limits until further notice, so please do not attempt to reach your Common Rooms this way.” The students began talking amongst themselves again, all conspiring as to what had happened. As Cathryn looked over her shoulder, Professor McGonagall began to perform spells that closed off the corridor. If Ginny had already gone back to the Common Room, Cathryn could not find her. Her reaction to the scene they had just witnessed both confused and concerned Cath, and when the bell rang for dinner, Cathryn quickly went to the Great Hall to find Harry, Ron and Hermione and tell them what had happened. The three of them were already talking about it as she took a seat beside them. “Did you hear?” Ron asked. “It’s so strange…” Hermione said anxiously.  “I was there,” Cath replied. “We were walking out of our last class, and the hallway was filled with water. Then, we saw Mr. Filch’s cat just hanging in midair. She was stiff as a board - she looked like she was paralyzed or something.” “Weird…” Harry said, shaking his head. “By the way… have either of you seen Ginny? She was rather upset when it happened. She ran off before Professor McGonagall could get there, and I didn’t see her in the Common Room when we got back,” Cath said. Ron shrugged. “She’s just sensitive, that’s all. I’m sure she’ll get over it.” However, Ginny never showed up to dinner and when Cathryn returned to her dorm that night, the curtains of her four-poster bed were already pulled shut. Cath lay in bed for a while, mulling the situation over in her head before sleep fell over her.

[letterboxd]

Grand Gestures.

Casually breaking new ground for the rom-com genre, writer-director Natalie Krinsky tells Dominic Corry about creating her quietly revolutionary new film The Broken Hearts Gallery—while leading man Dacre Montgomery reveals his Letterboxd habits.

“Good, bad, ugly. The whole lot. I love reading the bad reviews. I’m all about it.” —Dacre Montgomery

An antidote to 2020 malaise if ever there was one, the upbeat, emotionally frank and unapologetically sentimental new big-screen romantic comedy The Broken Hearts Gallery is here to lift your spirits and mend your broken heart.

Blockers and Bad Education star Geraldine Viswanathan leads the film as Lucy, a New York art gallery assistant prone to hoarding physical memorabilia from past relationships. After being dumped and fired in quick succession, Lucy meet-cutes Nick (Stranger Things break-out Dacre Montgomery), an aspiring hotelier with a large empty space on his hands, in which Lucy decides to stage the titular pop-up exhibition, filled with objects representing lost loves.

Proving there are still plenty of new places to go in the well-worn rom-com genre, Krinsky’s film is generating passionate responses on Letterboxd, where fans are celebrating its contemporary sensibility. “Refreshingly modern,” writes Anne. “Diversity is easily achieved and there’s really no heteronormativity. People are just people, love is just love, and that’s what wins me over.”

“Definitely a very 2020 film,” writes Jovi. “It couldn’t have been written in the same way even ten years ago. It captures being in your twenties in the modern day perfectly.” “Bloody loved the female empowerment and the unconventional narrative and characters,” enthuses Meg.

Geraldine Viswanathan and Dacre Montgomery in ‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’.

Reading through the reviews, the most common reaction is praise for how unapologetically inclusive the film is, in a way that feels appallingly novel for a mainstream film. As Krinsky explains it, “I wanted to make a film that was reflective of the world that I see around me and the world that these characters would inhabit if they lived amongst us mortals.” Or, as Montgomery casually states, “I think it’s where we’re at in 2020 with casting and stuff.” The ease with which the film does this indicts most of modern cinema for its lack of representation.

Krinsky’s inclusive casting and characterization decisions stretch across the entire cast, encompassing that essential feature of modern rom-coms: the quirky ‘best friend’. As well as lending authenticity and personality to the leading characters’ lives, the bestie is often where the ‘com’ in rom-com comes in. The Broken Hearts Gallery has an abundance of quirksters, from Lucy’s roommates (who include Hamilton’s Phillipa Soo as saucy, serial heartbreaker Nadine) to Nick’s straight-talking BFF Marcos (a very funny Arturo Castro).

But the chemistry between the central couple is everything in romantic comedies, and The Broken Hearts Gallery benefits greatly from its fresh-faced, emerging-star leads, both of whom are Australian. “We had a rapport with each other much faster maybe than usual,” Montgomery says of his and Viswanathan’s shared background. “I haven't worked with an Australian actor or actress overseas so that was really nice. She’s a wildly talented, comedic actress. It was my first foray into this sort of genre. I was sort of shit-scared and she’s really held my hand through it.”

Geraldine Viswanathan and director Natalie Krinsky.

Krinksy, likewise, was blown away by Viswanathan’s talents, having seen her work in Blockers and Hala. “She does this great physical comedy in Blockers, and then in Hala, she plays this really vulnerable, dramatic teenage role. I was so taken by her ability to pull both of those completely different parts off. I just immediately had this feeling, which I hadn’t ever had before, of: ‘this is Lucy’. She’s got this comedic timing that is very much like Lucille Ball, it’s got this effervescence to it. She’s able to do so much without saying a word. And then she opens her mouth and it’s a gift.”

It’s no small thing for Viswanathan to have been cast as Lucy. Many an actor’s career has been made by a leading role in a romantic comedy, and—current industry upheaval notwithstanding—Viswanathan looks set to break out even further with her performance here. Montgomery’s and Krinsky’s enthusiasm for her work echoes a central theme in The Broken Hearts Gallery: when Montgomery first met with writer-director Krinsky about the film, she told him the story was somewhat inspired by the idea of seeing men support women in their careers, as Nick does with Lucy. “That was a big thing for me,” he explains, “because I have a lot of really strong women in my life that have supported me—my partner, my mum, my grandmother, so on and so forth.”

Those who know Montgomery from Stranger Things will be interested to learn why he pivoted to romantic comedy. He tells us he was looking for something diametrically opposed to his break-out performance in that show. “As a viewer, I love comedy. As an actor, can’t think of anything scarier. I function in this realm of ‘plan, prepare, do everything the way I know’. The great thing about this was it was ever-evolving. It really did force me to come out of my comfort zone.” (Montgomery will pivot again for his next role, which he says is “kind of a dream role. I can’t speak about it now… Again, it’s 180 degrees in the other direction, so it is a wild ride.”)

Krinsky is also switching things up, career-wise. The Broken Hearts Gallery is her first feature film, after cutting her teeth in television writers’ rooms (Gossip Girl, Grey’s Anatomy, 90210). She credits that environment for training her to fix storytelling problems on the fly. A story a decade in the making, Broken Hearts came from her own romantic aspirations and fears. “I had had many conversations like [the one Lucy has early in the film with Max (Utkarsh Ambudkar), where he dumps her after telling her she’s ‘a blast’]. So that certainly came from my life. I’d been fired from my job. I was moving apartments and I was going through the detritus of these past relationships and kind of trying to figure out what I was going to keep and what I was going to hold on to. You kind of pepper in those things [that are] reflective of relationships in your twenties.”

‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’ director Natalie Krinsky.

Going into the film, Krinsky was very conscious of trying to set it apart from rom-coms that have come before. “Making a good romantic comedy is actually quite difficult because it’s so well-trodden, and because there are beats that we want. We want to cheer for two people falling in love. Because of that, my philosophy going into this was very much centered around Lucy. We’ve seen a lot of romantic comedies in the past where we see a woman trying to fit herself into a mold in order to be with someone and ultimately realizing, ‘Oh, that mold isn’t who I am’. Lucy is a character who certainly has her foibles and has her anxieties and has her eccentricities, but she consistently asks the world to love her because she is weird, not despite the fact that she is weird. That messaging was really important to me.”

In another case of the film gently nudging the rom-com genre forward, it acknowledges how ridiculous grand romantic gestures can be, but still manages to include a few. Krinsky believes there is room for grand gestures in real life. “I certainly hope so. I would like a grand gesture every once in a while—wouldn’t we all? We deserve it. I’m a little bit hopelessly romantic in that way. And I will say I like the surprise. To be able to just, show up home and say, ‘I was walking around today and I saw this cactus. And I thought of you. And here it is.’ Maybe that’s not so grand, but it’s the gesture at least.”

We note that another unique aspect of The Broken Hearts Gallery is the feeling that it doesn’t seem like it’s going to live or die on whether or not the two main characters end up together. “I think they both needed to confront a little bit of who they were,” Krinksy agrees. “Which I always think is the truth about really falling in love, is that in order to have a good relationship, you need to have a good one with yourself first.”

Clearly a huge fan of the genre, we ask Krinsky to recommend her favorites from the canon. “I love some of our recent classics. When Harry Met Sally is a perfect romantic comedy. Bridget Jones’s Diary is a perfect romantic comedy. I love Clueless—even though it’s more com than rom. And then I really love some of the older ones. Broadcast News is one of my all time favorites. Going back even further two of my go-tos that hold up today are His Girl Friday and It Happened One Night. Those two, especially if you’re talking about the ‘strong female lead’, they held them in spades and that fast quippy dialogue I just really live for.”

Montgomery, meanwhile, turns out to be somewhat of a cinephile, something he cultivated as a teenager in the Australian suburbs. “I worked at McDonald’s and I spent all my money on going to [electronics and DVD store] JB Hi-Fi. That’s my childhood in a nutshell. Growing up, I was either at the cinema or in my room and spending all my money on DVDs. All my friends worked at video stores. That was kind of my jam.”

And then—mic drop—Montgomery casually shares the news that he has a secret Letterboxd account. Yes, dear reader, it appears that Dacre is a full-on ’boxd-head. “Oh yeah. I mean, that’s why I was so happy that this [interview] was coordinated. Other than obviously having a chance to talk to you just in general to chat about the platform, it’s a combination of a couple of things that I’m going to put quickly in a couple of words: obviously you can create watchlists on Disney+, Netflix and so on. But then you’ve got so many bloody platforms, all of your lists are in different spaces and all of your movies are spread out on different platforms.

“For me, the biggest role for [Letterboxd] is I can formulate everything in one place, on one platform and look at it. It’s just got so … much … stuff. If I’m up for a horror movie, but I want it set in the snow, I can log on there and it’s, like, The Thing, Hold The Dark. All these great movies. Which I love. And I can read reviews of them before or after.”

Montgomery’s partner is also on Letterboxd, as is his childhood best friend. “Every time we leave the cinema, he gets on Letterboxd and writes a review—his honest, immediate reaction to what he’s just seen. It’s the first thing he does. It’s a great outlet for him. He’s had filmmakers reach out to him, which is another lovely thing. I think a lot of the arts and creative community is actually active on that platform. My buddy just spent the $20 for the year thing and now he can see what his top actors are that he watches, what’s his most-watched decade. I love that sort of stuff. I’m such a cinephile, to be able to collate everything into one sort of succinct thing—that’s my dream.”

Naturally, we ask Montgomery to represent his home country and name-check some Aussie films and filmmakers. “Obviously I’m still quite young, but a lot of cinema like Felony, The Rover, Animal Kingdom, that whole sort of genre, like all the David Michôd films. That sort of realm, I loved growing up. Baz Luhrmann’s films, obviously. Don McAlpine, Australian cinematographer. Bruce Beresford. There’s such an amazing pedigree of actors as well, most recently, obviously the Edgertons [Joel and Nash], Ben Mendelsohn, Heath, obviously, and Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman.”

Curious to learn more about why a bona-fide star would lurk on Letterboxd where his own performances are ranked, rated and reviewed, we ask Montgomery: what does he get out of it? “I don't have this in-built bias or expectation, even though you’d think I would to kind of go, ‘Why didn’t they like that?’ I love reading the bad reviews. I’m all about it. I’m just interested to see what they engaged with. I think that’s the great thing about Letterboxd as opposed to any other platform is that I can just kind of log in under my alias and read everyone’s uninhibited dialogue that’s come out just after they’ve seen the film. And I love that. Good, bad, ugly. The whole lot. I think it’s the coolest thing ever.”

So then, the final, obvious question: has he been reading the Broken Hearts reviews? “I love to look up the Broken Hearts Gallery page. I think people are just enjoying this level of escapism. If they had the ability to go to a drive-in or to the cinema, wherever they are, people are just kind of going ‘it was so nice to get out of my house and out of my head’. It’s what any cinema tries to do, that level of escapism. I think it couldn’t have come at a better time. Once it’s done its cinematic release, it’ll be on streamers and then people can have that level of escapism who weren’t able to go to the cinema, so that’s really nice.”

Prepare yourself for The Broken Hearts Gallery by checking out this extremely thorough Letterboxd list of romantic comedies, expand your romantic comedy horizons with this list of South Korean rom-coms, and get a feel for where Letterboxd members are at, rom-com-wise, with this romantic comedy showdown.

‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’ is in theaters where possible. Dacre Montgomery’s first book of poetry will be released in October. Comments have been edited for clarity and length.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars V (Harry Potter xFem!Oc)

A/N: In this house, we respect healthy friendships where you can roast each other relentlessly.

Words: 3,073

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Chapter Five: The Alley.

It was the first time in days that Mel managed to sleep. After delivering the letter and saving Harry from his awful relatives, things were bound to get better.

Harry moved next to her, she groaned and hid her face under the coat.

"Not yet," She complained, "too early!"

"There's an owl," Her friend mumbled.

"Where?" She slowly opened her eyes.

Harry got to the window and let the owl in, it dropped a newspaper and went over to Mel, starting to nibble on Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that," Harry tried to scare it away, "Hagrid! There's an owl..."

Mel watched half asleep as Harry paid the owl, she had examined the coins during her flight and was excited to meet Gringotts so she could see a real Goblin. Her mother had given her the key to her father's vault, asking her to take good care of it. Mel promised she would.

They left first thing in the morning, Mel noticed that the motorcycle was gone, so they had to take the boat. Harry kept asking questions about everything, things that she hadn't thought of and was as interested as him to know.

For example, her uncle had been offered the position of Minister of Magic but declined so he could keep teaching at Hogwarts. She felt intimidated if she was honest, Dumbledore seemed to demand respect, and she wasn't sure she could live up to that. If the things her mother and Hagrid said were true, people would be waiting to see her turn into something just as impressive, Mel didn't think she had it in her.

On their way to London, Hagrid asked the boy to read the list of things they needed to buy, Mel slid closer so she could read it too.

It was all sorts of interesting: The titles of their books sparked a feeling in her chest to read them all in one sitting, the uniform and equipment reminded her of the fairytales she had been reading all summer.

"This is it," said Hagrid, after walking for a while, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

Mel didn't know how that place could be famous, maybe it was famous in the wrong way, for its lack of lighting and how it smelled.

When they walked in, most of the people greeted Hagrid, they were all strange in a way that made her eager to start her education, she wanted to be like every single one of them: Accustomed to their magic.

When Hagrid told them he couldn't stay because he was on Hogwarts' business, the room fell silent.

"Good Lord," said the barman, "is this – can this be –? Bless my soul, Harry Potter... what an honour..."

The man rushed over to them and shook the boy's hand, then he glanced at Mel.

"And this lady..?"

"Mel," She said simply, then Hagrid gave her a gentle push and she cleared her throat, "uh- Dumbledore. Mel Dumbledore."

The man let out what sounded like a squeal and quickly held her hand.

"Miss Dumbledore! We were expecting you too, of course, but the both of you at the same time... What a day, what a wonderful day!"

There was movement around and suddenly Mel and Harry were greeted by a bunch of strangers, all looking as happy as the next. Many names went over her head because she was nervous and didn't know why were they all expecting them. They didn't know anything about her besides her name, what could they possibly be waiting for?

It lasted a while, even a man that was a teacher in Hogwarts greeted them, he was young and it reminded her to a little scared doggie, because he would tremble and stutter the whole time.

Hagrid finally took them out of the fuss and guided them to a back door, Harry and him talked about the young man -Professor Quirrell- and how he had a bad experience with some vampires. He came back terrified of his own shadow.

Mel had an icky feeling about it, she could have the same fate if she wasn't careful enough.

She wanted to be good, make her mother proud and live up to her last name, but it was going to be hard, she didn't know a thing about the world she was supposed to live in.

Hagrid pulled her out of her thoughts, hitting the bricks in front of them and magically forming an archway.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley"

Brooms, potions ingredients, robes, books, wands... truly a whole world for her to experience, and a whole lifetime to do so, too!

They reached Gringotts, white as every cloud in the sky and Goblins in every corner. Mel was a bit taller than them but she wasn't deceived by the looks, Goblins could be tough if they needed to.

Hagrid went to one of the desks and gave Mel and Harry's keys to the Goblin.

After a careful examination, he gave them back and then they were guided to their vaults.

Hagrid also asked to see another vault: Number seven hundred and thirteen. He refused to say why. 'Hogwarts' business' he mentioned.

When they got to Harry's vault it was very impressive: Piles of coins everywhere!

Hagrid explained how it worked: Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. She made sure to memorize it.

Her vault was further away, Hagrid said that hers was older since it was the Dumbledore's vault.

When the Goblin showed what was inside she felt a strange rumbling on her chest, similar to looking at a warm dinner after a whole day playing outside. Mel wasn't thinking of it as a fortune she could spend, though. She thought about the security, she didn't have to worry about her mother barely making it till next month. She wondered why, if her mother had the key to this vault, she never tried to take a bit for them.

Then she thought that maybe her mother wasn't exactly able to buy groceries with galleons, so Mel understood why she went to gain her own money in the muggle world.

Again, Hagrid helped the kid to grab enough for a few terms and went back to the cart, looking pretty sick.

They arrived at the last vault, the "Hogwarts' business" as Hagrid kept calling it.

Harry and Mel squeezed each other in the tiny space they had, fighting to get a better view of a... completely empty vault. The girl sat back with a huff, disappointed. Harry tugged at her sleeve and discretely pointed to something on the floor: a tiny package wrapped on brown paper.

Hagrid collected it and sat back on the cart, the children shared a confused glance before preparing for the trip back to the surface.

Once out and about, Hagrid sent the kids to get their uniform while he went over to the leaky cauldron for something that could calm his dizziness.

Once there, the old lady asked them to get to the back of the store where another boy was trying on his robes. He had a sharp chin and cold eyes, he also looked terribly bored.

The problem started when he talked.

A bunch of rubbish, she would say. Even if she understood very little, she could tell what kind of person he was through the tone of his voice. When Hagrid appeared outside of the store and Draco called him a savage, it took everything in her to act politely.

Once out, she angrily whispered to Harry:

"What an idiot," She shook her head, "I hope that whatever house-thing we end up in, it's not Slyth-whatever..."

"Why?" Harry asked, "just because that boy might be there?"

"I refuse to share anything in common with him!" She faced forward with her head held high, "He's annoying"

Harry grinned.

"What?" She looked over to him, "What's so funny?"

"You looked like Aunt Petunia"

She looked at her friend in outrage.

"Don't be rude!" Harry laughed harder, Mel tried to stay mad but she inevitably joined in.

Harry had been quiet for a while, it was weird in him after spending the whole morning making questions. Mel tried to make him laugh, but he only paid attention to the task at hand and bought his equipment silently.

Mel did too, assuming that her friend would talk when he felt ready. He acted like that when something annoyed him and she knew him enough to be patient.

After they bought a good amount of quills and parchment, Harry spoke up.

"Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know – not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry.

"I don't know either," She patted his back softly, "you shouldn't worry about that boy, Glasses"

"What boy?" Asked Hagrid.

The two kids told what happened back in Madam Malkin's and Hagrid was quick to shrug off all of their worries. Although Mel already knew all that: Blood, knowledge, or families shouldn't matter as long as you do your part and you're good at it.

Or at least, she hoped so.

Then they talked about Quidditch -She could definitely become a fan- and the Houses back in Hogwarts. Apparently, Slytherin had a terrible reputation because Voldemort was there when he was young.

Next, they went for their books and potions ingredients.

"A gold cauldron!" Mel laughed, "Are you trying to get mugged? You can't walk around the streets with that!"

"I just thought it was more resistant than the normal ones!" Harry blushed, "Shut up!"

"Sure," She snorted, "you've been rich for what, thirty minutes? And you're already showing off..."

"I'm not," He pushed her away lightly.

"Mr. Potter, would you like me to hold the bags for you? I could hire an assistant for your needs, I see that the extra work is making you moody"

Harry tried to hold back, but when Mel bowed and opened the door for him, he burst out laughing.

Then Hagrid said he would buy Harry a present and Mel beamed at the idea.

"What are you going to get him, Hagrid?"

"He doesn't have to!" Insisted Harry, "Don't ask!"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at – an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer post an' everythin."

"An owl!" Mel exclaimed, "They're so pretty, Harry! We could send letters to my mum once we're in school!"

"I-I..." Harry was bright red, it had been a while since Mel had seen him so flustered and she was delighted.

"Let's go!" She took his hand and dragged him towards 'Eeylops Owl Emporium' with Hagrid following them.

"You'll have an owl, I'm so jealous," Mel said under her breath, "my mum would never allow me to have one, she'd say they're dirty..."

"I don't think Aunt Petunia will be pleased either," Harry replied.

"Oh, but who cares? They won't annoy you now"

"You don't know that," Mel examined each owl with care.

"I do," She smiled, "they don't know you aren't allowed to do magic"

Before Harry could reply, Hagrid got inside the store and looked around, he asked Harry if he had anything in mind and the boy shook his head.

"What do you think about this one?" The little girl asked, pointing to a snowy white owl.

She got closer to it, her hand dangerously near the cage. However, the owl didn't try to bite her, instead, it inched closer, grazing her fingertips.

Harry got closer too, looking at the owl.

"I do like it," He admitted, "Hagrid..?"

"Yes of course!" Exclaimed the man loudly, "it's yer birthday after all, whatever yeh want, boy"

All the way to the counter, after they were outside the store, Harry still was stuttering his gratitude. Mel stayed behind on purpose, but when she got back, she examined the list on her hands.

"Now we need our wands, Hagrid," Interrupted Mel.

A wand! Hagrid told them that they weren't allowed to do magic outside the school, but Mel was about to start school, so she wasn't too worried about it. Only a wand would tell her exactly how much like her father she was.

So they went over to 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.' Mel walked in, feeling her skin tingling almost as if the wands were telling her to inch closer.

"Good afternoon," Said a voice on her left.

Harry and Hagrid jumped, taken by surprise. Mel was too eager to feel anxious, she got closer to the counter.

"Hello," She smiled.

"Hello," Said Harry beside her, only a bit more awkward than her.

"Ah yes," The man smiled, "I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter."

He then looked at Mel, it took him a moment.

"You look a lot like your mother," He nodded, "but I can see there's a Dumbledore behind those eyes."

He watched the kids closely.

"Miss Dumbledore, if you please," He moved away from the counter and started measuring her body. Then the tape moved on its own while the man rummaged through the shelves.

She tried exactly three wands. Oak, then maple, then oak again.

"English oak with phoenix feather, twelve inches and a half, slightly elastic flexibility," Ollivander said.

Mel felt revived, that wand somehow welcomed her home.

She waved it a little and bright blue sparks shot out.

"Very good!" The old man cheered, "It seems you have found your match, Miss Dumbledore, congratulations! Mr. Potter, it seems to be your turn now..."

Harry, as usual, was a bit harder to find. A pile of wands was blatant proof of it.

Ollivander didn't seem to care as he kept bringing more wands with a delighted expression. After a while, he came back holding only one box, he had an odd look on his face.

He gave it to Harry, and the magic (quite literally) was immediate. Mel and Hagrid clapped and cheered, but Ollivander was in his own head, he kept murmuring to himself.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Mel watched her friend's wand carefully, frowning at it as if it could act on its own and only did bad things.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember ... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter ... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

"I don't think so," Mel said out loud, "I'm sorry Sir, but he wasn't great. He was nothing but a murderer. My friend will grow up to be much better."

Ollivander, instead of getting angry at the girl, chuckled lowly.

"Let's hope you are right, Miss Dumbledore. After all, your family has the reputation of being almost always right on what they say."

Mel stayed silent. If people kept reminding her how important her family was, she did not think she'd bear it for long.

The kids didn't feel like talking, not even on the train when they were close to going back to their relatives.

Hagrid bought them lunch and insisted so much on their attitude that they decided to share their worries.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," Said Harry, "all those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol– sorry – I mean, the night my parents died."

Mel nodded without speaking, she was chewing a big chunk of her food.

The girl waited for Hagrid to end his speech about how they would blend in easily with the rest of the kids to add:

"I hope you're right, I barely know who my dad was and now they want me to be exactly as his side of the family. I can't do that, I'm not wise or clever..."

"We know," Added Harry, teasing his friend.

"Sod off, Glasses," She nudged his arm.

"Emily will pick yeh up from the station," Hagrid said once they were saying their goodbyes, "here are yer tickets fer Hogwarts..."

Mel and Harry pressed their noses against the glass to watch Hagrid, but he was gone.

"Sometimes I still think I'm dreaming," sighed Mel getting back to her seat, "it's all too good to be true, don't you think?"

"Why didn't you tell me about your letter?" Harry asked.

She should've known. He was smart, Harry would never forget that his only friend hid the truth from him.

"I'm sorry," She said honestly, "I told you, Dumbledore went to my house and explained everything. I wanted to tell you right away! But he... he made me promise..."

"I thought we were best friends."

"Are you really mad at me, Glasses? I rescued you!"

"Hagrid rescued me, you just were with him!"

"Okay, yes," She rolled her eyes, "but I was there, just like I promised"

Harry lowered his head, frowning.

"Glasses," Mel repeated, "didn't I keep my promise?"

"You did," He replied quietly, "at least I won't have to go to school with that horrid uniform my Aunt was making for me, it was all Dudley's old clothes..."

"Gross," The girl grimaced, "oh, I almost forgot! I have a present for you!"

She pulled a tiny package from her jacket and handed it to him.

"Happy Birthday!"

"It's a..." He squinted, tearing up the paper, "a mouse?"

"It's a toy for your owl!" Mel smiled, "I bought it after you left the store"

"Then is not exactly mine, is it?"

"Well, no," She grinned, "but I think you've been too spoiled for today and that's actually useful, it will keep her busy while she's on her cage."

"You're loopy," He rolled his eyes, putting the mouse inside the owl's cage.

"Shut up."

Next Chapter —>

[punkscowardschampions]

Savannah & Jac

Savannah: Are you on your way here? Jac: I hadn't started to get ready yet Jac: got caught up doing some prep for our next lecture, haven't looked at the clock in a minute 🤯 whoops Savannah: well thank god, I was hoping to catch you before having to dramatically tell you to turn around, especially if you had happened to be half way to me Jac: Oh? Jac: What's going on in UH tonight? 😄 Savannah: Nothing, which is perhaps why we're the centre of attention Jac: 😬 Don't love the sound of that Jac: what's been said? Savannah: I'm not even sure because the way she was saying it gave me the most INTENSE Catholic school flashbacks Savannah: & I've overanalysed every syllable to the point that it's been twisted beyond recognition so I can't be trusted to reliably relay any of it Jac: Okay, pause Jac: who's being mean to you, and why on earth Jac: Is it that one girl in the next room along from you, because I did think she was someone's little sister so I can believe the immaturity Savannah: I think she was trying to be complimentary about us but I didn't take it like that, I can't, not after everything Jac: Baby Jac: just try to explain it best you can Jac: take your time, and I'll forgive any personal interjection Jac: because I care more about how it's made you feel, than how it was said or meant, really Savannah: she's made me feel like I'm doing this all wrong, exactly how I said I wouldn't, holding you back and being too much Jac: But you aren't at all Jac: what would she even know about it, she doesn't know either of us, even a little bit Savannah: maybe that unbiased outside perspective is what I needed to make me realise the mistakes I'm making Savannah: because it isn't just her, they're all talking about how you're ALWAYS here, how inseparable we are Jac: Do you feel like we're taking things too fast, being too much? Savannah: No Savannah: but I didn't last time either Jac: okay Jac: because you know you can tell me, if you are Jac: I mean, I don't know what to do with this information Jac: we don't judge them for their relationships Savannah: I was fine, but I'm scared now, obviously Jac: that we're like you and Tyler, or you and Milo Jac: or that we're repeating our past and it'll end badly again Savannah: that I can't have a relationship that isn't ridiculously co-dependent, except it's not even, because that implies that they were as extra as I was Savannah: & that I shouldn't have entered into this one if I haven't changed enough to avoid repeating things Jac: They balanced you out Jac: and I don't Savannah: they let me do whatever I wanted, that isn't what I want from you Jac: but if it's what we both want Jac: it's hard for me to think we should listen more to these girls, who are probably speaking at least from a bit of jealousy, than that Savannah: No, because it isn't what we both want, a healthy relationship is what we both want Jac: Yeah Jac: you're right, of course Jac: but, I don't like the implication that they know what works for us Jac: if we need to reevaluate, it can still be on our terms Jac: I bet lots of them have never had a serious relationship, or only the same level of unhealthy as we have before, they're not qualified Savannah: They don't know us or have any qualifications & I believe you're right about the jealousy factor but I am still willing to see & use this as the wake up call that I need to do better Jac: We can do that Jac: I trust you Jac: I'm not going to see this as you pulling away or something I've done Savannah: please don't, because it isn't Jac: It was my initial fear Jac: but you never leave me to worry Jac: and the fact that I immediately went there is just something I need to address too Savannah: you have reason to go there, it's okay Savannah: how I handled things back then is precisely what I'm trying to avoid Jac: I completely see that, I honestly do Jac: I'm sorry if I got defensive right there Savannah: & I can see that I've slightly overreacted now that I've slightly calmed down Jac: It made me feel the same Jac: like you said, the school flashbacks are no joke Savannah: I'm so sorry I told you not to come, I'd hate for you to think that's what I want, ever Jac: It's okay, we can take a night off Jac: but I'm also not gonna tell you you can't come to mine instead, once they've all gone back to their rooms or whatever Savannah: are you going to tell me what prep you were doing which I should've been instead of freaking out? Savannah: because I need to know Jac: Of course Jac: we haven't competed like that for a LONG time now Jac: it's not like we were asked but I asked [your fave prof bff 'cos lord knows I'm using the photos] on the way out last week if there was anything we could study up on ready for next term Savannah: once I've done everything he has suggested & fixed my 😢 face I'll come over Jac: My poor boo, I hate that they upset you so much Jac: also that we only have showers Jac: or I'd recommend a bubble bath as first order of business Savannah: honestly the lack of 🛀🏾🥂 upsets me more than anything Savannah: but in all seriousness, it wasn't even those girls at fault, I got myself worked up Jac: it is a travesty Jac: we need a place with an en-suite next year Jac: because the idea of sharing a bath with god knows who is no more appealing than NOT having one 😰 Jac: it's okay, I won't insist on being that stereotype and 'having a word' with them, they can live, for now Savannah: if checking into a hotel wouldn't be viewed as the ULTIMATE overreaction, I definitely would use the 💳 my dad insisted upon giving me Jac: I can only imagine the flashbacks that would give him 🙄 Jac: not worth the stress nor satisfaction Jac: though I was thinking we could do something, go somewhere, before the Christmas hols, as we will both be obligated to go all in with the family during Savannah: there would be SO MUCH satisfaction but I promise, I'll resist and be good, for now Savannah: no such promises of 👼🏾 for a family Christmas though, so I love that idea Jac: We can make that happen with just a shower, I promise you Jac: even if we just see a bit more of Edinburgh, get that hotel, I wanna treat you Jac: and no one can stop me spending as much time as we're able lavishing attention on you before we have to go back Jac: because it's going to be stressful, we both know that much already Savannah: if you're feeling left out because your entire dorm isn't talking about us, I can make that happen once we're 🚿 Savannah: you're the most thoughtful girlfriend in the entire world, but if that's something we're about to start competing over in place of academics, that's more than fine with me Jac: I might regret saying I can handle that but Jac: I don't Jac: 😳😳 Savannah: you won't have any, I promise Jac: I love you Savannah: I'm utterly in love with you Jac: I'll never get over hearing that Savannah: you don't have to because I love your 😳 too Jac: It's so different Jac: even though we used to say it like all the time Savannah: you know I meant it every time, it just had to be different Jac: and it is Jac: third time's a charm Jac: we'll make it work this time, no matter how much work that might be Jac: because it's so worth it Savannah: yes, it is and we will Jac: I'm gonna order all your faves when you get here Savannah: 🥰 Savannah: hopefully the lecture prep won't take me too long Jac: you can always read through mine Jac: it's not like it's cheating, just a better way to do a study sesh Savannah: if you're going to send it to me, absolutely, but if you're expecting me to concentrate on reading through it when I get there, I'm sorry but there's no way Jac: I'm not that 😈 Jac: at least not at the sake of your education Savannah: & thank goodness as my parents are both already doing the most to interfere with my education right now with their constant communication Jac: yet imagine your dad in particular if you did any less than perfect Jac: I don't know how he fails to see how counterproductive the constant checking in is Savannah: or the pressure that he's been putting on me to spend Christmas with him from literally November 1st, I swear Savannah: it hasn't slipped his mind that I had no choice but to do that for the last two, even if the unfairness to my mother is something he refuses to think about Jac: Yes, I was about to say Jac: he'll have to think about how he's going to timeshare more efficiently with your mum now, just because it was his way or nothing for two whole years Jac: clearly, that didn't work so well for anyone BUT him Savannah: he thinks he can dictate to me as if I'm no older than I was when he forced me to leave & as though nothing has changed since then Savannah: I'm not going to jeopardise my mum's recovery by not spending time with her in the holidays Jac: To even suggest, let alone expect that from you Jac: even if he's not thinking about your mother, why would he want that guilt for you Jac: at least he cannot literally force you onto a plane to Sligo instead of Dublin Jac: it's getting Sienna, that needs to be planned Savannah: I'm at my wits end with her, it's like she doesn't see the problem Savannah: of course I'd understand her reluctance to spend it with mum but it's all about him, every single of her reasonings, because they aren't even really hers Savannah: she just fully believes whatever dad says Jac: 😕 That's hard Jac: because it automatically puts you in the bad guy camp Jac: because obviously it's nicer to believe that he only wants what's best etc Jac: but when she realizes that's not totally true, that'll be shattering Savannah: she's going to get hurt by him again, as if I wasn't there when he walked out teaching her to question everything that comes out of a man's mouth, that man in particular Savannah: I hate it Jac: I know 😞 Jac: all you're trying to do is protect her Jac: is she interested at coming like, at all? Jac: even if not the actual day of Savannah: It's not like I want her to spend her time and energy until her leavers cert hating him as much as I do, I know it'll be different for her now that I'm gone Savannah: but we get nowhere whenever I try to talk to her about mum, irrespective of the actual subject Savannah: I'm not giving up, of course, but I won't pretend to you that it isn't exhausting Jac: Of course you don't, you'd never tell her what to think Jac: but if you can see things differently, or remember how it was last time, it doesn't make you a bad sister, it's the opposite Jac: you never do ❤ Jac: I was just wondering, though this would be a bit morally dubious Jac: if we could trick her into spending some time with your mum Jac: I could make my sister invite her to something legit, like a family party Jac: your dad MIGHT say yes? I don't know Savannah: at this point I'm so close to walking away from everyone for the sake of my own mental health to spend the holidays alone & obviously that's not a real option I have available to me so I'm more than ready to do it & take the bad karma if it backfires Jac: I understand, last Christmas, I would've given anything to do just that Jac: I think it could work, your dad being the only potential block Jac: we could go for the second half, do New Years with her, maybe Savannah: 😞 I'm going to make sure you have the best Christmas this year, baby, whether or not this works Jac: I've got you, that's all I need for it to be perfect Jac: and we will work this out Jac: but as you said, it isn't even time yet, so you don't have to figure it all out tonight Jac: but when we do, you will have a peaceful and joyful Christmas, if it's the last thing I do Savannah: You're perfect & you're getting my undivided attention tonight, I truly do not care what opinion any or every American girl in this town has or decides to share Jac: A no-phone policy does not even need to be implemented when you're so beautiful Jac: it'd practically be a sin to not use every sense on you Jac: but seriously, whilst they may have a point, we're also further along than they might assume Jac: like I said, if they've never had a proper relationship, they're used to not getting texts back and having to be cool about it 🤷 Jac: we don't have to tone ourselves down or lessen what we have, if it doesn't serve us to do so, only in the ways it might Savannah: I will implement one though, some kind of a genuine family emergency happening again notwithstanding Savannah: I learnt a LOT about sin in Catholic school & you're totally right Savannah: you're the only person who I'd tone anything down for & since you haven't asked me, I really don't think it's necessary Jac: I appreciate it, a lot, you know that, right? Jac: the cliche isn't totally baseless then Jac: you can tell me all about it but we better keep that on the down-low 🤫 Savannah: okay, you don't want that specific dialogue broadcast to your entire dorm, just our mutual appreciation Savannah: I can do that Jac: I can only imagine how enthusiastic the boys would be Jac: and I only care about your enthusiasm Savannah: ugh, true Savannah: I forget too easily that we're not totally on our own once the door is closed, which I'm sure is what lead to that conversation taking place earlier Jac: We aren't the only ones who do that Jac: I swear to God I've heard at least four different girls going next door 🙄 Savannah: 🙄 not to mention I'm still getting woken up by a certain person we don't like just being loud while she undergoes her morning routine, which has literally been happening since I first moved in Jac: I can't deal with how loud she is Jac: the accent makes it so grating Jac: is she trying to be an influencer? make friends? either or 😬 honey no Savannah: ^^^ Savannah: I'm going to have to start going to bed earlier to compensate once lectures start Jac: She a THOUSAND percent has booked herself all afternoon/evening lectures and won't get why everyone is making such a big deal ??? Jac: so that girl Jac: I do my best work in the AM, that's just facts, not all of us plan to party through the entire experience, come on Savannah: So do I, as you know, so if she doesn't take the numerous hints once they are coming from more than just me, I'll have to move in with you & be that girl Savannah: which would entirely negate all the rational points I made earlier Jac: God, there needs to be a way to complain about her without it being dead obvious Jac: an amnesty box of sorts Jac: I'm still looking for doubles but no one is moving yet Savannah: If I have to befriend her to initiate the behaviour change that way, I guess I'll get used to the accent Savannah: you've said my 🥺 is like a superpower Jac: it would be very on-brand Jac: basically work experience for us Jac: and they are but she might fall for you and then she'd be around even more Savannah: oh no, imagine how vocal she would be if she did Savannah: it would be beyond difficult to cope with Jac: I would not cope Jac: at all Jac: so I shan't imagine it Savannah: 😄 Jac: 😥 Savannah: Baby, don't 😥 Jac: I'll have to go back to being a TOTAL bitch from hell if she dares Savannah: 🥺 no Savannah: you're an angel Savannah: & she isn't worth your time or energy, I am Jac: You Jac: x2 Jac: I don't care about anyone else here Jac: in the nicest way possible, of course Savannah: except [whatever your professor bff's name is] that's evident in the notes you've sent me Jac: Okay, he's pretty cool Jac: and definitely gonna help us get perfect marks Savannah: you definitely don't need his help Savannah: I'd almost forgotten just how intelligent you are Jac: I'll try not to be offended Jac: even though I was still totally convinced you'd be going to Bath before I saw you Savannah: I mean, actually, not in a romanticised way because of how much I was in awe of you Savannah: & I did go there, before I made up my mind which offer to accept & it didn't feel right Jac: I'm only teasing, I know that Jac: 🌌💫 Savannah: we were supposed to be here together, like we always talked about Savannah: I shouldn't have ever tried to fight that Jac: I couldn't even bring myself to check your socials before Jac: I don't know what I didn't want to see more, you know Jac: confirmation either way was just, no Savannah: I understand Jac: If I'd have seen gap year plans with Milo, that would not have been it Savannah: most of the time that we were intending to plan was spent arguing anyway, I'm not sure he really wanted to go at any stage of it Savannah: with me, I mean Jac: You weren't right for each other Jac: he's lost a lot more from that deal than you have Savannah: He'll be having a lovely time in hostels, undoubtedly Savannah: it won't be a culture shock at all Jac: Checks out Jac: authentic experience Jac: inserting himself with all the other foreigners Savannah: 🙄 Savannah: if I thought he had a posh accent, lord knows what they'll think Jac: he'll be stimulating the economy, they'll pretend he's not unbearable Savannah: at least he'll be stimulating something, I suppose Jac: 😂 Jac: you said it, not me Savannah: it speaks to my experience Jac: how anyone has the nerve to 🥱 you when you're so interesting is so offensive to me Savannah: it's not his fault that nobody else could ever be as interesting to me as you are, but he is responsible for the effort, or lack of that he put in Jac: no, it'd take someone really special to fight the 🌌💫 and it's plans for us Jac: and I can imply he wasn't that person, without being petty about it Savannah: it's honesty, he wasn't that person & he'd be the first to say so Jac: you're already happier, aren't you? Jac: on this path, this direction Savannah: yes, the happiest Jac: 😊🥰 Savannah: excuse me while I have one of those moments where I can't believe any of this is really happening & fully expect to wake up in Sligo for the summer to the realisation it was the most incredible dream Jac: It's actually such a fear Jac: I never want to go to sleep when I'm with you Jac: for that reason, and the obvious being I can't look at you with my eyes closed Savannah: but if you don't your subconscious can't talk to me & you know how much I love that Jac: so far Jac: what if I say something totally stupid and betray myself 😱 Savannah: you could never say anything stupid & I know you aren't going to betray yourself or me Jac: You trust me, I trust you Savannah: exactly Jac: if I ever say anything really cringe, you can just not tell me, yeah 😅 Savannah: 😄 like what? Jac: anything our favourite American might say, for example Savannah: she isn't actually going to attempt to flirt with me, boo Jac: I know, she's the definition of straight Jac: bless her Savannah: ^^ she's the only person I would apply the word definition to, literally anyone else has the ability to change & grow but she's CLEARLY set in her loud ways Jac: ^ That's totally the vibe Jac: she made her mind up aged 10 she was right and hasn't moved an inch since, whatever the subject Savannah: you're so right Savannah: What were you like when you were 10? Jac: Oh God Jac: let me think Jac: so, fourth class, absolutely LIVID over the fact we had 2 more years of first school after that Jac: thought I was way too grown-up for EVERYTHING Jac: there was probably some boyband I was into but if there was, I don't remember but Isabelle probably still has the merch and posters on her wall Jac: hopefully I was less insufferable when we properly met those years later Jac: how about you? Savannah: I can totally relate, except of course I thought I was too grown up for boybands too Jac: Totally Jac: it was like a secret shame but she had none, Amelia neither Jac: so I kinda had to go with it Savannah: 😄 Savannah: I had a very overprotective father who wouldn't have let me go to those concerts even if I had wanted to so Jac: it made sense to be anti then Jac: it was a lot of screaming and pre-teen hormones, it might've felt like it at the time, but you didn't miss out on a whole lot Savannah: if there'd been a girl band of that era I'd have been much more likely to have supported them, as a fierce little feminist Jac: Adorable Jac: you were cute, I remember that much Savannah: you've always been cute, I've seen the photos Jac: at least my hair had grown back in a decent amount by then Jac: I was so jealous of yours Savannah: really? I didn't even know how to properly style it back then Savannah: but I still insisted, obviously, instead of letting my mum help me Jac: I liked that Jac: you didn't just let your mum braid it and put a bow in Jac: I have to assume that was my logic when I cut mine Jac: independence, making my own choice Savannah: I thought I could do ANYTHING, it's embarrassing how big my aspirations were Savannah: & that there was no limit on the choices I had, there was total belief in that too Jac: it's nice Jac: I wish we stayed like that Savannah: imagine my 🥺 when I discovered inequality & where I was supposed to fit into it as a black girl, except don't because I was utterly devastated Savannah: we still have big dreams though & more choices than 10 year old me did Jac: I don't wanna cry Jac: you're still going to get everything you want Jac: and you've had to work twice as hard for it, no one can take that away from you Savannah: no 😢 we're both going to have a beautiful life Jac: ✨🌼🌷❤☀️❤🌹🌻✨ Savannah: I'll help you & you'll help me Savannah: now that I'm more willing to accept it than I was as a child Jac: and your hair is undeniably flawless Jac: we can do anything Savannah: Oh my god, it's my turn to be jealous of yours & I always am Jac: the fact you can be jealous of anyone blows my mind Jac: you are perfection Jac: but you can play with my hair all you want now Savannah: but not literally right now 🥺 Jac: life is so unfair Jac: I'm so proud of you though, working so hard Savannah: well I'm even prouder of you, these notes are flawless Jac: I've got my uses, yeah Savannah: [a picture of her own aesthetic af notes so far because we are both those bitches] Jac: [truly, could rinse the studyblr tag with these two] Jac: 😍😍😍 you've picked such pretty colours Savannah: [I have saved some cute psychology ones off pinterest for when they start their studies] Savannah: they do match my outfit but if I start sending pictures of myself I'll never finish Jac: if you start sending pictures of yourself, I'll find it harder to be supportive of your studies Savannah: I miss you too Jac: as long as we're in that together too Jac: I'll survive Jac: my room does need tidying before you get here Savannah: you're adorable, you don't have to tidy up for me Jac: for my notes to look perfect, my room has to get a little messy Jac: oh, and my hair, probably Savannah: I can fix your hair for you after we 🚿 Jac: as long as you don't think I look terrible when you show and run straight back Savannah: I've been 😢 so I don't have any room to judge but even if I did, you could never look terrible & there is no conceivable reason that I'd ever run away from you Savannah: but if you need to shown all of that when I get there, it's okay, I'm happy to Jac: I'm so needy, I'm sorry Savannah: you're allowed to want me & not be sorry Savannah: I definitely don't see it as a negative Jac: Good Jac: I haven't done this before Jac: I don't ever wanna be too much Savannah: well, you aren't doing it alone & I trust us more than the opinion of a random American girl I'm currently stuck living with Savannah: any amount of reassurance you need for any reason, it's fine, I promise Jac: 😌 I'm cool Jac: but thank you Jac: there's no one else I would want to or could do this with Savannah: there's no need to thank me, I'll do anything to make sure you feel happy & secure Jac: and I intend to return the favour, always Jac: in every way available to me Savannah: 😊 I know, I meant what I said earlier, you're very good at this, first time girlfriend or not Jac: I've got to be a worthy competitor and you're 👼🏾 Savannah: Catholic school taught me a lot about 👼🏾 too Jac: I'm so relieved they still had to give you an actual education as well Jac: I can only imagine how hard Science could've fallen by the wayside Savannah: still, I will not be enrolling my 👶🏾👶🏾👶🏾👶🏾 when they're old enough Jac: at least you don't have to make that decision for a while yet Savannah: which is just as well because my immediate response was 'thank god', how blasphemous Savannah: 🙏🏾 hasn't guided this decision but there is a LOT of  🙌🏾 involved Jac: he'd approve if that was the only precaution you took, like Savannah: his approval would have to eclipse my actual father's disapproval, which is BEYOND unlikely Jac: 🙏🏾 is less vocal Jac: it's more signs than 🔊 Savannah: I think that's ⛪️ dependent, some 🙏🏾🙌🏾 is very vocal Jac: actual GOD himself though Savannah: hmm, well he is a man Savannah: it makes communication more challenging Jac: I'm sure little Savannah would've said herself Savannah: child me would've believed that god is a woman, another dream shattered for sure Jac: a woman wouldn't have done so poorly Jac: it's a compliment, really Savannah: exactly, with the zero communication, it'd be like excuse me honey, why are you so angry at me that you've blocked me? Jac: that kind of drama is reserved for me Savannah: not even, I know what I did to you Jac: you didn't do anything to me, not on purpose, I always knew that Savannah: it wasn't on purpose but that doesn't mean it's okay Savannah: I hurt you anyway Jac: We were both hurt and hurting Jac: it was a lot Savannah: yes, but it's important that you don't make excuses for me simply because of how much you want to forgive me Jac: I won't Jac: I can just recognize my role in everything too Jac: as well as the other factors that neither of us could control Savannah: ^^ we're not going to get hung up on it to the extent that it ruins everything, but we can & will acknowledge it all so that doesn't either Savannah: I do love a balancing act 😄🙄 Jac: You do it flawlessly Jac: but we don't have to examine our past and our current behaviour constantly Jac: night's off are self-care Jac: tonight can be one of them, we'll just be Savannah: okay Savannah: I don't know why it feels like I haven't seen you in a really long time, I swear I didn't fully disassociate during my freak out earlier Jac: I feel it too Jac: judge away, everyone Jac: we're making up for lost time Savannah: they'd understand if I actually let them spend time with you instead of stealing you away on sight Jac: I can't pretend to be devastated Jac: you're the most interesting to me Savannah: I can't pretend I regret it either Jac: 🥰 Jac: we have plenty of time to socialize Jac: and we do, with people who are relevant, like people on our course and the psych society Savannah: ^^^ Savannah: It's not my fault she isn't looking over my shoulder when I'm super active in both of those group chats Savannah: I was literally setting up a study group before she cornered me, excuse her Jac: 🙄🙄🙄 I don't care for her at all, even if she's brought a potential problem to our attention before it was Jac: like thanks but still, bye though Jac: maybe the rest of her art history course does NOT love her either 😬 like if YOU'RE lonely, just say Savannah: mhmm Savannah: if anybody understands loneliness, we do Jac: right, if the ego was taken out of it, we'd try to spend time with her, and loads of other people in your dorm etc would too Jac: she's not helping herself rn Savannah: I also totally understand overconfidence as a front for insecurity, like hello??! She could have an ally in me if she'd approach things differently Jac: 🤞 she gets there before the year is out Jac: I don't want anyone struggling, seriously Jac: but I know forcing friendships when they aren't happening naturally isn't healthy Jac: never mind accepting people's toxic behaviour when we're actively trying not to do or be that Savannah: I couldn't agree more Savannah: though, despite what I said before about her not flirting with me, there is a very high possibility she'll fall in love with you if you keep being so perfect Savannah: everyone will Savannah: it's not as if she has to like girls to appreciate your intelligence, empathy or compassion, even if understanding your resilience & determination is clearly a harder task for her right now Savannah: a beautiful soul is a beautiful soul Jac: 🥺 Jac: Baby Jac: beautiful recognizes beautiful, that's all I have to say Jac: you make me feel so much better than I've ever thought I am Savannah: I can't say if I achieve nothing else while I'm here I'll be satisfied, because you know me better than that, but I am proud to be able to list that as an ongoing one because I've never met a better person than you Savannah: you deserve to feel it Savannah: & if you are what you love, what a good person you are shamelessly works in my favour too Jac: you're the most incredible person I've ever known Jac: it just sounds like a baseless compliment, there's no way to adequately put it, at least not without some serious time and work to try Savannah: not from you, there's no such thing Jac: I'm not the one that can write songs, sadly Savannah: but you could write a song I'd like more Jac: 😅 Savannah: I know he's your brother but no Jac: Don't worry, not a weird clause that to date me you have to think his music is amazing Jac: I'd actually hate that, to be honest Savannah: I'm beyond relieved Jac: I'm relieved no one here knows who he is, or who I am in relation Jac: that was getting annoying, towards the end Savannah: poor boo, I can't even imagine Jac: oh well Jac: this fresh start is going better than I could have even dreamed on my craziest day Savannah: me too & you're really keeping me sane Jac: God knows we've got to get through this experience and THRIVE Savannah: ^^ 👏🏾 Savannah: We will, failure to do so is literally not an option Jac: Exactly Jac: I refuse Jac: to let either of us Savannah: speaking of, these notes are done Savannah: so I'll be there soon Jac: I'll come out with the blasphemy too Jac: because I need to see you so bad now Savannah: It's mutual Jac: Hurry Jac: but don't forget your coat, it's cold Savannah: 🥰 I totally would have for the same reason I don't think either of us can be held responsible for what we're about to say, so thank you Jac: I can't let you freeze Jac: even though warming you up is beyond a welcome responsibility Savannah: & I can't lie, my coat is more fashionable than practical, I'll still need you Jac: You've got me Jac: shower, tea and all the bed cuddles you could want Savannah: you're going to make me cry again Jac: sweetie Jac: you can cry but wait 'til you're inside and with me so we don't have to thaw out the icicle teardrops Savannah: [a picture of her with that glitter tears filter than samantha loves so much because sadly I don't actually have one] Jac: Wow Jac: that's my girlfriend Savannah: I can't get over hearing that from you Jac: I can't get over saying it Jac: even just to myself Savannah: It sounds so different when a boy says it Jac: Yeah? Savannah: I don't even know how to explain it, it's like it stripped me of something instead of giving me something Savannah: it felt like, oh, I'm just your girlfriend now, okay Jac: like a kind of diminishment of who you are Jac: not the pride to be with you and know you and love you Jac: I see that Jac: I was never anyone's girlfriend, but that's the feeling I got from them Jac: a title for THEM not YOU Savannah: of course you understand, you always do Jac: not that I was bothered what they thought Jac: but it would have been upsetting if I was, definitely Savannah: I hate that Jac: it's okay, that's all over Savannah: I'm going to make you so happy Jac: I know you will

[noel-byers]

What monsters do you fight? || chapter O2

Chapter O1 • Chapter O2 • Chapter O3

Words: 1650

N/A: the girl in the gif with Noel is Melissa

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If there was a place where surely a girl was hiding to cry she was definitely under the terraces of the garden, where they usually played rugby matches. In fact, she was under the seat, with her knees on her chest and her shoulders clutching her bent head. I could hear his sobs and his breath trying to stifle his noisy cry. I slowly approached her and seeing that she still hadn't noticed my presence, I coughed putting both hands in my pockets. Melissa looked up and only then could I see her swollen and red eyes. That piece of shit had reduced it to a rag with a few but sharp words. "Cigarette?" I asked, taking the named item out of a pocket of my jeans.

"I...I don't smoke" she said, sniffling. Ah man that sucks the mucus.

"Better this way" I replied with a shrug. "You will ruin only your breath and your lungs. Smoke isn’t cool kid, unless you want to destroy yourself. Which is really cool” I said with a little irony as I tried to light my beloved cigarette.

A few moments passed in silence until Melissa said lightly to me "Did you see it all?"

"Yep" I replied immediately taking out a cloud of smoke from my lips "You don't have to fear anything, you won't lack respect next time" I said capturing the blonde's attention "It's an insult to the male gender to take it out on a woman when it's ten against one” I continued shaking my head.

"But he had all the reasons in the world, in short, look at me...I'm like all the girls...I thought to impress the bad boy of the school and take his best part out of him...but I just deluded myself" the girl explained, sniffing again.

"Listen to me, Melissa, first of all take my flannel shirt and blow that nose...my heart is crying to sacrifice my favorite dress but I don't have handkerchiefs, so blow your nose before I change my mind" I said handing her my shirt, which she immediately grabbed looking at me, puzzled but not refusing my order.

"You're really weird, ehm..." he stopped, looking into my eyes and making me realize that I hadn't introduced myself yet. I put the cigarette between my lips again and brought my hand closer to shake her in education.

"Noel, Noel Byers" she raised an eyebrow.

"Melissa Danielsen, as you will already know. Are you the sister of the missing child?"

"I would prefer you to call him Will, I'm sick of people cataloging him as a poor outcast" he said pulling up a heavy sigh "Going back to us, I know how you feel now, you'll surely be wondering what made you sell your virginity to that asshole of Billy Hargrove, and many other things that surely do not positively depict your person" Melissa nodded silently “Stop being so hard on yourself, you are young and in fact we are both young and in this adolescence we make so many mistakes" my cigarette, making her realize that as far as I was an employee I hated being under a stupid habit.

"The truth is that in the coming days people will stare at you, laugh at you and make you jokes of bad taste, and you don't have time to cry, you have to be strong, you have to growl and let the comments slip away that are not worth it to listen. Probably the same girls that Billy uses as a sex toy will tease you, but you don't listen to them, i mean, you know which pulpit the sermon comes from" I explained, sucking up some tobacco.

"Not forgetting that I will no longer have friends on my side..." Melissa commented disconsolately.

"And who the fuck am I? Santa Claus?" I asked slightly strangely "I almost blew the head of Billy Hargrove for you and probably because I'm a bit feminist. But first of all I did it for you” I concluded with a shrug.

"Thank you..." she replied with a small smile.

"And then, as strange as it may seem, I have a couple of friends too, and they certainly think like me" I continued to cheer her up letting an almost maternal smile show on my mouth "But now you raise your blonde ass, let's go to the bathroom to rinse your face, you blow your nose with real handkerchiefs and I'll walk you home, huh?” I suggested standing up with a jerk and pulling Melissa by the arm in a playful way, urging her to follow me and she choked and consented.

"All right, as long as you wash your mouth a little, hell, you smell obscene tobacco"

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By evening he had fallen on Hawkings and tonight we strangely breathed less heavy air in my house. It was probably because Bob had come to visit us. He and my mother had been dating for a couple of months and...God, I never saw my mother so happy. Seeing her joking, hugging and kissing with one who finally didn't mistreat her made me feel at peace with myself. Slowly my family was re-emerging from that dark and distressing oblivion, I felt that if they were still passing by a couple of months surely my family could have been called as such.

"What are your plans for the evening? Will you watch a movie?" I asked as I made my entrance into the kitchen, tying my hair into something not too high, Bob turned around and his camera automatically picked me up.

"You choose the boys the movie is evening. Do you, ma'am, have an appointment?" The man asked playfully, infecting me with his good humor.

"Tempting, but not. My shift starts at 8:20 pm and if I don't leave the house in ten minutes, I'll pay back my salary” I explained with a shrug “The only plus is the free hot dogs" I admitted attracting my mother's attention.

"Noel don't eat too many, do you remember that on Jonathan's birthday last year you had a colic and -"

"MUM! I don't want you to make a short film about my intestinal problems while Bob is back! "I answered, turning my face flushed as I ran away with my tail between my legs in my room, looking for my shoes.

I went through WIll's room and my attention was caught by his sudden raising of his voice.

"Stop treating me like that! Like I'm about to break. So don't you help me, just make me feel weirder" my exasperated younger brother said, it was obvious he was arguing with Jonathan.

It was difficult to take someone's part in these situations, I knew how Will could feel right now, he was scared and had suffered multiple traumas, including that of an apparent death. On the other hand, I also understood Jonathan, because it was also my own position, like that of anyone who wanted to help Will. To console some or give him moral support was like wandering in a minefield, you never knew if you could touch some sore point.

I remembered when I decided to sleep together with Will the night made me feel better, I knew that I could protect him, but now that he's growing up and kindly asked me to let him sleep alone, I realize how much my "safety" thought travels one way. As far as I could have been next to Will, there was nothing I could do to keep him from thinking about his mind, he was a demon that only Will could have fought.

"You're not weird" Jonathan said

"Yes I am, I am" replied our younger brother dryly. I looked at the figure of Jonathan who was about to give up, but then he came out with a sentence:

"You're right, you're weird" both my younger brother and I raised both eyebrows. "So why should you become normal like the others? Being weird is better, I'm weird. Our sister who has been staring at us for half an hour is weird” he said pointing to me.

"Hey nerd go easy" I said in an ironic tone, approaching Will's bed and occasionally pulled an ear to my big brother in a playful way.

"Is that why you have no friends?" Our little brother asked disconsolately.

"We have friends, and weird friends are the best. You don't need to have a hundred to feel cool, a couple is enough, because you know that you will remain faithful forever. And then we are creative, sensitive and original, in short, the best on the market" I explained to Will to encourage him, infuse he also had it, but it was obvious that in those dark moments the positives were difficult to see them.

"Then why are you always with me?"

"Because you are our best friend!" Jonathan immediately replied "And we prefer to be friends of Zombie Boy than of a trivial nullity. Do you understand me? In short, who would you like to be friends with? About Bowie or Rogers?" At that point Will almost shivered and shook his head with an amused smile.

"What Jonny wants to say is that normal people never do anything important in life, as Kierkegaard says, they are locked in their 4x4 box with a family and a job, thus continuing until the end of their days..."

"Oh my God the nerd has come, Will stuck your ears!" Jonathan said jokingly, pushing Will away, who had begun to show signs of little laughter.

"Come on idiots, it's important! In summary, it is always the people outside the lines who make the revolution and enjoy their lives properly" I explained hiding a laugh and pulling a small snort.

"What about Kenny Rogers?" Will asked ironically.

"Kenny Rogers? Oh I love Kenny Rogers!” Bob said suddenly, coming out of the corridor and suddenly I remembered that I was being late for work.

"Fuck! I love you guys, please, be good" I said, running off down the corridor.

"NOEL YOU ARE LEAVING WITHOUT SHOES" my mother shouted.

"Fuck the shoes!" I yelled back, turning back.

T O   B E   C O N T I N U E D . . .

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N/A: Hello everyone! This is a passing chapter, but it also seems right to give some space to noel and her character before making her interact with Billy. Thank you all for your support, you make me really happy. If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please leave a comment and tell me what you think of the story, if you like 🌸🌺

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@xxemoluverxx @sledgy14 @ellenna