#so it's great to see their monopoly on what animation can be getting broken down

[weedle-testaburger]

seeing people mournfully talking about how disney is falling apart makes me feel like the sickos guy bc i don't just like that the mouse and its corporate conservatism are suffering, i like that it's not got such a chokehold on mediums like animation and superhero stuff now

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

[poisoned-peppermint]

I made dsmp incorrect quotes you wanna see em of course you do here

Bad: *seductively takes off glasses*

Bad: Wow...

Skeppy: *blushes* Haha... what?

Bad: You're really flipping blurry.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is something burning?

Bad, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Skeppy: Bad, the toaster is literally on fire.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Bad: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: So don't panic but one of us is possessed by an owl....

George: ....

Dream: .....

Sapnap: ......

Bad: ..Who?

Skeppy: That's the thing we don't-

*Everyone stares at Bad

~~~~~~~

*Everyone is giving advice to Sapnap*

Skeppy: It's okay to ask for help.

Dream: You're not a burden.

Bad: Murder is okay.

George: Your feelings matter. 

~~~~~~~

Dream: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Sapnap: This knife is actually a magic wand.

George: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Bad: *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Skeppy: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

~~~~~~~

Dream: Did you bring Sapnap?

George, gesturing to Skeppy: No, but I brought the next best thing.

Dream: Skeppy? The next best thing would be Bad.

Skeppy: I would be offended, but Bad is freakishly strong.

~~~~~~~

Sapnap: You're a lying piece of shit!

George: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!

Skeppy: I'm leaving and I'm taking Bad with me!

Dream, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

~~~~~~~

Sapnap: So anyways have y'all seen Bad?

Dream: I think they went in Skeppy's room 'studying'.

George: Doubt that. I heard groans there.

*Meanwhile in Skeppy's room*

Bad & Skeppy, fighting:

~~~~~~~

Bad: Isn’t it weird that we can’t ride any other animal except horses. Like if horses weren’t a thing, humans would be fucked cause we couldn’t ride any other animals. Like riding animals wouldn’t really be a thing. We should probably be more grateful to horses.

George: Elephants.

Bad: Blocked.

Dream: Camels.

Bad: Extra blocked.

Sapnap: Donkeys.

Bad: Ultra blocked.

Skeppy: That dick.

Bad: ...Followed.

~~~~~~~

Bad, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away

 ~~~~~~~

Quackity: I’m this close to falling in love with Sapnap.

Karl: Your fingertips are touching.

Quackity: Exactly.

~~~~~~~

Karl: So how’s the food Quackity made?

Sapnap: It's great! Compliments to them.

Karl: *goes to the kitchen*

Karl: You're adorable.

Quackity: *blushes*

~~~~~~~

Bad: Hey guys I just found a new song I really like-

Quackity: Is it about death?

Bad: No.

Sapnap: Is it about drugs?

Karl: Is it about sex?

Bad: NO- it's about happiness and peace and-

Quackity, Sapnap, and Karl:

~~~~~~~

Karl: Made you all playlists!

Karl: Sapnap, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.

Karl: Quackity, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.

Karl: And Bad has the ABBA Gold album. 

~~~~~~~

Karl: I give up. I am so tired.

Bad: Get the emergency supply!

Quackity: *carries Sapnap and places them in front of Karl*

Sapnap: *smiles*

Karl: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO

~~~~~~~

Karl: What’s the announcement, Quackity?

Quackity: It’s a lecture. Bad’s gonna tell us everything they know about sex.

Sapnap: It should be an enjoyable 60 seconds. 

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Sapnap, you'll be working with Quackity and Karl.

Sapnap: Alright! My fantasy threesome!

Everyone else: *blank stares*

Sapnap: ...Of people on a team.

~~~~~~~

Quackity: We might have gotten into a bar room brawl back in the city.

Karl: Well, that was entirely predictable.

Quackity: One of them punched a gang member.

Karl: Sapnap?

Quackity: Bad, actually.

Karl: Oh, that was going to be my second guess. 

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Alright, which one of us is gonna check outside?

Karl: Not it!

Sapnap: Not it!

Bad: ...Neither one of you are as dumb as you lead on to be.

~~~~~~~

Karl and Sapnap: *making loud, shouty gorilla sounds at each other*

Quackity:

Bad, exasperatedly: We have a guest. 

 ~~~~~~~

Sapnap: I am darkness. I am a power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am-

Karl: A doll.

Quackity: A cinnamon roll.

Bad: A sweetheart.

Sapnap:

Sapnap: ...stop it. 

 ~~~~~~~

Quackity, pointing to the wall: What color is this?

Sapnap: Gray.

Bad: Grey.

Quackity, turning to Karl: Now tell them what color you think it is.

Karl: Dark white.

~~~~~~~

Karl: We need to distract these guys.

Bad: Leave it to me.

Bad: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

Sapnap & Quackity: *immediately begin arguing* 

 ~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad is too tall for me to kiss them on the lips. What should I do?

Ant: Punch them in the stomach. Then, when they double over in pain, kiss them.

Quackity: Tackle them!

Puffy: Dump them.

Velvet: Kick them in the shin!

Bad: No to all of those! Just ask me to lean down!!

~~~~~~~

Velvet: Christmas lights?

Bad: Check.

Ant: THermos of hot cocoa?

Bad: Check.

Quackity: Santa suits?

Bad: Check.

Puffy: Shovel?

Bad: Check.

Skeppy: Alibi and bail money?

Bad: Check- wait, WHAT?!

~~~~~~~

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker*

Bad: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Skeppy: ...I did. I broke it.

Bad: No. No you didn't. Velvet?

Velvet: Don't look at me. Look at Ant.

Ant: What?! I didn't break it.

Velvet: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Ant: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Velvet: Suspicious.

Ant: No, it's not!

Quackity: If it matters, probably not, but Puffy was the last one to use it.

Puffy: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Quackity: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Puffy: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Quackity!

Skeppy: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Bad.

Bad: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

Quackity: Bad... Gumi's been awfully quiet.

Gumi: rEALLY?!

*Everyone starts arguing*

Bad, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.

Bad: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

Bad:

Bad: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here

~~~~~~~

Velvet: How much you wanna bet Bad got a Lap dance from Skeppy?

Ant: If that happend, Quackity can drink free tonight.

Quackity: As much as I love the thought of having free drinks I don't like the idea of Bad receiving a Lap dance from someone other than me.

Velvet: Hey Skeppy, did you give Bad a lap dance?

Skeppy: So what if I did?

Velvet, to Ant: I guess Quackity is drinking free tonight.

Skeppy: Be right back, I'm gonna go cry-

Bad, entering the room: What the muffin??

~~~~~~~

Bad: Skeppy kissed me!

Ant: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Bad: It was unbelievable!

Ant: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Velvet: Okay, we wanna hear everything. Ant, get the wine and unplug the phone. Bad, does this end well or do we need tissues?

Bad: Oh, it ended very well.

Ant: Do not start without me! Do not start without me!

Velvet: Okay, alright, let’s hear about the kiss. Was it a soft brush against your lips or was it like a, you know, “I gotta have you now” kind of thing?

Bad: Well, at first it was really intense, you know? And then, oh God, and then we just sort of sunk into it.

Velvet: Ohh... So, okay, were they holding you? Or were their hands on your back?

Bad: First they started out on my waist and then they slid up and then they were in my hair.

Ant and Velvet: Ohhh.

*meanwhile*

Skeppy eating pizza in their house: And, uh, and then I kissed them.

Quackity: Tongue?

Skeppy: Yeah.

Puffy: Cool.

~~~~~~~

Bad: If you can’t beat them, dress better than them

 ~~~~~~~

Bad: Okay okay stop asking me if I'm straight, gay, bi, whatever. I identify as a FREAKING THREAT.

 ~~~~~~

I will be making a part 2 shortly this is just getting to long

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale's Story Idea: 'Those of another world must die' or 'Isekai no mono ha shi ke re ba naranai'

(I probably butchered the Japanese. But the point is to give it a light novel title feel)

(Since a few people have been asking what my light novel idea was. I decided to explain it and go a bit more in-depth)

Premise: Rumors have been circulating about a Killer known only as 'Hero Eater' is targeting heroes in the Human Kingdom of Itsumo. But not everything is as it seems, Itsumo has many dark secrets and the kingdom may need a change...

The world of Itsumo.

Now the setting would be similar to most fantasy Isekai worlds. Money consists of Gold, silver, Bronze coins. Platinum coins are for the super rich.

Magic exists, Magical items exist. Levels exist.

There are dragons, goblins, the typical fantasy fair/ D&D/MMORPG feel but with a lot more twists

Summoned Heroes

When it comes to Summoned heroes things get different.

1. 'Heroes from another world' are treated above the standard people. As being summoned from another world gives them stupidly over powered abilities compared to the average citizen of Itsumo. The Elites show them favoritism.

2. Aside from obviously enhanced strength, speed, durability, and magic. They level up faster, have overall higher stats, and Summoned heroes also get some sort of Overpowered ability.

3. These over powered abilities or OPAs are ranked from S to E. Depending on that OPA, determines your lot as a 'Summoned Hero'

4. E's are the lowest. The skill is just slightly useful. Summoned heroes are still MUCH stronger than the average soldier. So these heroes are often brainwashed Coerced and put as soldiers on the front lines, or bodyguards of the elite. (Basically they are just glorified meat shields.)

4.5 There is nothing ranked lower than E. Those summoned ALWAYS have a OPA.

5. C and D Ranks are considered worlds more useful. These heroes depending on their abilities are thrown into a field where their skills can be utilized. These heroes are usually thrown a boon by the king and get funding. These heroes are the ones responsible for the innovations in technology (such as guns, refrigeration, etc). (Though in truth they have done a lot of f***ed experimentation)

6. A and B Rank are considered 'Heroes of the Kingdom'. Those heroes are the ones that you see going around and fighting demon hordes with ease. The ones you see with the harems (usually of whatever their fetish is). They basically have license to do WHATEVER they want, so long as the King doesn't intervene.

7. S Ranks. These summons are incredibly rare, but their skills are 100% broken. To put it in perspective. 1 S Rank hero could easily beat 10 A ranks without breaking a sweat. This is where the OPA's become near god like. Fortunately for some reason, only 7 S ranks can exist in the world at a time. Only when 1 dies can a new S rank otherworlder can appear. Currently the King has some of them watching over different parts of his kingdom. But all of them are considered Legendary.

8. (Little known fact that summoned heroes are often loners, losers, incels, neets, and other lesser freaks of society. Who else would willingly go to another world if their life is actually good?)

9. Some heroes do start out doing good... but power corrupts

_____________________________________________________________

Religion:

The Religion of Itsumo in stated by King Tyran. Insists that there is a kind and loving goddess (Named Oveun Ativ) that blesses Itsumo with the heroes that appear. Basically making those from another world as 'Her blessed children'.

So often regular citizens range from worshiping them or at the very least respecting them. (Though this is simply a front, the average citizen HATES these arrogant s***s. Considering the awful stuff they put them through.)

The Church also has a monopoly on Hero summoning. The ritual that they use is as follows.

1. A young girl will be chosen once a year from every village. (basically not where the nobles live.) It was considered a great honor. (and if the town didnt comply the church would inform the king and that town would be burnt down and all of the young maidens there would be brain washed and taken anyway) A maiden will be trained in magic for several years until her 18th birthday. During this time she must not have relations with men, must not touch the blood of an animal, must read the sacred scriptures and serve the church without question. (Indoctrination)

2. According to the church, the Summoning ritual will then have the young Maiden perform the summoning magic in which if performed successfully, will summon the hero and she will take the form of a portal of light which summons him. After which she will ascend and become an angel that serves the goddess. (This is not true. Its a virgin sacrifice. Those girls are killed in a ritual. Its f***ed up what the s***)

3. If a maiden summons a B or A rank hero she is regarded as an example for others to follow. For she clearly followed the doctrine of the church. She was likely Heavily rewarded by the goddess.

4. If a Maiden summoned C or D rank, they are not discussed often except by friends and family.

5. Maidens that summon E ranked Heroes are considered disgraces. Maidens that clearly did not follow the teachings of the doctrine. Their names are stricken from the records.

6. Maidens that summoned an S Rank hero. Are written into the logs as Blessed by the goddess. They are treated like Saints and some worshiped like deities. Some doctrine claim that they serve at the hands of the goddess after achieving this.

_____________________________________________________________

Economics

Summoned Heroes basically caused Economic collapse for adventurers.

Summoned heroes often hunt monsters and get rare drops, and often those with rare skills can get much more value than typical adventure guilds.

Merchants initially loved Heroes getting them rare drops but when many other worlders started selling so many Rare drops like they were common... it made rare items worth much less and drove value of such items and materials down dramatically. Newer merchants will rarely buy goods from adventurers because of this.

Blacksmiths and artificers initially also had it great. They now get access to powerful materials for cheap. Since their work is labor intensive the value of the item is much less impacted on the product. Though Other worlders with Craft skills have popped up and open businesses that have been driving other types of stores out of business since they can easily craft higher grade weapons for cheaper and faster thanks to OPAs.

The only real way to make money was in the service industry. With rare items and monsters easily hunted and sold for cheap, Restaurants, inns and Taverns have less of a thin margin. And with Otherworlders constantly moving about, the inns had constant customers. Many of these customers would throw money around and expect to be waited on hand and foot. Inns that had pretty women were often the most popular.

Brothels were very popular among Summoned heroes. Though the places that experienced the most traffic were the ones that had more ... unique characteristics. (Animal ears, pointed ears, Wings, horns.) Beast-kin were often very requested.

Societal Impacts

Women would often try to sleep with Summoned heroes. Children made with those of another world often had a chance of producing offspring with an OPA. Which meant that the kid could have a much better life.

The 'Trope' of offering the daughter for saving them was more of a way to ensure their Family had a better life. But in reality this just meant Summoned heroes often obtained harems. This resulted in declining birthrates as many summoned heroes didnt actually often marry humans. Most would simply keep the harem. Or if they did marry they would often sleep around.

Heroes that dismissed companions often left them as single mothers. Some would be lucky to remarry, but many were left single due to social stigma. The claim is that men felt insecure marrying women that have been with heroes, because how could they compare. (In reality it was more like they felt the woman had little self respect to be willing to partake in a relationship with a hero with a harem.) And the off chance the hero did comeback to the woman to find her married, the new husband was likely slaughtered. (This selfish mentality of treating women as things to be owned was disturbingly common in the summoned heroes mind)

____________________________________________________________

The Main Characters.

Oralee: A maiden that was raised in the church as long as she could remember. Her family had a lot of faith in the church and were honored that she was picked. She followed the doctrine to very high levels. Never ate meat, Never even made contact with another of the opposite sex. She dreamed of summoning an S Rank hero and bringing great honor to the goddess (As a recent S Rank passed away and hasnt been replaced yet). Though the night she along with her fellow maidens were supposed to summon heroes. The 'Hero Eater' arrived and started killing everyone.

Hunter "Hero eater": A high level individual. A skilled fighter with a plethora of weapons in his arsenal. Skilled in strange magic that seems unorthidox yet effective. He wears a skull mask with a black cloak. He wields two daggers. One Named Malice, and the other named Mercy. His goal is to kill every other worlder he comes across. What is his motive? Does he want revenge? Power? Fame? Why did he spare Oralee. What does he look like under that mask?

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Prompt: "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling." - Bucky x Reader Ft. Steve x Prism - Words: 1,683

"Please?" Your friend Prism begged you. "It's out first date but Steve's really nervous and, to be honest, so am I, and he'd really like a chaperone and-"

"Ok, ok! I'll do it!" You laughed. She let out a huge sigh of relief and hugged you tightly.

"You're a lifesaver, Y/N!"

Later that evening, you and Prism were heading downstairs to meet up with Steve for their date. "So where's he taking you anyway?"

"Not sure," She grinned. "Oh! And I forgot to mention! He said he's going to bring one of his friends too so it's not too weird. You know, just you? 'Third-wheeling'?"

"A friend?" You groaned as you walked out of the elevator into the lobby of the building. "As long as he doesn't bring-"

"Bucky!" Prism exclaimed excitedly, running up to her other friend. 

"Oh no," You said. "Why'd it have to be him?" 

"Well well well," Bucky smirked. "You didn't tell me you'd be bringing the stupid with you.” You rolled your eyes at his comment but decided to let it go. For now.

“Alrighty, then,” Steve said. “Shall we?” He asked, offering his arm to Prism. She grinned and took his arm, happily walking out with him. However, when you reached the door, Bucky let the door close in your face. 

“Oh I see how it is!” You yell, running out the door as fast as you can. “You want trouble?” You quickly shift into a cheetah and bolt ahead. Turning back as soon as you get in front of him, you pounce on Bucky, knocking him back and growling loudly. 

“What the-” Steve yells as Bucky shrieks girlishly. “Y/N! Down! Now!” You hop off and prance over to the couple, purring happily.

“What was that?” Bucky demands, getting up and dusting himself off. 

“Hi there,” You say, shifting back to yourself. Bucky looks utterly confused and you revel in the feeling. Steve shakes his head and sighs. 

“Ok, ground rules.” You realize that you may have gone a tad too far and so you listen quietly. “You two had better get along at least for tonight. It’s our first date for pete’s sake! Don’t make me regret not accepting Tony’s offer to be chaperone!” The rest of the walk to the restaurant was silent, at least from you and Bucky. You did notice he was watching you warily from the corner of his eye though. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long walk and you got there soon. 

“Oh! Italian! I love italian!” Prism exclaimed. Steve grinned and chuckled lightly.

“I figured everyone loves it, so,” He shrugged. “Safe option.” Dinner too went smoothly and before you knew it, the waitress was coming with the check. 

“One or two?” She asked.

“It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling,” You spoke up immediately. 

“Oh, well, um,” She stuttered. “I’ll just have to go re-split it. I-uh, hang on.”

“You’re new?” Bucky asked. She nodded nervously. “Just leave it in two.” She smiled gratefully and handed the two men their checks. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Bucky,” You said. “I have my own money too you know.”

“Yes,” He replied as he finished paying. “And I also am about to send you a request for your part of the check.” He tapped a few more things on his phone and you promptly felt your phone buzz. “Not too bad for a centenarian, huh?” You groaned loudly but sent him his money. He looked back at his phone with a smirk. “Finally seeing things my way?” His smile faltered, though, when he saw you’d labeled the payment ‘Medicare Payment’. “Now look here you little-”

“Stop it you two!” Steve growled. “I asked you two to come with us because you’re our best friends. Could you at least pretend to get along for one night? Please?” You both mumbled a quick ‘sorry’, genuinely embarrassed. It was their date night after all. After dinner, Steve decided to take Prism to a nearby roller rink that was, apparently, having a sock-hop night. The two of them immediately hit the rink while you and Bucky lagged behind. 

“I’m not so good on wheels,” You chuckled. Bucky laughed lightly and shook his head. 'He doesn't look so bad when he's happy,' You thought involuntarily. Realizing what you said to yourself, you shook your head slightly to push away the unwieldy thought.

“Me neither to be honest,” He replied. "Steve's always been better so you can guess how lousy I am." You chuckled and gave him a small smile across the table, falling into a surprisingly comfortable silence as you watched your two friends glide across the hardwood floor. Well, Prism glided. Steve, not so much.

A few days later, however, you found the truce from that night had very obviously expired. "What do you think you're doing?" You yelled, storming into the kitchen. 

"Whatsoever do you mean?" Bucky asked innocently, sipping on a cup of coffee as he sat next to Steve and Sam. 

"That is my mug, you dunce!"

"Oh it is?" He replied. "I didn't notice." He took another long sip, holding the mug with both hands to cover the 'Property of Blackmist' stamp on the bottom. 

"Give it back!" You yelled. Trying to grab it from him. Steve went to help you but Bucky slipped out of your grasps. Unfortunately, so did the mug. It went flying across the room and shattered on the floor.

"Doll, I'm so sorry," Bucky quickly apologized. You didn't hear him though, as all you could see was the mug your childhood best friend had given you shattered to a million pieces. You felt yourself get very angry very quickly but it was almost like watching a movie. You weren't really thinking. "Uh, doll? What are you doing?" Bucky asked. Your perspective seemed a little off, like you'd somehow gotten taller, but it didn't really register.

"Yep, this one's on you, Buck," Steve said, patting his friend on the shoulder and booking it. Sam just cackled and followed Steve.

"Ok, since I have no idea what's going on or what you're able to do, how about we just calmly discuss thi-woah!" You came running at him and went to punch him with your left hand. He ducked out of the way and that's when you realized what had happened. You saw a metal fist slam into the wall and felt the pain shoot up your arm. "Y/N?" Bucky called out carefully from behind you. You closed your eyes, consciously forcing yourself to return to normal, and turned around slowly. 

"I'm sorry," You whispered. Walking over to the broken mug you tried to see if it was possible to put it back together. 

"That was pretty special wasn't it?" He asked, still keeping his distance from you. You nodded and explained that Y/BFF/N had given it to you when you were teens. After gaining your powers, you had to move and really didn't see her anymore.

"I don't know exactly what happened. I've never done that before, turning into someone else and not an animal or something like that," You said. "I just got really angry and I guess I lost control of my powers. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," He said. "I haven't been very kind to you. You're a really nice gal and you do great work. I guess I haven't really given you a fair chance. Can we try again?"

"Alright," You smiled. Walking to the door together, you both were surprised when they didn't open. "Um, FRIDAY?"

"Captain Rogers ordered me to keep the doors to this room locked until you both, quote, 'realized how stupidly in love with each other you are.' To which Mr. Wilson added: 'And get your heads out of your butts long enough for you to realize that.'"

"Well," Bucky said, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "I guess we can use this as an excuse to spend some time together if that's alright?" 

"More than alright," You smiled. "Since we have the kitchen and living room area, how about I whip us up a fantastic brunch and then we play a few rounds of your favorite board game?"

"Really?" He replied, eyes lighting up. "Everyone else usually prefers movies or TV shows." You shrugged, getting out some eggs and bacon.

"Well, it's not that I don't love a good flick, but I guess I'm just old-fashioned that way. I'd prefer to talk over Clue or joke during Scattergories than veg in front of a screen." Bucky ginned widely and went to find his favorite game while you finished cooking. 

A few hours later, Steve and Sam stood outside the locked doors, trying to hear anything from inside. "Captain," FRIDAY suddenly asked. "Would you like to hear the audio feed from inside the room?"

"Yes please," He replied quickly, throwing a worried glance at Sam. "I just hope this was a good idea." Sam shrugged and didn't seem too worried.

"Barnes! You better watch yourself! You're going down!" They heard you yell. 

"Oh yeah? You think I'm gonna let a dame like you kick my butt? Ha!" Now Sam was worried.

"You think we should go in? They don't sound any better."

"I'm not sure, Sam. Maybe they'll work it-"

"No!" You screamed. "No! Stop that!"

"FRIDAY! Open the doors!" Steve was horrified at seeing Bucky pinning you to the ground near the coffee table. However, he was oblivious to the game and food set up around you.

"Bucky!" You squealed. "Stop tickling!"

"No way, doll! You build a hotel on Boardwalk, you pay!" 

"Boardwalk?" Sam mumbled. "Hey!" He called out. "You guys good?" Bucky rolled over, leaning back on his elbows next to you.

"Good?" You laughed, sitting up slightly as well. "We're better than good!"

"We're going steady!" Bucky grinned, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"Steady?" The two men exclaimed. You laughed at their stunned reaction and grabbed the spare Monopoly playing pieces, holding them out.

"Now who'd like to get beaten at Monopoly Extreme?" 

[aaliyah-babe]

The One With George Stephanopolous: Part Two

parings: joey x reader

authors note: i own nothing from friends, all credit goes to their respective owners. feeback is always appreciated!

Feeback is the glue that holds my writing together!

you were all at monica’s apartment and making tiki death punch, when rachel walked in,

“hey rach! how was it with your friends?” monica asked, and then you her and phoebe screamed, but when rachel gave you a death stare you guys stopped,

“okay! how would you like some tiki death punch?”

“what’s that?” rachel asked,

“well, it’s rum and...” rachel cut monica off,

“okay!” she took the jug and a straw and began drinking it,

“we thought since y/n and pheobe were staying over we’d have kind of a slumber party,”

“we got some trashy magazines, we got cookie dough, we got twister..” you trailed off,

the phone began to ring so monica walked over to it,

“oh, oh, and i brought operation, but i lost the tweezers so we can’t operate. but we can prep the guy!” pheebs said excitedly,

“rach, it’s the visa card people,” monica said, holding the phone out to her,

“oh, god, ask them what they want,” she pushed the phone away,

“could you please tell me what this is in reference to?” monica waited for an answer, “yes, hold on.” she covered the phone speaker, “they say there’s been some unusual activity on your account,”

“but i haven’t used my card in weeks!”

“that is the unusual activity. look, they just want to know if your okay,”

“they want to know if i’m okay. okay, they want to know if i’m okay. okay, let’s see... let’s see, the fica guys took all my money. everyone i know is either getting married or getting pregnant or getting promoted and i’m getting coffee, and it’s not even for me! so if that sounds like i’m okay, okay then you can tell them i’m okay, okay?” rachel frantically said,

“uh, rachel has left the building. can you call back?” you assumed they said yes because monica hung up,

“come on, let’s play twister!” rachel reached down and grabbed the mat, throwing it on the ground, it looked like she was on the verge of tears so you hugged her and sat her down on the couch,

“you should feel great about yourself! i mean look rach you’re doing this amazing independent thing!” you said to her,

“y/n what is so amazing? i gave up like everything. and for what?” she asked you,

“you are just like jack!” pheobe said,

“jack from downstairs?”

“no, jack and the beanstalk,” pheobe answered, expecting us to know what jack she was talking about,

“ah, the other jack,” monica said sarcastically,

“yeah, right. see, he gave up something but then he got those magic beans and then he woke up, and there was this big plant outside of his window full of possibilities and stuff. and he lived in a village, you live in the village,”

“okay, but pheebs, pheebs, jack gave up a cow, i gave up an orthodontist. look, i know i didn’t love him.”

“oh you see, jack did love the cow,”

“but, see it was a plan. you know, it was clear, everything was figured out and now everything’s just like....” rachel struggled to find the right word,

“floopy?” pheobe asked,

“yeah...” rachel sighed,

“well, look, you’re not the only one. half the time we don’t know where we’re going,” you reassured her,

“you just got to figure at some point, it’s all going to come together and it’s just gonna be... un-floopy.” monica agreed with you,

“yeah like that’s a word,” pheobe said, which made you and monica give her a ‘you serious’ look.

“okay, but monica, what if it doesn’t come together?” rachel asked you,

monica thought about it for a second, “y/n?”

“well, you uh- you.. pheebs?” you turned to her,

“well, cause you just like... i don’t like this question,” she shook her head,

“okay, see, see you guys- what if we don’t get magic beans? what if all we get are beans?”

you all looked at eachother,

“oh,” you sighed, lying your head on rachel’s lap,

it was about half an hour later and you guys were bummed out. monica was on the couch eating cookie dough, you were lying on rachel, who was lying on the couch, and pheebs was lying on the ground with her hair over her face.

“oh... i’m so sorry, you guys. i didn’t mean to bring you down,” rachel apologised,

“no, you were right- i don’t have a plan,” monica sighed,

“me neither,” you sighed against rachel who looked at you apologetically.

there was a knock at the door and rachel got up to get it, you followed her, “pizza guy!”

you opened the door, “hi.”

“hi, one mushroom, green pepper and onion?” the boy asked, getting the whole order wrong,

“no,”

“no, no.. no, no that’s not what we ordered, we ordered a fat free crust, with extra cheese!” rachel said,

“wait youre not g. stephanopolous?” he asked and you and rachel shook your heads,

“oh, man! my dads gonna kill me!”

“wait! wait! did you say g. stephanopolous?” monica asked,

“yeah. this one goes across the street. i must’ve given him yours, oh! bonehead! bonehead!” he hit himself in the head twice.

“wait, was this a small mediterranean guy, with curiously intelligent good looks?” monica asked,

“yeah. that sounds about right,” the pizza guy answered,

“was he... was he wearing a stunning blue suit?”

“and a- a power tie?” pheobe asked,

“no. pretty much just a towel,”

“oh my god,” you sighed leaning on to monica who groaned,

“so you guys want me to take this back?” he asked, and monica pushed past you and rachel,

“what? are you nuts? we’ve got george stephanopolous’ pizza!” monica took it off him before handing it to pheobe and running to the window, you ran after her.

she grabbed binoculars and looked out her window,

“you see him?” you asked her,

she shook her head, “no, but i see pizza!” she yelled making the other two join you,

“oh i want to see, let me see! let me see!” pheobe rushed,

“hello? who are we spying on?” rachel asked while you and pheobe looked through the binoculars, monica answered,

“you know the white house advisor? clinton’s campaign guy with the great hair, sexy smile... really cute butt?”

“oh, him! the little guy? oh i love him!” she ran over and joined you three with pizza,

“uh, wait. wait, i see a woman,” pheobe sighed, you took the binoculars off her,

“please, tell me it’s his mother,” monica pleaded,

“oh, wow, yeah definitely not his mother,” you sighed,

“oh... no,”

you handed the binoculars back to pheobe, “wait, she’s walking across the floor. she’s walking... she’s walking... she’s going for the pizza,” pheobe pulled the binoculars down from her face before yelling, “hey that’s not for you, bitch!”

your eyes widened as pheobes hand rushed over her mouth, she was shocked at what she had just yelled, you, monica and rachel giggled,

you guys had ended up spying on him by sitting on the balcony, and monica came out with the punch,

“lights still out?” she asked,

“yeah,”

“well, maybe they’re napping,”

“please, they’re having sex,” rachel told her,

“shut up!” you, pheobe and monica yelled at her,

“so, what do you think george is.. like?”

“i think he’s shy,” monica said,

“yeah?” pheobe asked,

“yeah, i think you have to draw him out, and then... when you do, he’s a preppy animal,” you and the girls cheered at that,

you were talking about things that you had done to eachother in the past,

“oh okay, i got one,” monica turned to pheobe, “do you remember that vegetarian pate that i made that you loved so much?” pheobe nodded while you and rachel started cracking up, “well if goose is a vegetable,” monica laughed,

“oh! oh! okay, fine, fine, now i don’t feel so bad about sleeping with jason hurley,” pheobe admitted,

“what?! you slept with jason?” monica exclaimed,

“you’d already broken up,” pheobe argued,

“how long?” rachel asked,

“about an hour,”

“oh that’s nice!” monica exclaimed while you and rachel laughed,

“okay i got one,” you said, rachel leaned forward to listen and the pillow she was leaning on fell off the balcony, “the valentine that tommy rollerson left in your locker was really from me!” you admitted,

“excuse me?” she asked you,

“oh, hello? like he was really going to send you one. she was a big girl,” you said to pheobe,

“oh yeah, well at least big girls don’t pee in their pants in seventh grade,” you laughed at the memory of rachel,

“uh! i was laughing! you made me laugh!” rachel argued.

you, monica and rachel bickered for a little bit before pheobe yelled,

“there he is! there he is!”

“where?!” monica yelled,

“right, where we’ve been looking all night,”

“oh, he’s so cute,” rachel sighed,

“oh, i know,” you said,

“oh, george baby, drop the towel!” monica exclaimed,

“drop the towel, drop the towel,” all you girls started saying, then the towel dropped,

“wow,” you all said,

it was way later and the guys had come home a bit later than you all expected, and you guys had started playing twister, you were stood in front of joey with your feet on yellow and green,

“okay, monica,” ross spun the wheel, “right foot red,”

“we could’ve played monopoly, but no...” she moved her foot to red,

there was a knock at the door and chandler answered it, the man handed him the pillow from earlier and he walked back with it,

“y/n...” ross spun the wheel, “right hand blue,”

you bent down which meant your butt was right next to joey and you knew he was having a good time,

the phone rang and chandler answered it, “hello?.. oh, uh, rachel it’s the visa card people,” he said to her,

“oh okay, will you take my place?” she asked getting up,

“yeah, hello this is rachel,” he said into the phone before she took it off him and chandler joined them over at the game,

“joey, right hand yellow,” joey leant down past you and put his hand on the yellow,

“and chandler, right hand green.” chandler bent across as ross guided him, “to the green, to the green,”

chandler had slipped a little making you all yell and fall over, joey fell right into you,

“god, joey! get off!” you laughed pushing him off,

“woah!” he exclaimed as you pushed him,

“oh god my head, good going chandler,” monica said,

“yeah!” everybody agreed.

let me know if you want to be included in future tag lists!

taglist: @zestygingergirl

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #481

Top Ten Pixar Villains

Those rascals and rapscallions at Pixar are famous for twisting our emotions, aren’t they? Perverse masters at making us cry with sadness or joy, often at the same time (I’m looking at you, Inside Out, with your yellow and blue marbles). Oh yes, they’ll stick the knife in and give it a good old yank, like John Travolta teaches his daughter to do in Face/Off when he’s not really John Travolta and it’s a bit icky but then she stabs him at the end of the film so it’s alright really.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Pixar, renowned for turning grown men into blubbering messes, mostly because an adult character was convinced to part with old toys he no longer plays with. But I’d argue that one thing they’ve done less well than their parent studio (that’s Disney) is crafting iconic baddies. I mean, we all know the Disney Villains; they’re so iconic and successful as pop culture icons that there’s an entire trilogy of movies based on what would happen if a bunch of them had kids (apparently they’d sing a lot). Pixar baddies though? Hmmm, maybe not quite so iconic. I can’t see someone making a live action prequel movie about Chef Skinner.

But that’s not to say they’re not great; in fact, rather than going down the route of snarling, moustache-twirling villainy, Pixar actually does a great job in creating antagonists instead. Sometimes they’re misunderstood; sometimes they’re not the person you thought they were! Quite often some kind of redemption is offered, and the villains are very, very rarely dropped off something tall. A lot of them aren’t even defeated, so to speak! A good deal of nuance and shade goes into a Pixar villain, and if they haven’t made as many all-time-great iconic ne’er-do-wells, it does seem as if their approach is starting to rub off on Disney mothership (the likes of Frozen II and Moana either don’t have, or at least subvert, the notion of all-powerful bad guys).

So what do we have? Well, hopefully, we’ve got a list of really cool villains from Pixar movies. most of them are presented as the film’s “big bad”, although there are a couple of lesser baddies. And I think we do see the pattern emerging, of more mundane levels of villainy; the selfish and greedy and damaged. It makes for great characterisation and some beautiful storytelling; some complex and pitiable characters. And, yes, a few absolute bastards too. Let’s tut disapprovingly.

Lots-o’-Huggin’ Bear (Ned Beatty, Toy Story 3, 2010): a superb performance from Beatty as a seemingly nice, jovial old bear who’s really a manipulative, power-hungry, gaslighting bully. Realistically portrayed as damaged and bitter, he has a tragic backstory that feels real, and a sense of pain and loss that feels earned in this universe. Questions the nature of everything the movies are about, and is a genuine threat in more ways than one. Plus he literally leaves them all to die in the furnace!

Syndrome (Jason Lee, The Incredibles, 2004): Buddy Pine’s backstory is one of belittlement and rejection, so his switch to villainy is as well explored as many a comic book bad guy. But he’s interesting partly in what his character says about Mr. Incredible – in a way justifying the criticisms of superheroes, as Mr. I does ignore the admittedly-annoying Buddy rather than mentoring or respecting him – but also because he prefigures notions of toxic masculinity about a decade or so before they became, well, a threat to global democracy.

Al (Wayne Knight, Toy Story 2, 1999): Like how Lots-o can be seen as a dark examination of toy life (all toys are replaceable, kids don’t really love you, etc), Al also shows us another dark facet of toy-dom: namely the life of a “collectable”. Toys, in this world, want to be played with, preferably by children, so a big ol’ man-child who stores them in boxes or puts them on display is not ideal. It’s an inversion of what a toy is for; an object of joy reduced to a commodity. Is it entertainment versus art? Who can say? Also, he’s really just a massive jerk and a huge slob, so we feel no pity for him once he gets his comeuppance at the end of the film.

Sid Phillips (Erik von Detten, Toy Story, 1995): man, they nailed the Toy Story villains, didn’t they? Maybe there’s even more to come! But right out of the gate, Sid was a classic. An utter sadist in a skull t-shirt, torturing toys for kicks; adults can see the traits of a genuine sociopath (some serial killers start by torturing animals, remember!), and he’s portrayed like a character in a horror movie. Seriously, in 1995, Sid’s room was legitimately disturbing. I’m not sure what moral lessons his actions teach us, but just as a pure article of terror, he’s supreme.

Hopper (Kevin Spacey, A Bug’s Life, 1998): it feels a bit weird, if I’m honest, to celebrate a Spacey performance. But as a character, Hopper is excellent, one of the best things about the generally-overlooked-but-still-a-bit-lesser-Pixar Bug’s Life. Riffing on biker gangs, Hopper’s locust swarm in, revving their wings. Hopper’s a classic tough guy thug, dominating through violence and threat; a creature with a small amount of power determined to hold onto it, and ultimately eaten by a terrifying bird. Just don’t look at the cast list.

Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt, Coco, 2017): after the horror of Sid and the thuggery of Hopper, de la Cruz is a different, more insidious villain. He’s a thief and a betrayer who exploited and murdered his best friend, condemning him not just to death but to a forgotten obsolescence in the afterlife. He’s a perfect example of the gaslighting, friendly-seeming bad guy, more in the mould of Lots-o, but with the world on his side and a sweet guitar. Genuinely hissable.

Stinky Pete (Kelsey Grammar, Toy Story 2, 1999): what, more Toy Story? Well, yeah. Don’t blame me, blame Pixar. And so Stinky Pete; a far more relatable and understandable villain, one driven to desperation through a lifetime of rejection and broken promises. Unlike the Machiavellian, power-hungry Lots-o, Pete just wants everyone to retire quietly together; he can’t accept the risks of freedom and only becomes sneaky and, indeed, violent after all else fails. But he does kinda get a happy ending, even if he doesn’t realise it; this is a villain who I feel could eventually be redeemed.

Randall Boggs (Steve Buscemi, Monsters, Inc., 2001): Waternoose is the real baddy in Monsters, Inc., of course; a conniving capitalist who’s prepared to sacrifice the world’s children to keep his monopoly. But it’s Randy who sticks in the mind; his selfish, vain lackey, a monster with a huge chip on his shoulder. His design – lizard-like, snake-ish, with a huge mouth and invisibility – is seriously disturbing. Hearing Buscemi’s voice come from that form – an aggravated teacher, a furious accountant – adds something special, something darkly hilarious.

Evelyn Deavor (Catherine Keener, Incredibles 2, 2018): visually and conceptually, The Screenslaver (great name) is pretty cool, but when it’s revealed that the Big Bad is really under-appreciated tech genius Evelyn, that’s a great twist. A smart woman propping up her schmoozing brother, her criticisms of the heroes – like Buddy Pine’s – have resonance, although she’s learning the wrong lessons from tragedy. Her relationship with Elastigirl, from friendship to enmity, is very well-written and performed, and her belligerence at the end is a nice touch, denying the heroes of any catharsis from her capture.

Shelby Forthright (Fred Willard, WALL-E, 2008): I was originally going to feature the autopilot, but then I figured, if you can get Fred Willard in your list… and really, who’s the big villain here? It’s us, right? We killed the Earth. But Willard’s smiling, happy CEO is there, encouraging his customers to buy, promising them safety and security, promising them a repaired world… but really he’s shovelling them off the planet, secretly commanding the computer to take humanity far away and never look back. It’s a devious, horrible plan, giving the people unending luxury, making them want for nothing, turning them into fab, soporific blobs, basically because that’s easier than the alternative. It’s a horrible indictment of humanity (also: he’s the CEO of a company, but also – it looks like – that makes him rule the world? Creepy). So, yeah, the autopilot might be a baddun, but it’s the man in charge who’s the real villain of the piece, even hundreds of years later.

Sadly no room for John Lasseter, who may not have tried to enslave humanity or torture children, but still managed to be a huge jerk and a phenomenal disappointment.

[reiven2017]

Monopoly with me.

Chapter 2.

The raven stretched, dispersing blood in the joints. Her neck moaned plaintively and made a sound similar to a wound spring when the girl looked too sharply to the side. In the distance, half the sun was shining, and there was an azure sky above her head and Raven realized that it was morning. She cringed when the cold air seemed to pass through her. The weather in the mountains was ... unstable. And what did she have a day for today? I’d better not say anything. The girl frowned when she heard a short scream, and then the rough male voices. Reason clearly echoed in her head. “This is something that definitely doesn't concern you. Go on your joyful dear Raven. ” But Raven ignored the voice and came closer to the edge of the roof. Two black men's backs caught her eye and something light, sandwiched and hunched over peeped out from behind them. Climbing closer, Raven realized that it was a girl. Tears flowed down her cheek, and her mouth opened and closed in a silent cry. Her half-tattered dress hung miserably in shreds from her shoulder. Raven frowned even more, and her eyes darkened. She quickly felt the handle of the dagger, on her belt, and ready to rush at them, she froze. One of the men moved away from the victim and the Royal Guard badge flashed on his chest. Damn it. Rachel hesitated, considering how likely the chances were that she would be next to the poor thing. Going to men was not a good idea anyway. They excelled in strength. And go to the soldiers of al-Ghul ... you know, imagine a huge herd of bulls that scoot at you. Presented? Great, now imagine that these bulls have sharp swords on their horns. Well, how great are the chances of dying. The girl cried out again and this was a signal for Raven. She shoved the entire internal dialogue away, focusing on not catching the Lyuli. Raven jumping, knocked down one of them, landing on him, when the other already pulled out a sword. The girl jumped from the man and threw up the blade. She took a fighting stance, I do not know what next. “Shine, Rachel. Congratulations, you’ll be buried with a sign {Dumb idiot deciding to act as hero} "The guy maliciously grinned and growled some curse in ancient Arabic in her direction. It is so good that she did not know this language. Second, his colleague pulled out his sword and threw away his It’s much more interesting, of course. The victim slid down the wall, reveling in sobs. It was the Raven who needed to sob now, and her. The man whom she knocked down jumped to his feet and did not even try to get his weapon. He grinned caustically and shook his head.

“To save another and expose yourself to a blow, how stupid it is.” Can't you find a puppy? - Yes! The raven barely suppressed the answer before he managed to slip from her lips. She knew perfectly well that this was stupid. Raven, you didn’t even let this blade into action when you didn’t! What will they be from this bullshit? You do not know how to fight. You do not know how to fight. You don't know how to fight, you fool! Sweat ran down her back, and adrenaline rose in her blood. Her skin burned under a mask and Raven was grateful that at least he had put on a hood. The two began to slowly approach, and the girl was moving away, and only now Raven realized that they were in the fucking dumb street. There was one solid wall behind and the girl who was attacked fell apart across. Fainted from fright. This is definitely not what she needs. Rachel began to randomly run her gaze through the space, which was rapidly decreasing as the two approached like hunters following a small mouse. And here, as a salvation, Raven saw from the side, a shovel. Old, rusty. She could swear that she literally glowed with snow-white lights. She rushed in that direction, at that moment when one of the soldiers had already managed to attack her. He stumbled. Geese saved Rome, why not a spade to save her? Raven hit him on the head in a huge sweep. The man went limp and staggered. He crashed to the ground, clutching his head. The other, without wasting time, threw a shurekin, just like a girl in her forearm. The raven grimaced, her face contorted in pain as the steel cut through her skin, digging sharp spikes into her hand. She wanted to cry, but the instincts of self-preservation did not let her lose her mind. In front of her stood another soldier, much more than the one whom she hranulo a shovel. He rushed to her, throwing the spatula to the side and grabbed Raven by the throat. The girl cluttered, trying with all her might to tear this rotten hand away from herself. The man grinned and began to compress his fingers harder. E

- Well, you son of a bitch, let me even look in your face before death. - No. Just not that. Raven still had a little hope for life, and if they see her face, the hunt will begin. These soldiers will definitely want revenge. She had already imagined how she would be allowed to go around, a chill went all over her body, and Raven clung even harder, trying to kick the attacker. At least somewhere. So the girl woke up and, seeing what was happening, picked up with trembling hands lifted the cobblestone from the ground and began to slowly approach, swaying. Yes, you are faster! The soldiers turned out to be quicker and in one sharp jerk, tore off her hood and ... froze. He was stared at by beautiful amethyst eyes framed by a layer of fluffy eyelashes. He blinked with wide eyes, not believing that a girl had attacked them. But they did not give him time to think. Due to shock, his grip loosened and Raven forcefully pushed him with both legs away. He fell, falling on his back, when he did not have time to move away, he received a stone. The raven fell to her knees, exhausted, hoarsely swallowing the air. Her hands darted to her throat, and then to her forearm and gently felt the flesh. The wound seemed to throb and burn. Streams of blood were already streaming down his arm and Raven winced. She sucked in air through clenched teeth and jerked out a shureken. Fucking fucking shit. More blood spattered. She tore a piece from her sleeve and bandaged the wound. Raven cast a short glance at the two carcasses, burning with the urge to stick this shurekin to them in one dry, hard-to-reach revenge. Raven stared at the girl. She did not blink at the soldier whom she had hit with a stone. Light blonde. The raven moaned and rose to its feet, brushing off dust. Only now a girl looked at her.

- Thank. She whispered softly, with her lips. Ha. Rachel grinned. It was she who just saved her.

- What is your name? - asked the Raven, again pulling his hood and looking around in search of eyes that could become random witnesses.

- Adila.

- So, Adila, let's agree that you will erase my face from memory and forget this hour. Do you get it? - Raven looked at her. The tone of her voice sounded calm, but there was clearly a threat in him. The girl nodded obediently. - Good.

Raven again carefully looked into her face and made sure that she had truncated the whole scale of the problems that she could provide, she turned around and took a step from this street. She pulled on her hood harder. These fuckers won't forgive this. This place does not tolerate this and literally all the bones in her body insisted that this was not the end. Hmm, she imagined her start to the day clearly wrong.

- - Mother is my woman! - exclaimed the old man, stepping out from behind the bar and threw up his hands to the sky. His wide-open eyes ran excitedly over the familiar figure into the hood, and his lips extended into a smile. The raven grimaced at the disgusting smell of alcohol floating in the air. And how does Gassan endure it?

“Raven, isn't that you?” Oh my god! The thin old man cried noisily, hastily wiping his hands on the apron. Bright paint poured on his face, leaving no trace of that tired person and it seemed that even the ancient wrinkles on his forehead were smoothed out. He cast a short look at the crowd of onlookers gathered at the tables, which were now carefully studying what was happening, drinking directly from the bottles of arak. The man nodded toward the stairs leading to the second floor and the girl followed him without asking questions. Only when her bony shadow darted into the room, securely hidden from prying eyes, did the girl pull off her hood. Before he could recover, the man was captured by her hands, covered with the skin of an animal, when she hugged him tightly. The girl made a sound reminiscent of a contented cat and laid her head on the old man's shoulder. The man hugged her back.

- Hi Gassan. Raven whispered softly, not unclenching her arms. Her heart was beating happily in her chest, content with the moment.

- Hello, my angel. - in her manner answered the man. He took the girl by the shoulders, gently moving away and looked around. “How prettier and grown you are, Raven.” Straight beauty indescribable. And your pallor remained with you. Amazing - He thoughtfully stared at her face, and then, as if it dawned on him, he reached out and uttered dumbfounded. - - My angel, how did you end up here? - the girl giggled, relishing the expression of complete misunderstanding of the situation. She smiled conspiratorially and deliberately slowly explained:

- How, how, arrived three days ago. From caravan to caravan and to Ghula. Her voice sparkled merrily and shimmered with carelessness, as if that was what the whole world had been dedicated to.

- Three days?! But how so! Holy Manat, - the man looked up, turning to the gods and squinting at the girl. “Why did you order that this masterful girl come to me just now?” Oh, I will die of a broken heart. - He theatrically put his hand on his chest and exhaled sadly. Raven burst into fervent laughter as a child who had just seen the best performance in life.

“No, well, look at her.” I am seriously unhappy that you decided to visit your old friend so late, my angel.

- There were things. What can you do? - She spread her arms and grunted easily.

- Oh, how busy everyone is. Gassan clicked in displeasure and shook his head.

- Come on. How are you?

- Good, my angel, good.

- I heard Zakir also in the city. Do not know where to find it? - the man froze for a moment, his face did not express anything and Raven held her breath. For several minutes there was a deadly silence, and the air cooled. His eyebrows stiffly converged on the nose, forming a deep wrinkle on his forehead. Gassan's voice became extremely serious when, after a pause, he answered:

“You should take hold of the mind, my angel.” The raven looked at him embarrassedly and arched a questioning eyebrow in an arc. AND? He says that she is that. Fool?

- What?

- - You would throw this business, ignoble, Raven. The old man muttered grimly, looking off to the side, clenching his teeth and exhaling heavily. He seemed upset. The girl cheerfully waved him off.

- What are you doing? Yes, everything will be fine with me. - She tried to make her voice more relaxed when Gassan again clicked disapprovingly. He exhaled heavily, as if resigned to something.

- Good. I am before him, my angel. And now, I need to go to work.

“I'll come again tomorrow.”

He woke up on the street when the moon had already risen in the sky. His head hurt and throbbed. The man lifted himself up on his elbows, moaning softly. Next to him was his partner. Vidocq was no better.

- Woke up? - he asked. But the man did not hear him. A thousand and one ideas were carried in his head, rampant revenge. Pictures of that drunken face surfaced. Such a city will not be difficult to find. And when he got to her, God forbid her, heaven had not seen such a thing.

[awed-frog]

When you say romance should be 18 and over do you mean the brand of romance we know today (aka toxic) or romance as a whole? If we wrote healthy romance aimed at younger crowds or presented unhealthy behaviour as unhealthy behaviour in regular romance (for older crowds) would that be a good solution?

Well - I see three questions here, all of them incredibly complex and beyond interesting: should art be political and is censorship ever a good idea and also is the romance genre okay? The answer to all of them, in my opinion, is ‘no but’.

1) Should art be political?

The stupid thing is, art is inherently political, whether you want it to or not, but art that’s deliberately political tends to be awful, and that’s a universal truth both for left-wing stuff and for right-wing stuff. When you willingly create political stuff, what you’re crafting is propaganda, and proganda is generally sad and bad. I guess there is propaganda that’s also good art - Victor Hugo’s The Man Who Laughs comes to mind - but the problem is, not all of us are Victor Hugo. 

That said, since whatever we create is political (because man is a social animal) and will have some kind of moral message, yes - ideally we want more art with an ethically ‘good’ moral message than we want garbage, because art (and here I include everything: books, movies and so on) is perhaps the most effective and impactful mind-shaper ever. That’s why Disney is doing its very best to be a monopoly, after all. But: I don’t have a good solution for how to ensure art is nice. I think art is nice when artists are nice, and artists are nice when they grow up in good, healthy societies. So the more a society rots from the inside out, the more likely it is you’ll find art that’s also rotten. I mean, while romance as a genre was always a bit dodgy (see below), what that article was talking about - the rise of the possessive, violent boyfriend and domestic abuse as the great love story - is sort of a recent phenomenon, and goes hand in hand with the deterioration of women’s rights in (Western) society. 

(As an aside, I’m not sure I agree (young) women are necessarily misogynistic for reading crap like Fiftfy Shades: I think (young) women are exhausted. Fifty Shades is, more than anything, an ode to undeserved capitalism - the only kind that seems open as an option today. After all, we know trickle-down capitalism doesn’t work and most of us will toil and toil for very little; Christian Grey is the antidote to that, the guy who shows up, basically kidnaps you, and smothers you in a life of riches for which the only thing you must do in return is give up. Having someone else decide on your job, your car, your possessions and clothes, where you’ll live, what you’ll eat and when, whether you’ll take birth control (lol: obviously not), when you’ll see your friends and family plus when and how you’ll orgasm - what women tried to escape for generations is suddenly the dream for many of us - not because of any new political ideology, but because we’re beyond tired. Women, like men, are now crushed in a neverending cycle of bs, underpaid jobs, and are apparently fed up enough in taking responsibility for anything that not only romance and ‘superhuman’ characters are booming, but a very specific kind of subset of that: essentially, slave fics. 

Just give up your agency, and you’ll be taken care of and cherished - forever.

I understand a kink is not the same as your actual political opinion, but still - I’m not enthusiastic about this trend, and I’m even less enthusiastic when it gobbles up young women who haven’t had time to experience real life relationships.)

No, I think that in the end, the answer is - if you reverse the rotting of society, automatically - statistically - you’ll get healthier artists and a healthier audience. So, really, the fight is always the same: better paid jobs, better (and free) schools, more opportunities for continued education of any kind, more democracy and transparency, more green spaces and better living conditions.

2) Is censorship ever a good idea?

Sadly, no. You’d think the logical conclusion of what I just said would be, ‘In the meantime, let’s ban the most dangerous stuff’ or something, and while part of me is tempted to support that, censorship has a way of ending very badly no matter how good and noble your intentions are.

(Self-censorship should be more of a thing, though: not everything that goes through our minds deserves to be seen and shared.)

What sucks at the moment is that on the one hand, capitalism is operating its own censorship; and on the other, its desperate search for new markets has led to a disastrous disintegration of actual human interactions.

So, problem one is that we only publish and market what makes a lot of money, and while that’s normal, to an extent, the result today is that everything is ‘almost the same’ as the previous thing (think sequels, prequels, remakes, obnoxious book covers for books that are basically all the same). So if ‘asshole boyfriend who beats you up’ suddenly makes money, it becomes very hard to escape the trope, because what will be offered to you everywhere is exactly that. This was less of a thing back when our main sources of entertainment were shared (movie theaters, the one family TV, school libraries and so on); now, it’s an epidemic, and as we see with Youtube algorithms, a dangerous one, because this obsession with watching and rewatching ‘almost the same’ inevitably leads to more and more extreme stuff.

Meanwhile, problem two is that the more tailor-made our entertainment is, the less we connect to real people. I know I sound about 90 here, but when all family members are glued to a different screen - mom watching the 50th remake of Eat, Pray, Love, dad down the rabbithole of lizard conspiracy theories, big brother now exploring some milk&peanut butter weirdness on Youporn and younger sister 30 fics deep into Stucky high school AUs - what do they have in common? What do they talk about? What can they even learn from each other? Until recently, and for aeons, fiction was shared, and its primary goal was to form a connection between group members. Now, that’s gone. We destroyed it, without even realizing what we were doing, in the space of twenty years. And yeah - I know you can create new communities, but a) these communities are virtual (which means, for the most part: not real) and b) they tend to connect like with like, which is comforting, perhaps, but not very useful. The whole point here is that we need to learn how to feel empathy and trust for those who’re different, and build a community with them - instead, what the internet is doing is isolating us inside our little bubbles, so much so that any minor disagreement is now seen as good reason to break off contact.

Censorship, however, doesn’t solve any of this. For starters, we need more regulation on how big corporations can get, what social media companies can and can’t do and who can access what kind of material. And it’d be great if we could all unplug a little, but uh - fat chance of that.

3) Is the romance genre okay?

Again, just my opinion, but personally, I mistrust it. There are no romance books for men? Instead, books for men feature a Main Character doing stuff and improving himself while accidentally meeting a Sexy Lamp he can go home to at the end of the story. And, well, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but isn’t this a healthier way to look at life? While good relationships are very meaningful (or even the most meaningful) part of any human life, if your goal is to get them, they won’t grow right. You shouldn’t be hyperfocused on finding love; I think it’s much better to be like Main Character: you work on your drawing skills, try a new sport, read poetry, defeat evil Russians, thus developing inner happiness and self-confidence, thus leading you towards towards a partner who’ll fall in love with who you are - not a partner who was looking for some empty shell to fill with their own expectations and preferences.

And I know - romance books and movies are full of exciting non-romantic events and stuff - but still, the fact they’re classified and intended as romance does imply that finding a romantic partner is the ultimate goal. Which, I don’t know, I don’t think it’s healthy, and is a particularly inappropriate message for young women. After all, why is it okay that young men are encouraged to go on ghost hunts, study dinosaurs and save the world while young women are taught to wait around for a broken (possibly violent, but it’s not his fault) bad boy only they can fix? It’s messed up, is what it is, and I may be extreme here, but even the tamest, sweetest romance revolves around the same message: that you’re not complete on your own, and that you should focus on relationships as a way to become a better, happier human being. 

Now, as much as I love this quote -

“It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.” — Oscar Wilde

- obviously there’s no direct cause-and-effect here - you don’t read one book and become a mindless Stepford wife - so I’m not saying, ‘no one should read romance ever’. It’s just - as I said in that other post, we should all enjoy diverse stuff. Read your romance novels, but also read the classics, read some philosophy, a random poem, a badly-written thriller - read Stephen King, read how the OED was written, or a Wikipedia article on the French resistance - anything and everything. Because of capitalism, because of this push towards personalized entertainment, we’re being forced and pigeonholing ourselves in smaller and smaller cages, and the worst thing is - we’re comfortable inside them, because this is the awful truth: cages are comfortable, and that’s why we need to get out before we forget what cages are for.

[As a final point: you say ‘if we wrote’, does it mean you’re an aspiring writer? If so, you shouldn’t worry about any of this. You write what you want, you write the stories you want to read. Just remember to get out of your cage as well - experience, discover, grow, read, dare - and then put all that into your books. I’m sure they’ll be great, whatever your favourite genre.]

[gal-liveblogs]

RWBY Chapter 8: Players and Pieces

Hm, that title makes me think those chess pieces are about to become very important.

O.K., what on earth are you doing, Ruby? Are you... Are you riding a giant bird? Is that why you were falling from the sky at the end of the last episode? WHY are you on a giant bird? HOW did you get on a giant bird?

Ruby: Well, why don’t we just jump? Weiss: What are you, insane?

Aaaaaand Ruby’s gone. God damn it, Ruby.

That’s some stellar timing. Congrats, Ruby, you saved Jaune from hurtling even further into the forest. Hopefully he doesn’t crush you when you both land.

Oh great, before Yang and Blake can deal with the Ruby and Jaune situation a Grimm appears from the forest. I sure hope that scorpion Grimm doesn’t join the fray as well.

Nora: Yeeeeeehaaaw!

Oh. Thanks, Nora! That was easy!

Nora: Aw, it’s broken.

She has no respect for danger and I love her.

Nora: I’m queen of the castle~ I’m queen of the castle~

You are fighting hard for my favorite character.

Here comes the scorpion now! It’s fine, the other Grimm is dead and we have a bunch of warriors gathered. I’m sure they’ll be fine. What’s Weiss up to?

Pyrrha: Jaune! Jaune: Pyrrha! Ruby: Woah! Jaune: Ruby! Yang: Ruby?! Ruby: Yang! Nora: NORA!

I sure love the Name Game. Glad to see Nora knows how to play the winning hand.

Yang is shaking in frustration and I can’t tell if Nora is just happily swaying or having fun imitating her, but it’s just the cutest thing.

Oh, there’s Weiss! Boy, that bird is quite a bit bigger than I expected it to be. Gosh... How did you girls manage to hitch a ride on that?

Nora, stop being so adorable this instant.

Ren: She’s falling.

Oh no. Jaune, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. This is not the perfect opportunity to play hero and save the falling damsel. You are the butt monkey, your role to continually fail for comedy. This won’t end well for you.

I know it’s tempting, Jaune, but don’t even try. Really there’s only two ways this is going to go. You’re going to try and somehow make things worse, or one of the other’s is going to rescue Weiss before you can do anything.

Either things are about to go horribly wrong, or Weiss is gonna smack him and call him a pervert.

Music: *is angelic* Jaune: Just dropping in?

Or this will turn out to just be a fantasy Jaune has concocted after hitting his head trying to jump out of the tree.

O.K., not a fantasy. Cartoons physics was employed so that they could float in the air for a moment before gravity picked back up. Now the question is if the punchline is them still crashing to the ground or will it be that one of the others will still end up rescuing them?

Crashing it is! At least Weiss seems fine, since Jaune acted as a crash pad. So I guess... Congrats, Jaune? You managed to save the girl?

Weiss: My hero.

She just sounds so disinterested. That’s gotta hurt him more than his crushed spine.

Oof. That was a crunch. Poor Pyrrha, I thought you’d be able to put up a bit more fight against the scorpion.

Yang: Great, the gang’s all here! Now we can die together!

Glad to see you being positive, Yang.

And of course Ruby jumps into the fray only to get immediately bitch slapped.

Holy shit! That thing has projectile feathers! I’m more scared of it than the scorpion now!

Be thankful it only skewered your cape and not your body! Still, this is legitimately terrifying!

Ruby, no, don’t try to rip your cape free just take your cape off! Trust me, it’s much faster!

O.K., yeah, wow, thanks for the ice wall and all, Weiss, but could we maybe have the getting along speech after we defeat the Grimms?

Ruby: *sighs and whispers* Normal knees...

What are you going on about, Ruby? I know you just wanted to be a normal girl with normal knees, but what does this mean? Are you reminding yourself to just act normally, or are you thankful that Weiss just said “you’re fine” and thus she sees you as normal?

Really though, these friendship building moments can wait until AFTER THE GRIMMS ARE DEAD, YES?

I’m sorry, but I have to point out Yang’s little run here wasn’t the best. She just kind of, slid across the ground. Not great animation. Very slippery.

Alright, so now everyone has a chess piece. Were those missing chess pieces already missing to begin with, or did those two dudes we saw at the start take them? You know, they two people who had character models but no lines?

So the gang tries to run, but it seems the bird has them trapped. Oh, and then the scorpion comes back too. So how’s that “just run and don’t fight them” plan going?

I love Nora’s gun. She has a grenade launcher. I wonder what it transforms into?

You know, for an exercise all about teaming up with one other person they all seem to be working with, well, everyone. I mean, it’s good to have teamwork with everyone at your disposal, but I would think you’d want to stick with your “assigned” partner and learn how to most effectively work with them.

Calling it now, that bridge is either going to collapse and make the scorpion tumble into the ravine below OR it’s going to collapse and trap out heroes in the ruin. Possibly both. Either way the bridge isn’t going to survive this fight.

Well, I was right about the bridge being destroyed, at least, but it looks like everyone is gonna hitch a ride on the bird on outta here. How did Ruby and Weiss do this the first time??

Oh, never mind, they do get trapped in the ruin after all. Looks like only Pyrrha, Ren, and possibly Blake hitched a ride.

GOD DAMN IT! NO ONE GOT CARRIED AWAY? Bullshit! You could clearly see they were all too far away from the edges with the bird came through!

Oh neat! A hammer! Let me guess, it’s gonna have some sonic blast or something that will propel her across the gap when she swings it down?

Ah, no magic nonsense, just basic physics! Yay for levers! Bye, Jaune! Now what will you do, dear Nora? Also what about the others?

Oh that is awesome! A grenade propelled scooter, basically! Who knew hammers could be so versatile?

Aw, and you were doing so well too, Nora! Now who’s going to save Blake from plummeting to her death?

Blake’s gonna save herself thanks to grappling guns!

I like that during the classic “run up all the falling rocks” moment we get to see that each of the four main girls does it slightly differently. Blake immediately gets off the unstable rocks and goes to another classic, “run up the walls”. Weiss uses her glyphs to give herself more stable footing when there are no rocks. Yang uses her rocket gauntlets to propel herself, and Ruby just stays with the classic approach.

So while Ruby has a plan to fight the bird, Jaune seems to be giving orders to the other team fighting the scorpion. Not so much orders as barking out their names and they knowing what to do already. I could be mean and say Jaune isn’t really needed here, but I’ll give him the credit has leader of this team of four. Clearly Ruby will be leader of the other team so he’s being built up as the leader of the secondary characters.

Nora is just the cutest gosh darn thing! Sorry, Jaune, but Nora has been too precious this episode. She has booted you out of the top spot on my characters list.

Poor Ren, someone get this boy some snacks. Nora, give him pats and snacks!

Wow, this is quite the plan, Ruby, How did you manage to tell the others what to do while all of you were fighting?

Ruby: Think you can make the shot? Weiss: Can I? Ruby: ... Can y- Weiss OF COURSE I CAN!

I’m a sucker for confident “can I?” “that’s what I just asked you” interactions.

Holy shit, Ruby is strong! I know Weiss puts some glyphs down, which are probably helping her with the speed and keeping momentum, but Ruby is still dragging that giant bird by her scythe!

Nice decapitation!

Jaune: Wow.

Yeah, I mean, not to downplay your guys’ scorpion, but that was really cool.

I guess we’re all back at Beacon now. Sounds like whatever piece you took assigns you to a larger team. So I guess only one piece was taken per team of two? Then, since it’s chess, there were two of each piece (excluding the pawns) so then the two teams that had the same pieces would get combined here. Still doesn’t sound like a great way to form actually good teams for four years, but whatever. How lucky that the teams that worked together fighting each Grimm ended up being the actual teams. Now they have a basic understanding of each member’s abilities!

Wait, did I just hear Yang Xiao Long? Not Yang Rose? Do you two have different fathers? You usually take your dad’s last name after all. We saw a Summer Rose gravestone. Hm. Well if they’re half sisters it would explain why they look so different.

Ozpin: From this day forward you will work together as Team RWBY, lead by Ruby Rose.

Wow, who could have guessed the team named after her would be lead by Ruby. Honestly, it would have been a jerk move to name the team “ruby” and then have someone else lead the team.

OH COME ON! NOW THE SHATTERED MOON ISN’T EVEN ROUND ANYMORE! It’s a shatter egg! I’m telling you, it’s fluctuating size and shape, that’s the cause of it breaking! The moon saga never ends!

Oh? And what is our dapper villain up to in this lonely warehouse?

Hm, I see you have various districts marked out on your maps. Also COPS! and Beacon. What dastardly plans are you concocting?

Man, you’re eyelash game is strong. Are you wearing eyeliner too?

Monopoly money!

Oh, credit cards, not Monopoly money.

A better look at the map. He’s not only marked out COPS!, but also DUMB COPS. I wonder if Forever Fall is a town or a landmark. Beacon seems like a pretty big place.

Torchwick: We’re gonna need more men.

BOO. Cliched line is cliched!

We never did find out how Ruby and Weiss got on that bird...

<Previous Ep. Next Ep.>

[giftfromthesleepprincess]

Chapter 7-Gift From the Princess Who Brought Sleep; Scene 2

Gift from the Princess Who Brought Sleep, pages 269-278

Of the land of Elphegort, one fourth of it was taken up by forest. The largest of these forests was the “Millenium Tree Forest” to the southwest. As the name implied, there had once been an enormous tree there that was called the Millennium Tree. The people worshipped it as a god, and it was known as a pilgrimage site for the disciples of the Held sect of the Levin faith.

But a terrible event occurred eighty years ago.

The Millennium Tree that had been the forest’s symbol suddenly withered and died.

When the nearby residents realized this, there was a great uproar; however, at the same time they had discovered a new large tree growing right beside it. The people then decided make that great tree a new target of their faith as the reincarnation of the Millennium Tree.

Sister Clarith, the founder of the Sisters of Clarith, had published this sermon in her last years:

“We all must honor the Millennium Tree. All people must protect this sacred tree, not just the followers of Held. For to us she is a most respected god, our most precious friend, and our most cherished love.”

It wasn’t something set in law. But it had become taboo to thoughtlessly touch the new Millennium Tree or damage it. Particularly as Held followers were terrified of losing their subject of worship again, they came to very rigidly safeguard the forest. A new church was founded by the forest’s entrance, and people who tried to enter were strictly inspected and restricted. That was certainly effective in protecting the Millennium Tree, but it also amounted to an annoyance for residents of the nearby village and a large portion of travelers.

The Sisters of Clarith started issuing a travel pass. You could enter the forest even without being inspected by the church at the entrance as long as you had it, but you needed to undergo a different examination in order to receive that pass, which was also extremely bothersome.

Elluka and Gumillia had travel passes (they had been given to them special by Sister Clarith herself during her life), but they’d long since expired. Thanks to that they’d kept their distance from the Millennium Tree lately.

Using an animal path that Egmont had told them about, they were able to successfully enter the forest without going by way of the main entrance. Elluka knew many other methods and back roads for getting in, but it seemed this path was the closest.

Eventually they came out into a clearing. Nearby the enormous tree that was growing in the heart of it was a visitor who’d gotten there first.

Puerick Rogzé. Unlike Elluka and Gumillia, he had come here using an official travel pass.

“Oh, I was waiting for you.  Miss Hanne—I was investigating a little until you got here.”

“Make yourself at home, Doctor…So then, what’s your opinion?”

“I can’t be certain without inspecting it more thoroughly with my tools at home, but…It does seem that this tree’s sap has extremely strong poison-counteracting properties.”

“Then you can make an antidote that will have an effect on the sixth ‘gift’ poison?”

“I can’t say. I still don’t know all the details on the sixth ‘gift’ in the first place. I wasn’t able to detect anything like it in the corpses at Toragay. –Only, I did find some peculiar antibody-like components in the blood of the survivors, so I’ve been looking into it with that as a foothold. If all goes well, I might be able to develop an antidote without having to go to the trouble of taking tree sap from the Millennium Tree.”

“Let’s hope so. The people in the Held sect aren’t likely to keep quiet if we end up continually damaging the Millennium Tree for the antidote.”

It wasn’t just Freezis Fairytales that were being sold in the black market held in Toragay. That white energy tonic that Egmont had purchased was another one of its products.

What it used as a primary ingredient was sap taken from the bark of the Millenium Tree. Strictly speaking, damaging the tree wasn’t against the law. It was just something the Held sect forbid on their own.

Despite that, naturally you couldn’t publicly sell Millennium Tree sap. If someone was discovered doing so they would incur the animosity of all the Held devotees in Elphegort.

“It’s fortunate that Egmont heard the ingredients from the seller,” Elluka murmured while touching the Millennium Tree’s trunk.

It seemed that Egmont was little more than a customer, unaware that Pere Noel was running the black market. He may have been a target for being cracked down on by the World Police despite that, but Elluka had no inclination to hand him over to them when he was the hero who saved Toragay. She wasn’t a reporter anymore, and Gumillia was no longer an officer.

“So, I will head back home for now. I plan to analyze this sap as soon as possible. …What do you two intend to do?”

“We—will stay here for a while. This forest is my girl here’s home,” Elluka replied, putting her hand on Gumillia’s head.

“Oh, I see. …Well then, take it easy.”

“Take care, Doctor. Try not to get caught by the people at the church.”

Elluka pointed to the bottle with the tree sap that Puerick was carrying.

“Oh yes, I know. I won’t let them confiscate my precious research subject without resistance,” Puerick said, walking towards the entrance to the forest.

“…What blockheads, ‘Pere Noel’,” Gumillia muttered as she watched Puerick leave. “To think, that the poison they made, would be cured by the medicine they made.”

“—Or maybe that was their aim all along.”

“…? What do you mean, Elluka?”

“They set loose a mysterious pathogen. The people are in a panic. But after a short time, a medicine that cures the disease is discovered. –But the only one who knows how to make it…”

“…Is ‘Pere Noel’.”

“Yes. They would have a monopoly on the cure. Think of the killing they’d have made if they’d managed to pull it off.”

“So then, the energy tonic Egmont bought, was the prototype, you mean?”

“Perhaps so. Maybe that was something that Shadow or Kaspar as ‘Second, Dealer’ had Margarita make in advance.”

Now that all three were dead, the truth was lost to them.

“Anyway…” Elluka once more put a hand on the great tree’s trunk. “Long time no see—Michaela.”

She spoke up to the Millennium Tree. When she did, a change began to occur.

The multiple layers of the bark on the trunk shifted, and finally created a small gap. It looked like a human mouth.

“…Honestly, what was with that geezer! Mercilessly scratching at a person’s---ah, no wait. A spirit’s—not that either. A god’s body! It’s inexcusable!”

The voice could be heard coming from the gap in the trunk.

Elluka and Gumillia were the only ones who could hear it. It was the voice of the Millennium Tree—or rather, the inheritor of the great land god Held, Michaela.

Michaela was a former spirit, and had also been once reborn into a human by Elluka. She had been felled with an assassin’s dagger a hundred years ago, and lost her life. After that, she had been chosen as a successor by the Millennium Tree—the land god Held—after he’d carried out his life span, and then finally been reborn as the new Millennium Tree.

“It can’t be helped, Michaela. It’s to save, people’s lives,” Gumillia said, trying to pacify her best friend as a fellow former spirit.

“Oh ho. I guess, yeah, people’s lives huh? Even though you got so ticked off at me when I extended Shaw’s life. But using Millennium Tree sap to save people is alright, huh? Wow,” Michaela griped with a sulking tone.

Shaw Freezis had once been tormented by a fear of dying of old age. He had begged Elluka to tell him how to become immortal, but she had refused him.

Though, Elluka’s immortality was an incidental side-effect of the “Sin”, and so it wasn’t something she could cause in the first place.

And there, as a last entreaty to god, Shaw had prayed to the Millennium Tree—in other words, Michaela—for immortality.

When Michaela had been human, she had worked under Shaw’s father, Keel Freezis, and so knew Shaw when he was little.

She sympathized with Shaw. She had listened to Shaw’s wish, and using her powers as god tried to make Shaw perpetually youthful.

But as an inexperienced god Michaela wasn’t able to do such a thing, and so couldn’t make him ageless as per Shaw’s wish. Even so, Shaw had gained a much longer lifespan than the average person.

Later on, once Elluka found out what she’d done, she’d been enraged at Michaela.

This was because gods weren’t supposed to interfere in human society unless absolutely necessary—a rule that Held had obstinately upheld, and Michaela as his successor had completely broken.

That was one of the reasons why Elluka had stopped visiting the forest much.

Gods were forbidden from intervention with humans—and in that case, what did that mean for using her tree sap?

“Well…how about we just put that in the purview of human intelligence, hm?” was all Elluka could reply. “Counteracting a poison created using the power of a ‘demon’ with the power of a ‘god’—I don’t see a problem in that.”

“Hah… Still as big a burden as ever, those ��Vessels of Deadly Sin’.” A gentle breeze issued from Michaela’s mouth. “You stiiiill haven’t gotten all of them? Good grief, you’ve gotta step it up, Elluka.”

“Tch…You got real cheeky the moment you became a god. My incompetent former apprentice.”

Elluka prodded Michaela’s trunk with all her strength.

But Michaela calmly replied, “That doesn’t huuurt.”

“I would think not.”

“So then, what actually happened? From beginning to end.”

“…The ‘Red Cat Sorceress’. I told you about her before, yes?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who was manipulating the girl who killed me and her mother.”

“There’s that, yes. That sorceress has been active again recently. If she’s following her usual pattern then she’ll have several ‘Vessels of Deadly Sin’.”

“She’s quite spectacular, unlike you, Ellukaaa. This ‘Red Cat Sorceress’ I mean.”

“Oh shut up…So, we were tracking down someone who seemed to be her…but unfortunately it was a fake. In the end we couldn’t find any vessels either.”

“A fake, huh? So then you’re saying you were completely deceived.”

Deceived…hm.

Elluka had taken on a different name and fooled the whole world herself, yet she had still been deceived by someone else.

“We…everyone…was deceived.”

That was what Marx had said at his moment of death.

--Who in the world had he been deceived by?

--Who did he mean when he said “we”?

“You’ve been completely fooled anyway.”

Shadow had said that.

That was what she’d replied when Elluka mentioned that Margarita had contracted with a demon.

“I haven’t made any contracts. I’m me. From the moment I was born, I’ve always been myself.”

Those were Margarita’s words.

Elluka had thought she was trying to obfuscate matters. Or maybe someone else had gotten her to contract without her intent. There had in the past been some contractors of that pattern.

But—supposing that wasn’t the case.

.

Marx’s words.

Shadow’s words.

Margarita’s words.

A human who didn’t sleep.

A doll they couldn’t find.

Kaspar’s face which had so resembled someone else’s.

Margarita Blankenheim’s face.

The Phantom Thief Platonic’s face.

Eve Zvesda’s face.

And—the doll’s face.

.

Various things suddenly raced through Elluka’s mind.

When they melted, swirling together into one--

Elluka finally arrived at a single answer.

Impossible...The Sleep Princess...The true meaning of that...Her real identity--

“—-Elluka. Hey,

Elluka!

” Michaela was calling Elluka’s name.

There was a bit of anxiety in her tone.

“I can sense someone. Someone’s come here—It’s…that’s…”

Michaela was astonished. And Gumillia’s eyes opened wide.

But Elluka wasn’t surprised.

She’d said that, hadn’t she? “I’ll go to the forest”.

And that had been this Millennium Tree Forest.

.

“—-It seems we have met again, hm, Miss Elluka?”

Standing there was the woman who had died, Margarita Blankenheim.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[mysweetestcreature]

Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry) Part II

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

***

Series Masterlist

***

They’ve been inseparable since the start of the spring term, even more so now since they’ve taken their relationship to a more intimate level. Harry chooses to ignore the disdainful looks that some of her fellow Gryffindors give him when they see his arms wrapped protectively around her, or while he waits for her outside the portrait hole. They think he isn’t good enough for her.

And maybe they’re right.

However, it doesn’t change that fact that he’d do anything for Y/n. She’s the person that’s keeping him together and maintaining that last bit of goodness within him that he so desperately is clinging on to. He absentmindedly grazes the white sleeve that covers his left forearm. Sometimes he can feel it burning, and it just becomes a reminder of how fucked he is. The thought of her finding out what he’s done in these past few months makes his insides twist in the most excruciating ways. He’s ashamed of himself. Just looking at her looking at him with such fondness and pride––she doesn’t care what any of those nosey pricks have to say, she’s proud to call Harry her boyfriend––has guilt shredding through him like a knife. 

Whenever he finds himself tensing up from all his stress, just the touch of her hand against his brings him back to earth. Her smile––gods, how he could just admire it forever––is his lifeline. If she senses something off about him, she doesn’t say anything. The less she knows, the easier it will be to keep her out of his mess. 

To him, she’s perfect. There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary that can describe how much he loves her. Yet, he knows he doesn’t deserve her because she’s just so pure and full of optimism, finding the good and magic in even the darkest of things. She deserves someone who won’t put her at risk, and his heart constricts because that someone might not be him. But he’s not strong enough to let her go. He’s not strong enough to tell her to get lost because he knows he won’t survive it.

Especially with what’s soon to come.

***

Artemis drops a copy of the Daily Prophet in his lap during breakfast. The front page is a report on the most recent Death Eater attacks, one of which occurred not too far from Hogwarts. They don’t choose their battles anymore, instead they wreak havoc on anyone and anything that gets in their way. He skims over the text, ignoring the animated picture of Scrimgeour from a press conference. It just reminds of that fateful day in December when his father had turned his back on his own family. 

“Could you give me the sports page?” Niall asks, his mouth full of toast and jam. “Heard Ireland might be going to the World Cup again!” Harry rolls his eyes and plucks the page and shoves it in his friend’s face before he continues to flip through the remaining parts he’s got left. A particular name catches his eye on page four, it belongs to his girlfriend’s father, Nicolás Y/l/n. The Auror had been interviewed on what the Ministry is doing to keep the community safe. 

“I assure you all, that my men and I are working tirelessly to protect our families. So far, we’ve been able to put over two and half dozen Death Eaters in their rightful place in the cells of Azkaban. We will not stand down until our streets are safe and we can go back to living in peace.”

The article then goes on to praise Mr. Y/l/n for having lead his team during a raid of a safehouse that You-Know-Who’s followers had been hiding in, making at least a dozen more arrests. He’s a good man, with a moral compass that would put Harry’s family to shame. And it’s obvious he’s extended those ideals to his daughter because she really is just kindest person. 

Hands suddenly wrap around his eyes. A stifled giggle erupts from behind, and he can hear Niall let out a soft chuckle from right next to him. “Hi, love,” Harry greets. The hands fall from his face and onto his shoulders.

“How’d you know it was me?” Y/n pouts, as she squeezes herself in between the two boys.

Harry leans in and presses his lips to hers, letting them linger a little longer than he would usually allow in front of so many people. “Couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting to make such an effort.” She sticks her tongue out at him, then reaches for a blueberry left forgotten on his plate. Her face scrunches up from having picked up a ridiculously sour one. Harry fawns over how cute she is as her lips pucker from the taste, and he kisses her forehead as she takes a long gulp from his goblet. 

“There’s a reason why I left them there.” He wipes a dribble of pumpkin juice from the side of her mouth with his thumb. Y/n lightly hits his arm, then tries her luck at a seemingly succulent strawberry, humming in triumph when its sweet juice tickles the roof of her mouth. 

“No food over at the Gryffindor table?” Niall teases, but she shrugs him off. When she walked into the Great Hall this morning, it had occurred to her that she never sits with her boyfriend during meals––not counting when they eat out in Hogsmeade––and she thinks that’s absolutely ridiculous. Luna Lovegood sometimes trades a spot at the Ravenclaw table to sit with her friends in Gryffindor, so why shouldn’t she be able to sit here?

“Thought I’d eat breakfast with my favorite guy,” she kisses Harry’s cheek, who in turn takes her chin between his fingers and kisses her deeply, completely disregarding the pairs of all-too curious eyes that darted their way.

They move naturally with each other, her fingers playing with the hem of his jumper. He snakes an arm around her midsection, letting his hand run up and down her sides. He can hear Daphne and Pansy squawking in disgust from a few seats down. It only makes this all the more enjoyable because Daphne still refuses to leave him alone, even after she watched Y/n and Harry waltz out of his dorm room, clothes completely disheveled from their previous engagements. He sucks her bottom lip, the remnants of that strawberry still fresh on her tongue. 

Niall lightly nudges her back, and the couple turns to face him with annoyed expressions on both of their faces. “That’s so sweet, Y/n. I don’t know what to say.”

***

It’s the first time he’s ever been in the Room of Requirement. Lost items and things just thrown in here stacked high in numerous piles all throughout the space. There are mysteries within the room, treasures for anyone willing to scout through the clutter to find them. About a month ago, he’d found a collection of muggle children stories compiled into one large book. He’d given it to Y/n and laid his head in her lap as she read them out loud to him. Something about a girl falling into a hole and entering an imaginative world, or some nonsense like that. There might have been a rabbit, but he really can’t remember anything because he had been so comfortable that he’d been dozing in and out of sleep. 

If only he could be doing that instead of spending all night cooped up with Draco Malfoy as they try to mend this bloody vanishing cabinet like they’ve been doing since their return to school in January. 

The platinum blonde haired boy stares at the hunk of wood with such hatred that Harry thinks his steel grey eyes could potentially set it on fire. “Fucking piece of garbage,” he kicks the front right leg of it, cursing to himself once more. He then plops himself down on one of the chairs with broken arms across from it. 

They’ve been at this since after dinner. Once Harry had walked Y/n back to her common room, he came straight here. She had tried to convince him to spend an extra hour with her and Liam, so they could teach him how to play Monopoly. It took everything in him to say no to her, but he did promise that they could do it some other night. (Although, he doesn’t know how a game with non-moving pieces could ever be enjoyable.)

Harry shakes his head and pulls his wand out from the pocket of his robes. He’d recently come across a book while he and Y/n had been in the library on how to fix these kind of things, but the mere words in black and white had made it out to seem like the simplest task to accomplish. From what he’s read, the repeated use of mending spells should have been enough to do the trick, but they’ve been doing just that for a good four months. He’s said the repairing charm so many times that Niall says he’s been muttering it in his sleep. 

“It’s no use,” Draco tries telling him, but Harry keeps at it. Spell after spell leaves his mouth with the hope that one of them will make even the slightest alteration. All they’ve been able to transport are inanimate objects, which had been somewhat exciting at first, but the initial amusement quickly faded because they’re expected to sneak in an entire group of living Death Eaters. Whenever they tried living creatures, their lifeless bodies are what reappeared. Who knows what sort of shit they’d be in if they managed to severely incapacitate those above them.

A cage of pixies used in their second year––when Gilderoy Lockhart had foolishly set them free, the wanker––sits on the end table next to him. He casts a freezing charm on them to immobilize their movements long enough for him to grab one without starting a riot. Quickly putting it inside the cabinet, he says the counter-spell and immediately hears the pixie banging itself against all four inner corners. 

This is where they fall short every time. Getting a living creature to the twin cabinet at Borgin and Burkes is the easy part, they’ve only done it about seventy-something times. It’s the return trip that’s giving the two Slytherins immense amounts of stress that Harry could quite literally blow his top.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.” The cabinet falls silent. Harry opens it up ever-so slightly––just in case the blue mischief maker is playing tricks on him because that may or may not have happened last week––to check if it’s empty. No sign of it when he opens the door all the way. The slight glimmer of hope––the same kind that bubbles in him when whatever it is that they stuff in the cabinet disappears. He closes it and repeats the previous incantation. 

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.” A soft thump comes from inside. He rests his head against the door, eyes shut tightly because it’s more than likely that it’ll just be another failed attempt. There’s no sign of movement, but he still wants to think otherwise. Draco barks at him to open it, and Harry mentally counts to three before swinging the door open.

“Fuck.” No such luck. The pixie’s dead body lays on its side at the bottom of the cabinet. Its once electric blue skin, a dull grey. He lets out an aggravated sigh, then falls into the chair next to the other boy. “I just don’t get it, we’ve tried everything!” he exasperates, running a hand down his face. While he wants to believe that maybe there’s just something they’re missing, he knows for certain that they’ve been attentive. 

He feels like he could punch a hole right through the bloody thing. All he wants to do now is to reduce it to ashes, at least that way he won’t have to look at it ever again. His head hangs low and he brings his left ring finger to his lips. 

“That’s an interesting ring,” Draco speaks up after a few minutes of silence. Harry simply nods, a small grin forming when he reads the message on the warm metal. Sleep tight, I love you! He can just picture her curled up under her sheets, Ashes sprawled out by her feet as she flips through another book or magazine. “What does it mean?”

“Who says it means anything?” he counters. 

The blonde-haired boy snorts, and that may be the first time since the end of fifth year that Harry’s heard him do so. “All jewelry holds some kind of meaning,” he boldly states. “If it didn’t, then no one would bother to wear them.” He holds up his right hand; a large bulky ring sits intimidatingly on his finger. “This was my father’s ring. I wear it because it serves as a reminder of why I’m slaving away in this hellhole with you. Vol-” he clears his throat, “The Dark Lord wasn’t too pleased with him when he got caught. Now my mother and I have to pay for his fuck-ups.”

Harry lets the words simmer and really take the time to digest them. They’re all the same. Each child of fallen Death Eaters, forced to partake in something that they never signed up for. He looks down at his own ring, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. 

“It’s for my girl,” he finally admits. Letting out a breath he had been holding this entire time. “She’s my reason for doing this. I just want to protect her.” He leans back against the chair and stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know why he’s opening up to Draco Malfoy, but he guesses if there’s anyone who will understand his position, it’s him. 

***

Harry loves rubbing his thumb over her ring while they walk hand in hand. The conversation that he and Draco had had about their reasons for doing all of this still fresh in his mind. The matching ring she wears reminds him that there is purpose to this shithole of a life, and he’s positive that she’s his. They walk aimlessly around Hogsmeade, stopping to look at a few window displays and stopping in Tomes and Scrolls (she needs to pick up the latest issue of Witch Weekly), before settling on booth seat in the Three Broomsticks. Harry orders them a few butterbeers, before sliding in next to her on the cushions.

“Did you remember to ask for Madam Rosmerta’s extra sweet version for me?” Y/n asks, and Harry playfully rolls his eyes at her. He’s been actually trying to get her to lessen her sugar intake––sometimes she gets terrifyingly hyper that he just doesn’t know what to do (although when the mood is right, it does come to his advantage) ––but it’s failing miserably because it only takes one look into those damn puppy-dog eyes for him to bend at her will.

“Of course,” he nudges his nose to hers. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn’t remember the enormous sweet tooth you have?” 

She lets out a giggle, then leaves kisses on his cheeks, jaw, and chin. “So, I got a letter from my mum yesterday…” she pauses briefly when the waiter brings them their butterbeers. They both take long sips from their mugs, indulging in its sweet butterscotch flavor. Harry lets out a content sigh as the liquid fizzes in his mouth. He watches as she sets hers back down on the makeshift napkin coaster. A nervous chuckle passing through her lips as she busies herself with the handle of the mug “…and she was wondering if you’d want to maybe want to spend the summer holiday with us?” 

“Yeah?” He tucks her hair behind her ear and over her shoulder. To say that he’s rather stunned would be an understatement. He’s never been in a relationship long enough to do the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing. Would they like him? Fuck, he already knows that Mr. Y/l/n won’t! After all, he had been present during the arrest and the trial, which means he must know who Harry is. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, scooching in closer so that she’s basically sitting on top of him. Just imagining how much fun it would be to spend an entire summer with him excites her. “I mean I get it if you don’t want to…” she pauses, twirling one of his curls around her finger, “…with all that’s going on with your family and all.” Her bottom lip tucks between her teeth, as she tries not to look him directly in the eyes. Of course, she’d understand if he has to say no…but Merlin’s beard she’s praying he’ll say yes because she may or may not have already mapped out the things that they would do together, last night. 

The depressions in his cheeks become more prominent as he leans his forehead to rest on her temples. “I’d like that.” Her shoulders relax and shrug forward as she turns just enough to meet his lips. They both giggle into the kiss but maintain the connection for as long as possible. 

***

Dearest Harry,

I haven’t heard from you since you went back. You haven’t responded to any of my previous letters, and I guess I’m to blame for why you’ve distanced yourself from us. It was the hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make. For years I feared that my children would follow in their father’s footsteps. You of all people should know that. However, the extraneous circumstances had presented themselves, and it left me no choice but to push aside my pride for the better good of this family.

Even Gemma had been upset with me when she found out about you. She didn’t speak to me for a few weeks after you boarded the Hogwarts Express back to school. You know her, ever the protective big sister to you. I’m not sure if you two have been talking, but in case you haven’t, please find the time to at least send her an owl. She misses you…we both do.

I understand if you still need some more time. My biggest grievance is that you had to get involved in whatever it is your father has started. You have so much potential, of which I’m afraid has been snatched from beneath your feet. Believe me, if there had been another way, I would’ve fought for it. Unfortunately, luck is not on our side. As much as it hurts me to see you and your sister have to suffer through this mess, there is just no turning our backs on this.

I know you may never forgive your father for all that he’s done. If I were in your position, I don’t think I could have handled the situation as well as you have. I would have most likely done something brash, like runaway to some island off the coast of Denmark. But please remember, he still is your father. And if everything goes accordingly, we have a chance at becoming a family again. Isn’t that what we’ve wanted all along? 

Your father loves you, Harry, never forget that.

All my love,

Mum.

Harry crumples the paper up and tosses it in the nearest waste bin.

***

In all of his Hogwarts career, Harry has never studied this early for his final exams. But here he is, sat in a chair surrounded by textbooks from each one of him and Y/n’s classes. Usually, he’d study a good two and a half weeks before the scheduled dates. He’s a good student, gets high marks in all his classes and balances that all out with Quidditch. What he’s trying to get across is that he’s more than able to hold off with the studying, especially when June is six weeks away.

“We could go back to my room,” he peppers kisses up her shoulder and to her neck. Y/n giggles as she pushes him away.

“As much fun as that sounds,” she starts. She picks up her Arithmancy notes and holds them centimeters away from his face. “I think we could benefit from a few extra hours in here.” His face falls flat, groaning as he bangs his head against the open Transfiguration book. 

Y/n finds it extremely amusing how childish he’s being right now. He starts grumbling to himself, flipping to Chapter 23 to read up on how to change the color of one’s eyebrows. She massages the back of his neck, before turning back to study over all these complex equations that Professor Vector expects them to know how and when to use.

It takes about half an hour until Harry grows bored again. He tries to entertain himself by making paper cranes and sending them off to random parts of the library, but that can only really stimulate the mind for so long. He rests his chin on the table, his eyes flickering over to Y/n. She looks so beautiful when she’s completely focused, with her lips quirked to one side as she scribbles through problems in her muggle notebook. He doesn’t even try to resist the urge to kiss her again. 

“You’re being awfully clingy this afternoon,” she says pointedly, but doesn’t pull away when his lips make their way up to her own. She supposes half an hour is enough to deserve a break. 

***

She’s infatuated with the how the pinkish pearl colored liquid that sits in her cauldron smells. Today, Slughorn is having them try their luck at brewing Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. (It must be noted that they are NOT allowed to remove any product from the chambers, and each brew will be thrown out soon after dismissal.) Every time she breathes in through her nose, scents of strawberries and hot chocolate and Harry’s cologne send her senses into a whirlwind, and she doesn’t know how much more of this seduction she can take. 

“Sit still, will you?” Liam looks up from his brew. It’s easy for him to say, he had brought nose clips to class and didn’t even think about bringing her a pair. 

“I can’t help it!”

It’s like her entire body feels all hot and bothered, and she fans herself with the flap of her textbook to get some sort of air circulation going in this stuffy excuse of a room (it’s the hormones talking). Y/n looks over to her boyfriend’s table, he’s concentrated on finishing up his potion––and sure does he look good doing it. Now, it’s like his scent is the only one emitting from her cauldron. All she can think of doing is running her fingers through his gorgeous brown curls and poke at the dimples on his cheeks. Yet, she nearly gawks when she notices that he’s being surrounded by Greengrass and bunch of other serpent girls that she hasn’t bothered learning the names of. 

“If you were my bird, I would never let another girl get that close to me,” she rolls her eyes and turns around to see Enzo Hopkins, another Slytherin, smirking at her. “Pretty girl like you? Deserves better than that twig.”

Y/n can’t help but snort. Ever since her and Harry had become official, she’s been getting some unwanted attention from this boy. Apparently, he and Harry have some a not-so-great history, and Hopkins has been jealous of him ever since. It started when both boys were looking to fill in the last chaser position back in third year. It had been Harry who had come out with more scored points, but Hopkins had insisted that Harry had cheated––even went as far as to accuse the keeper of fancying him––in order to outdo his own score. And that’s just one of the reasons why they don’t quite get along. (He may have fancied Daphne around the time she and Harry had hooked up, but that has yet to be confirmed.)

“Still not interested,” she tuts, shaking her head because the guy really can’t take a hint. But she doesn’t expect him to grab her elbow to drag her just centimeters from him. His breath smells like the roast beef from the Great Hall, and there’s a little piece of salad stuck between his canine and first premolar. 

“You’d be better off with me, babe. Could give you everything you want. I bet I could make you feel better than Styles ever cou-” Hopkins lets out a cry of pain and slouches over to cradles the area between his legs. 

She towers over him now that he’s been reduced down to his knees. “Don’t call me ‘babe.’”

Their little scene is enough to catch everyone’s attention. Harry’s eyes lock on her, and he’s taking long strides over to where she stands, her arms firm on her hips as she watches the way Hopkins hisses through his gritted teeth. 

He wraps an arm around her waist. “Did–did you do that to him?” She gives him a proud nod, admiring her handy work. 

“Good heavens, what happened here?” Slughorn gasps at the sight. 

“He rammed into the corner of the table, Sir,” Y/n explains, her voice dripping in false innocence. “You should really be more careful, Enzo.”  

The boy lets out a disgruntled screech as he barks at one of his friends to help him up. The rest of the class quickly falls back into their routine, but Harry stays by her side a bit longer. Once Slughorn is out of ear’s shot, Enzo turns to him. “Better keep that bitch of yours in line, Styles, or she’ll get what’s coming to her,” he sneers and inconspicuously taps over his sleeve, fully aware of what its affects would be on Harry.

This makes Harry tense up enough that Y/n can feel his body harden against her. Her boyfriend’s face is hard and indecipherable, a look that she hasn’t seen since they first met. Harry drops his arm from around her and steps towards him.

“You touch her, and I swear, I’ll ki-” but Y/n tugs at his arm before he can finish his sentence. She urges him back, employing Liam to stand in between the two.

“Just ignore him, yeah?” she places a hand on his cheek and nudges him to face her. “Harry, look at me,” she pleads. “It’s nothing but an empty threat.” His chest continues to heave, but he manages to peel his eyes away from Hopkins to look at her. Her eyes exude worry and a slight amount of fear, and Harry doesn’t know if it’s because of what the prat had just said or maybe it’s him.

***

She pushes the mashed potatoes on her plate around with her fork. Her thoughts wandering over to what had happened in Potions. Harry had been so…un-Harry. It’s the only way she can describe it. There was something about the way his eyes had turned shades darker that she can’t seem to shake off. It’s like he had turned into a completely different person in a matter of seconds. Sure, what Hopkins had said had been rude and downright misogynistic, but the boy has been known to be all talk and no action.

“Earlier,” she starts, capturing Liam’s attention.

“What about?” he asks, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it to the side.

“It’s just…I’ve never seen him get like that before,” she stares down into her lap, her lips purse tightly to form a straight line. Her eyes find him from across the room, busy listening to Niall to notice her staring. He looks completely calm as he hunches over plate and forks a few pieces of chicken while chuckling at something his friend must have said. No traces of that earlier coldness, he’s back to being her Harry. 

“You can’t blame him, that Hopkins was a right git.”

Maybe Liam’s right. What if it was just his way of defending her? She shouldn’t be getting her knickers in a twist over that! And she’s confident that her boyfriend would never partake in such violence. She sees the way he is with people. The other day, he had helped a first year Hufflepuff pick up all her books when some bully had zapped her a hole in her backpack, then had grabbed said bully and made him apologize. 

He’s a good guy. She wouldn’t be so in love with him if he weren’t. The way he handles all the bad talk about him and his family is extremely admirable. What she’s heard people say about him can be so foul. They have no right to assume anything about him. Just because his father is a Death Eater, doesn’t mean anything. Harry is his own person, and she knows how much he hates being branded because of his name.  

That’s why she really wants him to meet her parents. Her mother seems to already like him, of course, that’s just based on what Y/n has told her in her letters. It’s her dad that she’s slightly worried about, but she hopes that when he sees how amazing Harry is and how utterly happy he makes her, he’ll accept him as hopefully a permanent resident in her life. 

***

That damn cat.

It’s impossible to take him anywhere without him running off. What’s worse is that he somehow managed to escape both their watchful eyes, and now he’s lost somewhere in Hogsmeade. 

“Ashes?” she looks under the bench outside of Honeydukes, then behind one of the rubbish bins across from the Hog’s Head Inn. Harry stops a few of the townsfolk and describes the cat’s physical attributes. 

“He’s around this big and about this tall,” he uses his hands as means of measurement. One of the two witches is deaf in her left ear, so Harry nearly screams into her right. “A cat. C-A-T,” he annunciates, but it still proves to be useless. 

Y/n stops to think. If she were her cat, where would she scurry off to? Ashes really likes food, but she’s already scavenged through the trash. The Shrieking Shack, maybe? No! He’s much too cowardly to even go near it. 

“I honestly have no idea where he could be,” she drops her face onto Harry’s shoulder. He rubs her back and lets out a long breath. “What-what if we never find him? He can’t fend for himself out here! He needs me to cut his fish into small pieces or else he won’t eat it!” 

Harry snorts, which earns him a glare from his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll find him. He’s probably found his way to the owlery,” he says. “Remember? That’s how I found him.” She nods her head, and he takes her hand to leads her to the Three Broomsticks because all this searching has famished him like no one would believe. 

When he opens the door, they nearly collide with someone. Harry rushes out an apology but stops as soon as he recognizes the platinum blonde hair. 

“Ashes!” she squeals. He looks down to see the cat cozied up against Malfoy’s right leg. “So this is where you wandered off too, you silly cat!” She picks him up and continues to lecture him. 

“Saw him clawing at the door to the toilets,” Malfoy says, Harry notices the way he studies her movements. It makes him feel slightly anxious because Malfoy knows exactly what she means to him and he doesn’t like having him––and any other member of that group––so close to her, even if they’ve become somewhat friendlier over the past few months. It’s nothing against Draco in particular, it’s just a reflex he’s developed. 

“Thank you for looking after him,” she says gratefully, ignoring the way Harry’s hand tightens around her waist. “Maybe you’d want to join us for lunch?” 

“I’m going to have to decline,” Draco says, his eyes locked with Harry’s. “but maybe next time.” She watches as he and Harry exchange understanding nods, then Malfoy excuses himself and steps around them. They watch as he disappears through the door. 

Y/n turns back to Harry. “What was that?” she questions. 

“What was what?” he plays off, putting a hand on her shoulder as they find themselves an empty table. It’s in the middle of the room, right next to a group of fifth year Ravenclaws. His eyes glaze over the menu, and she knows this is his way of avoiding the topic. “You want your usual, love?” Before she can even answer, he’s halfway to the bar. 

*** 

The last game of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and the crowd is absolutely going crazy to see who will take the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. All the players gather in the center of the field, as they listen to Madam Hooch give her pre-game spiel about having a ‘nice clean game’––which everyone knows never happens, especially when these two opposing teams go head to head.

So far, Gryffindor is leading by twenty points. The golden snitch has yet to be seen, which gives the Slytherin chasers enough time catch up. Luckily, Niall (who is the team’s keeper) is able to catch the quaffle before it passes through the left ring and tosses it to Harry when the latter quickly sweeps by on his broom. With it tucked securely under his arm, he dodges his way across the field. Y/n holds her breath as he makes it close enough to attempt his shot. She watches as he throws it up in the air and hits it with the back of his broomstick, right between Weasley’s hands, and through the middle ring. 

“Ten points for Slytherin!” Zacharias Smith announces through the loud speaker.  

The rest of Slytherin House erupts in cheers, and she joins in despite being sat with those from her own house. She can’t help it though because he just looks so good in that uniform, and those nice fitted pants make his thighs look extra good and give his butt a nice plumpness to it. Just before the game, she’d pulled Harry into an empty classroom while he was on his way to the locker rooms. It was just so she could give him a courage boost, and he didn’t mind it one bit. 

“I know you want to support your boyfriend and all, but the least you can do is take off the jumper,” Liam motions to the back of her grey jumper with STYLES embroidered on the back in emerald green lettering. He pulls his hood over his head and seeps further into his seat, even goes as far as to cover over the side of his face “You’re embarrassing me.”

Y/n pulls the strings of his hoodie so that it completely obstructs his vision. “Oh, hush,” she giggles. Another wave of roars breaks out, and she turns her attention back to the game. Potter and Harper neck and neck as both seekers chase after the golden snitch. Some of the other players pause midair to get a glimpse of the action. 

“Potter and Harper have both spotted the snitch! Who will get to it first?”

She looks for Harry, who uses their momentarily distracted states to snatch the quaffle right from Ginny Weasley’s arms before she even gets a chance to see him coming. He flies towards the goal rings, a bludger hot on his tail when one of Gryffindor’s beaters––she hadn’t noticed which one––hits the erratic ball in his direction. 

“Harry, look out!” she screams, covering her eyes because the bludger is just that close to knocking him off his broom. Four players have already been rushed to the Hospital Wing, which clearly proves her point that flying is just about the worst thing about the Wizarding World. Once one is able to apparate, there really is no purpose in having to ride that death stick. In their second year, Ron Weasley had crashed his father’s flying Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow. Point validated. 

A gasp spreads amongst the crowd, and it only worries her further. “I can’t watch,” she turns to face away from the game. 

“Styles scores another ten points for Slytherin! Both teams are tied with 100 points each.” 

She turns on her heel and looks through the cracks between her fingers. “Oh thank, god,” she breathes out and shakes Liam’s arm in excitement. When Harry looks her way, she blows him a kiss which has the cute little crevices of his cheeks popping out and he shoots her back a knee-buckling smile that she loves so much. 

***

The Black Lake glistens in the moonlight, its water reaching out to encompass the rocks that scatter across the sand. It’s peaceful here, only the sounds of the night filling their ears as they lay against a tree, a blanket transfigured into a cot beneath them. A half empty bottle of firewhisky is passed between the two of them, intoxicated giggles carrying through the air whenever one of them burps aloud. 

Half of the student body are cramped in Gryffindor Tower, celebrating how Potter had been the first one to gets his hands on the golden snitch. Had McLaggen not hit the bludger into the Slytherin seeker’s broom, the turnout would have probably been different. But that’s Quidditch, a brutal mess of a game. All of Y/n’s friends are up there basking in their house’s victory, but she would much rather spend the night enveloped in his arms. 

Harry finds that drunk Y/n is the cuddliest person in the world. The warmth brought about by the alcohol burns her cheeks and has her leaving sloppy kisses over his face. And she tells him stories that he’s sure she’s making up as she goes.

“…and that’s why river trolls and mountain trolls don’t get along!” she exclaims.

And she’s just met with his laughter. “That’s enough for you.” He takes the bottle from her hands. A cute little pout splays across her lips, and he really can’t help himself and just kisses her. His hands roam up her sides as he listens to her whimper into his mouth. 

She can taste the firewhisky on his lips, or maybe it’s the flavor coming from her own. Whatever the case, she feels like she’s on cloud nine. Her fingers travel underneath his shirt, marking crescents into the toned muscles of his back.

“We’re outside, love,” he chuckles when he pulls back. 

It’s most definitely the alcohol talking, but she’s feeling uncharacteristically frisky. Her hips unintentionally buck up, pushing pressure into his crotch region. “Don’t care.” He lets out a groan and buries his face into her neck, sucking tenderly on her pulse while her hand palms him through his trousers. “Want to make you feel good.” It’s as though her words are wrapped within a halo, and his mind gets all fuzzy as she wraps her legs around his hips and turns them over. 

“I-I want to try something,” she blushes, her fingertips gently pulling his trousers and boxers down by their waistbands to about just below his thighs. They’ve only been intimate a handful of times and have yet to fully familiarize themselves with each other’s bodies. Plus, there was a very explicit article in Witch Weekly entitled, “How to Please Your Wizard in Bed” and her curiosity had once again gotten the better of her. How could she not read it? 

“What’s that, pet?” he rasps. He only ever calls her that in times like these. She doesn’t respond, instead settles herself in between his legs. His breath catches in his throat when she takes his stiff member in her soft hand.

She watches how his eyes close and his head falls back onto the cot. The rise and fall of his chest uneven as she jerks her hand up and down. “Does…does this feel good?” Her front teeth sink into her bottom lip. 

“Feels brilliant,” he croaks, and he bucks into her hand. This gives her a bit more courage. Before he’s got time to process her actions, her hot breath tickles the swollen tip, her lips just barely connecting with the skin. Dribbles of pre-cum bubble from the slit, and her tongue grazes over it, the new and welcoming taste of him sliding down her throat, and she swears she can even feel it once it’s gone down into her belly. With the adrenaline coursing through her system, she confidently takes a good amount of him into her mouth. Her tongue running over each vein and swirling over each curve. She really is trying to drive him mad, that he’s completely sure of. 

Not a single coherent sentence can escape him. All the words feel jumbled as he revels in how good she’s treating his aching cock. Salazar save him because he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to last if she keeps this up. He watches through hooded lids as she bobs her head over him and gathers her hair in his fist, wanting to get a better view of her pretty lips sucking him off. He tries to control himself, resisting the carnal desire to fuck her mouth, but it’s becoming too much for him to fight. His hips buck forward, enough to send his cock into her tight throat. Tears start to prickle behind her eyes, but in no way does she want to stop. The control she has over him, she loves it. She loves how he’s completely dependent on her to help him reach euphoric bliss. 

“I’m about to-fuck…” he whines. His knuckles grip the edges of the cot tightly between his knuckles. He’s so close, his senses heightened, every nerve in his body being washed over by the feeling of him tumbling over the edge. Their eyes meet, his mouth parted as he watches her jerk the base of his cock, while the rest of him is still entrapped between her swollen lips. The vibrations of her moans are the last bit he needs. His eyes shut tight when his orgasm rips through him, long white ribbons of his hot cum fill her mouth.

She swallows every last bit of it. The salty-sweet taste giving her goosebumps all over her body. She really can’t believe she just did that, and yet she’s so happy that she did. Some sort of fulfillment comes out of him falling apart right in front of her. 

“That was…that was bloody amazing,” he pants, pulling her back up to lay on his chest. He covers her lips with his, still able to taste himself on her. 

“Yeah?” she muses, tracing circles on his sweaty torso. 

He nods his head vigorously. “Most definitely.” 

***

In their fourth year Barty Crouch Jr. (who was posing as Mad Eye Moody) had given his class a demonstration of the three Unforgivable Curses. It had been the first time that most of them had been exposed to such cruelty in the seemingly sheltered environment of their beloved school. A poor harmless spider had become subject to such treacherous treatment, each spell casted with such carelessness, that some students still carry the burden of that day deep within their chests. 

Unfortunately, two out of the three are part of the Sixth-Year curriculum. Today the Gryffindors and Slytherins gather around Professor Snape, as they are forced to learn the Cruciatus Curse. Y/n stands in between Liam and Harry, leaning into the latter’s side as she hides her face in his sleeve as Snape does a demonstration of his own on Mr. Filch. The caretaker’s yelps of pain bounce off the walls.

“I hate it,” Y/n mutters. How in the world is this appropriate to teach? Learning about it is one thing, but having to actually subject another to it? It’s outrageous! There might be a war simmering to the surface, but that doesn’t mean that this is the only way of fighting it, right? And maybe Y/n is foolish for wanting to see the glass as half full, but it’s all she can afford.

Her father, is having a field day at work. New Death Eater activity has been swarming around Wizarding England, which means he can barely blink twice before another problem strikes. Knowing that her father is out there, coming face to face with these types of dangerous enchantments as he and his fellow aurors infiltrate a crime site…it’s beyond scary, and all the more nerve-wracking.

None of this is new to Harry, however. In fact, he’s seen those red zaps of light torment others more than he can count. He brings his girlfriend into his chest and covers his hand over one of her ears. He lets his mouth hover in her sweet-smelling hair as he keeps his eyes forward. “It’ll be over soon,” he tells her, rubbing soothing circles on the small of her back. She lifts her head up and nods slowly, and he kisses her forehead and whispers a few more words of reassurance. 

“You are to only perform this with the mildest of intensity, do I make myself clear?” Snape turns to the class, his face as unreadable as ever. He orders for everyone to break into pairs, and each student rushes to find a partner that will hopefully go easy on them. Y/n groups with Parvati Patel, which leaves Harry and Niall together. 

Almost immediately, Niall is letting out little cowers of pain––and Harry has only put in the bare minimum of his efforts––hunching over on his knees. “He said lightly!” the Irishman cries.

“It barely grazed over your arm. Not my fault you’re a ninny,” Harry teases. “C’mon then, have at me.” He holds his arms out low at his sides, signaling for Niall to hit him. That flash of red light hits him in the shoulder. He can barely feel it at all. It’s almost as though Niall had just thrown a pebble at him. 

His friend is clearly annoyed, huffing as he mutters a few colorful words under his breath. “What are you, immune or something?” 

“I’ve got a high pain tolerance, is all,” Harry plays off, but the truth is, is that he’s experienced much worse in these past few months. The memories of his initiation still fresh in his mind, as they replay over and over until he passes out in his bed from exhaustion. But then even then, fragments of it still haunt his nightmares. Whenever he closes his eyes, it’s all he can see.

The cloaked figure grasps Harry’s wrist tightly between his fingers. The fingertips of his other hand dancing over the naked skin of his forearm, his long nails tauntingly scraping over a long prominent vein.

“Your father would be very proud,” the figure says, the strange sound of empathy tensing the muscles in Harry’s jaw. He takes out his wand and holds it above the untainted flesh. Harry looks up to meet his hostile eyes. His chest hurts, he can feel the blood drain from his body as the wand pokes at him. There are a few tears fighting to flow out, and Harry has to close his lids shut to conceal such a moment of weakness.

Not here. Not with these people around. Not with all that’s on the line.

An incantation flows through the air and once it reaches his ears, it feels as though his skin is on fire. Excruciating pain courses through him, but he doesn’t dare flinch. Harry holds his breath, just waiting for it all to just end.

After what feels like hours of standing there, the cloaked figure releases Harry’s wrist. He opens up his eyes, and they immediately land on the raw markings that take up the length of his forearm. It’s terrorizing. The feeling of it ingrained permanently on him makes him feel as though he’s just taken a bludger to the stomach.

It feels wrong. He feels like scum. What would she think of him now? These markings on his arm, claiming him as part of the world he tried so hard to pull away from.

He’s a fraud.

Suddenly he remembers that he isn’t the only person in the room. He lifts his head and finds himself surrounded my masked men. And although he cannot directly look into any of their eyes, he can feel an expectancy as he turns back to the seemingly bigger figure.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, his nostrils slightly twitching as he meets the cloaked figure’s gaze. The man’s rotting teeth on full display as he smiles wickedly at Harry.

Harry looks past the man, over his shoulder. His mother and Gemma stand small behind him, they give him soft nods, their mouths formed in thin fragile lines. The lump in his throat is forced down, and he takes just a few moments to find the strength to allow these next words to come out. All he thinks about is that he’s doing this for all of them.

3…For his sister.

2…For his mother.

1…For her.

He bends his body forward, his face parallel to the floor, looking at the cloaked figure’s dirty, bare feet.

“My Lord.”

His eyes open at the chilling scream of agony, and he immediately recognizes it to belong to his girlfriend. He snaps his neck in her direction, his blood runs cold when he sees her in a heap on the cold marble floor. 

A crowd quickly forms around her, and he has to shove each person out of the way just to break through.

“Get out of my way!” he barks at them, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike fearfully clear a path for him. By now, everyone knows that they’re an item. And while not everyone in his house is as accepting as Niall or even Malfoy, everyone knows and respects the name Styles.  

Or so he thought.

By the time he’s pushed Lavender Brown to the side to get to her, Liam is trying to help her get up, but she can barely move. Her face is scrunch up in pure anguish, barely able to pick her upper body up. 

“What the fuck happened!?” Harry yells at Parvati, as he gathers Y/n in his lap. “Love, are you okay?” his tone less harsh. He cups her face, wiping away the pained tears that scatter across her flushed cheeks. She weakly shrugs her shoulders, her head falling into the crook of his neck as she takes staggered breaths. 

“We had just finished, but then someone struck her out of nowhere!” Parvati says hurriedly. 

A few sniggers catch his ears. He turns to his left and sees Hopkins, smirking down at them, with a wordless exchange with Liam, Harry carefully moves Y/n to rest in his arms. Before she even has time to process that he’s no longer by her side, he’s back on his feet. His eyes are blazing as he gets up, his head spinning with rage as the boy continues to look at him with such smugness. But it’s quickly wiped away when Harry leaps at him, collar scrunched tightly in his fist, the tip of his wand nearly piercing through his neck. No words are able to come out of him because his mind is clouded and all he sees is a belligerent shade of red. 

“What’s wrong, Styles? Your Gryffindor girlfriend can’t take a little pinch?” Hopkins taunts. Although, the nervous flicker of his eyes to Harry’s wand is not unnoticed by those around them. Niall tries to get in between the two, but it proves useless because there’s no getting through to Harry.

“I warned you that if you ever touched her I’d-”

“You’d what? Kill me? You don’t have the balls,” he continues. Harry seethes at him, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips his wand. “Go on then, you know the spell. Big Death Eater like yourself.” The last part is spoken low enough so only he can hear it.

All eyes are one Harry, each pair anticipating his next move. They all know him to be more of a pacifist, one of those who rarely got involved in any fights (unless those playful headlocks with Niall count, but surely, they wouldn’t). Y/n tries her best to get back on her feet, but it’s as though she can still feel the jolts of electrifying pain eating at her. Fear drowns out the feeling, however; she’s afraid of what Harry will do. 

But surely, he isn’t capable of committing something as extreme as that…right? Never has she seen him so enraged. It’s another side of him that she never knew existed, and it scares her because she knows that this isn’t her Harry. She scolds herself for being so weak because she knows that she’s the reason why he’s gotten so worked up. 

Liam tries to hold her down when she tries to get up. “Don’t move, you were hit pretty hard.” 

The words are right at the tip of his tongue. Hopkins is right, Harry does know the spell, and he damn well knows how to use it. It already tastes bitter in his mouth, as the dark part of him itches for him to just spit it out. He mouths the first word, but the second remains caged by the sensible part of him that won’t allow for him to truly become what he’s always despised. But he wants to say it, wants to show Hopkins––and everyone watching them––that no one touches his girl. 

“Harry…” he hears her call his name. Her voice strangled by fear and desperation. “Harry, please…” His wand pokes harder into the boy’s throat in such frustration. He’s not a murderer, nor does he have any intentions of getting sent to Azkaban and sharing a cell with his negligent father. He’s better than that.

At least that’s what he wants himself to believe. 

It takes all the self-control he has left to release the tight grip he has on Hopkins’ collar. His wand being stuffed back into his pocket. With one last hardened look, he turns his back to him. 

She’s finally able to breathe again, the constriction in her chest easing up as he walks away from him. Their eyes meet, and she motions for him to come back to her. With one last glare over his shoulder, Harry picks up his feet and wills himself away. 

***

The Hospital Wing is full of the moaning and groaning of students suffering from varying ailments. A few beds down, lies a girl who had somehow managed to curse her nose off while trying to remove some of her acne. So even though her face is as clear as day, the obvious absence above her mouth really does take away from her flawless skin. There’s also a boy who has been laying there unconscious for two days because of some freak mishap out in the Courtyard.  

“I’m fine, really,” Y/n whines, but Harry shakes his head as he tries to keep her still in the hospital bed. She’s a tad bit annoyed because she really doesn’t need to be here, especially considering the state of everyone else. But he can be just as stubborn as she and refused to take no for an answer as he carried her right to Madam Pomfrey’s door. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” His voice lacks the usual cockiness. As he sits down beside her, an arm under her head as he mindlessly plays with the bottoms of her hair. Since coming here, he can barely look at her without feeling guilty. It’s supposed to be his job to protect her, but he let this happen. What’s even worse is that he allowed a stupid school bully to hurt her, how is he ever going to stop The Dark Lord from doing the same?

He closes his eyes and lets his face fall into her hair. Her sweet scent evening out his irregular heartbeat. Despite not wanting to be here, Y/n is glad that he’s relaxed a great amount since earlier. She kisses his collarbone and runs her hand up and down his thigh.

She gargles the words in her mouth, chewing on her tongue before it accidently slips out of her. “If you could, would you have done it?” And she immediately regrets the question.

He takes a few moments to respond, and she thinks her heart might stop beating. He lifts her chin up with the back of his knuckle. Her eyes lift from his mouth up to his eyes. They’re not as dark as before, but the light in them still visibly absent. 

“I think I might have.” 

It’s the way he says it, each word sounding more regretful than the last. She takes in his appearance, the way his jaw tenses so much that the sharp bone nearly breaks through his skin. Does he mean it? A new question rises to the front of her mind, but she won’t push him any further.

They sit in silence. Both of them having nothing else to say. All she can do is give him a small nod of understanding, her eyes disconnecting with his. She turns back and rests her cheek against his sturdy chest. She begins to feel her eyelids getting heavier as she focuses on his heartbeat. As hard as she tries to fight off sleep, the warmth from his body isn’t helping her in the slightest. A yawn passes through her lips, and she finds herself snuggling further into him. He pulls the white sheets of the infirmary up just below her shoulder. The back of his fingers graze over her cheek as he lulls her to sleep. Once her eyes remain closed, he presses his lips to the spot between her eyebrows. His own eyes closing as he inhales deeply.

“I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

***

It’s nearing curfew, the sound of the soles of his leather shoes tapping against the marble flooring echo through the nearly empty corridor. Madam Pomfrey had quite literally pushed him out of the Hospital Wing and towards the staircase, despite his incessant pleads to let him stay. “I assure you Miss Y/l/n will survive a night without you, now shoo!” she had said to him. And it’s not like he doesn’t have faith in the matron––she’d mended quite a few of his broken bones during Quidditch season––but he’s afraid of what could happen when his girlfriend isn’t right next to him. 

The lighting falters drastically in intensity as he reaches the dungeons. Only the illumination from the mounted torches guides his way towards the stone wall that conceals the entry way to the Slytherin Common Room. Before he can carelessly mutter the password, he stops. A daunting presence makes itself known behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck rise up as he lowers his gaze down to the floor. His eyes trail backwards, until they are met with the long black robes that cover the black shoes.

“Professor,” he draws out the word as he slowly pivots on his heel. 

Snape’s long, greasy hair cupping the perimeters of his cheeks, an unamused look distinguishable in his black irises. Without a word, he’s dragging Harry by the back of his collar towards a secluded area of the dungeons. Harry knows better than to resist, but that doesn’t stop him from letting out grunts of frustration as he gets thrown against the wall. The professor releases him, his hand snapping open as if the fabric were made of fire and thorns. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Snape’s low and nasally monotone voice bites at him.

Harry scoffs, pushing himself off the cold stone wall and standing up to his full height. “I was going to head back to my room, but it seems as though you have other plans for me.” 

The older wizard glares at him. “While you may find humor in all of this, I am trying to make sure that you keep on track. Which means such behavior exemplified earlier must be put to and end so that you can fulfill your responsibilities. Do you understand me, or are you too taken by your feelings for Miss Y/l/n?” he sneer. Harry narrows his eyes at the former potion’s master. His tightened fists hidden by the sleeves of his robes. Whenever he hears any of these people mention her name, he’s immediately brought on edge.

“The deal was that she stays out of this,” Harry spits back. “I’ll keep up my end of the bargain if you lot keep yours.” There’s a fire in his eyes, sparks of blazing fury overtaking his clear green orbs. This had only been the first strike, but it had been enough to send Y/n to the hospital wing. He doesn’t think he can fathom what further potential threats will hold. 

Snape lets out a bitter laugh. “As difficult as it may be for your teeny mind to comprehend, The Dark Lord is testing you. He has got eyes everywhere, so I advise you watch yourself and think twice before you get yourself in a situation that I guarantee you will not survive. None of you will.” And just like that, he flips his cape and marches down the corridor until his figure is lost in the darkness.

The younger wizard is left standing alone in the empty corridor. He leans back against the wall, sliding down until his bottom hits the marbled floor. His arms balance themselves on his bent knees as his head falls forward. A small puddle forms right beneath his nose. 

***

A/N: After 324908 delays, here it is! It’s a bit shorter than the previous part, but I didn’t want to rush through it too much. There are so many things that I would like to happen, and if you guys are willing to bear with me, I think I can make this into a full on series! (Each part will probably be a minimum of 10k words.)

What do you guys think? What what will happen next? Will Y/n find out about Harry’s secret? Send in your comments and questions here!

[marsreadsthings-blog]

“Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens

Did you miss me? Did all 2 of my followers think I was dead, kidnapped, or on hiatus? I wasn’t, I was just slowly plugging away at this novel whilst keeping up with my studies, fitness stuff, creative outlets, blah blah blah. Life, right? I’m not here to bore you, I’m here to review and rate this book. 

Preface: It has come to my understanding that many high schoolers were as well as are currently made to read this for curriculum. I am happy that I did not have to, because reading it for pleasure instead of homework made my reading a lot more thorough and appreciated than it would have been otherwise, since everybody knows that you tend to dislike the books you are “forced” to read. (Though this isn’t the case for me. While others drooled and squinted sleepy, drowsy eyes over “The Old Man and the Sea”, I quite enjoyed it. Same goes for Pride and Prejudice. I chose to write a research paper on that book so, I must have liked it to some degree.. pst, the review is on here somewhere, in fact it may have been the last one I posted! Don’t quote me on that, just go read it if you haven't!) 

So, let us jump right in.

Charles Dickens is an impeccable storyteller. This novel and to my knowledge, most of his written work came out in monthly installments. This was the equivalent to the movies for people in the 1800s. Absolutely marvelous this man is at crafting characters, their motives and a story that is enriching for the reader and enjoyable. I love how it spreads across many years, so you feel like you are watching Pip grow up and go through his childhood, his teenage phase and so on. If you don’t fancy longer novels, I wouldn’t say to stray away from this one on account of it being very well written, but I’m also not not saying that... how’s that for an algebra problem? Anyway, I’ll recount an interaction I had with a peer while we were, no joke, peer reviewing each other’s papers. We’ll call her Mary.

Mary: Ooo, whatcha readin’? I love to read. My mom’s like, an English teacher and shoved books into my face since I popped out the womb.

Me: That is... weird imagery to disclose to me, Mary. It’s Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

And then, her face morphed into a look of horror, like she was remembering some car accident of long ago where her younger bother flew out of the windshield.

Okay okay, take it back a few notches. It was not that bad. At the very least, she did look sorry for me. Like my cat had just contracted feline aids, or something.

Mary: Oh, yeah. I had to read that in Highschool.

Me: It’s taking a very long time for me to get through, it feels like.

(A required interruption: It DID take me a very long time. Four months of a long time, which is virtually unacceptable under normal conditions, but my life is pretty busy during the college months. Apologies, resume.)

Mary: Charles Dickens tends to be very verbose. Didn’t you know he got paid by the word?

Mary, Mary, Mary. This statement was clearly a joke, a sort of bibliophile jest that I was supposed to laugh at and immediately understand as such.

I thought she was, under no doubt, serious. Not only did I think she was serious, no. I thought what she said was a fact.

I’m embarrassed to admit this. Being paid by the word is not a conceivable way of paying a writer because there is no doubt they would start to value quantity over quality in a lucrative driven state. But you don’t understand. When I was immersed in the loquacious qualities of our Dear Dickens, I took this to be a perfectly viable truth. Dickens writes a lot, and very long winded sentences that I sometimes had to reread and decode since the intelligent part of my brain was left behind 2 paragraphs ago. It did not seem impossible that he was paid by the word to me. In the back of the mind I did think, well, maybe people just say that since he can be a bit.. wordy. Maybe it’s just a saying. At least initially, I did think it was the truth. And that will haunt me to the grave.

About our dear Pip, I liked him in the beginning as much as I could like a child character. He was a down-trodden, his elders not really giving him much credit. His sister raised him under the circumstances that children are not to be shown affection or congratulation for their progress, which led to Pip seeking solace where he could find it with Joe. Don’t even get me started on Joe. Joe is by far the most likable character in this whole novel, save for Magwitch towards the end. He was the only character that I consistently liked, and I use the word “consistent” because there were times when Pip fell upon his Great Expectations that I really did not care for him. I thought he was far too entitled with no merit, and I found it annoying that he chased after Estella when she seemed to me to be such an obvious lost cause. Dickens no doubt meant for this reaction to be spurred, because when Pip falls out of his Great Expectations and has to once again become more humble, he is very apologetic and admits his faults to Joe and Biddy. This redeemed him, and I suppose you can't expect a 21 year old guy to not get a little.. immature, with his money, when he just has so much of it.

Here’s what my personal opinion of the character’s are.

Joe Gargery: A very gentle man who prizes character, pride in ones work no matter what it is, and kindness above brains. In turn, he is very lovely and kind, extremely likable. The way he looks out for Little Pip and older, ill Pip warms the coldest of hearts no doubt. @Estella. 

Georgiana: Mean?? Sort of likable, in an odd way though? Her argument with Orlick made me laugh so hard. And I couldn’t help but feel awful for her and the accident. She may have been mean to Pip when he was younger, but I think that has to due with how young boys were treated in the 1800s. She always boasted of “bringing him up by hand,” so I think she thought it was sort of her responsibility to not make him into a loser. 

Orlick: Annoying and the worst, thinks he’s really cool but deserves to be in prison like the GARBAGE he is. Also, why does he call Pip a wolf so much in that one scene? He’s trying to equate him to a beast so he can make it easier to hurt him, I know but. He’s just loitering trash, he really gets my frogs a leapin.’

Herbert: Bad at fighting but good at friendship :D

Pip: I do like Pip, and I feel like he’s a good one. Sometimes he’s a bit unsure of himself and his place in the World, but I think that’s due to his coming into such a large sum of money unexpectedly. In the middle of the book, he did annoy me, because he made his problems seem awful. “Oh Estella, why won’t you look at me, oh god, this pain, I can’t possibly bare it in my nice pressed suit from Drummle’s, how can I go ON like this, also Biddy, I try to make myself like you but it just won’t work! Any advice?” Pip.. Shut up.

Ms. Havisham: I love her and everything about her character. She was the eccentric oddity of the bunch. The clock that was set at the same time that Compeyson left her, the old wedding dress, her walks with Pip around the room, the fire scene.. I see her as an interesting character because in trying to prevent her misfortune concerning love from reoccurring with a girl of her own, she made Estella’s heart pretty much non-existent. But I think she wanting revenge, she wanted to feel the satisfaction of seeing a Man love hard and get his heart broken.. but when she got just that, she realized very quickly what she had done. I really like her character.

Magwitch: In the beginning, obviously I found him sort of humorous and very prison-escapee in the animal like sort of way, desperate and mean. When he comes to Pip and reveals all of the Great Expectation stuff, the twist was enough for me to like him right there, but I really loved Magwitch at the end. He got such an unfair treatment out of life, and all he wanted was to make someone better than him, to set him up with these “great expectations” to lead him into success. I think he thought of Pip like a son, and likely felt bad for how he treated him when he was 7 years old. I think he wanted to make a wrong right, and I actually surprised myself when I shed tears at his death scene. It was so beautifully written, and you could feel that fragility of himself and the circumstances surrounding his demise and the connection between Pip and him. I was so glad that Pip came to be with him everyday. He deserved that much.

Estella: Did not like her, but it’s *technically* not her fault, I guess? I mean, she is a very hard character to really like. She’s not funny, she’s entitled and far too proud, has no emotion, yes, all of that, but that can be credited to Ms. Havisham and how she brought her up. So, I think she served her purpose well in the context of the novel, I just am not particularly fond of her. I liked the first ending, though, the one where Pip and her grab hands.

This is the last line, and it’s awesome.

“I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her.”

Isn’t that just kickass? The connection from when he first left the forge and the mists were rising to the present time was very enjoyable.

Wemmick: I picture him as a sneaky, short guy with a top hat and a mustache and a monocle. Wait, a monocle? Surely not. Oh gosh, do I picture Wemmick as the monopoly man? He’s great. I love his double life, the idea of this strict businessman who never lets his “personal affairs” known to anybody but Pip and Aged P is a great concept. His house sounds lovely and interesting as well, and I hope his marriage went very well for him. Everything he did for Pip and all of the information he gave him led the novel along nicely, so we have him to thank for that.

Mr. Jaggers: I always picture him as the tap-dancing lawyer from Chicago. Like, he’d be the one to flip out and have a mini tantrum in a trial about the “erroneous facts” being spread. I liked his character, he held himself to a certain standard and never let anyone see past that wall really. Maybe it would have been interesting to see the flip side of that, like what he did at home and such. Also, did he rape Estella’s mother? I don’t mean, like, got her pregnant with Estella, clearly that was Abel, but like.. he says he tamed her “the old way” and that just sounded fishy to me. That aside, he was aight. 

Aged P: An angel. His happiness with Wemmick and how the simple things bring him pleasure would just bring me the most relief. Aw, he loves being nodded at and acknowledgment, aw, how cuuute.

Drummle: Death by horse?? Oh no

Pumblechook: Needs to sit down, chill out and shut up pretty much every time he makes an appearance. 

And with that, I think it’s time to try to wrap up this very lengthy review. I would give this novel 5/5. There is a reason it is taught in schools, it is great for discussion and the story is almost delectable. I very much enjoyed it, and yes, it is a long book, however; if you can muster up the (in today’s world) seemingly impossible strength to read it, I think it’s a classic that definitely deserves to be remembered and talked about.

I leave you with a quote from Pip that really just touched me to the core.

“Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face to talk thus to mine.”

[myletterstostrangers]

Fathers Day In The Dead Dad Club

Let’s talk about the Dead Dads club. It’s a thing. You don’t know it’s a thing until it’s your thing, and then you’re very aware that you’re in it.

When you’re in the Dead Dads club, you naturally have some anxiety around Fathers Day. There are so many great dads around you being rightfully honored and showered with praise and love. But members of the Dead Dads club are excruciatingly aware that their father isn’t around to have dinner with anymore. Dad’s not going to laugh and shake his head when you give him a dumb Snoopy card with a lovely message, and he doesn’t need your help to weed the garden anymore. Because he’s dead. Everyone in the Dead Dads club shares this same reality and mourns for their father in their own personal way. 

Now let’s talk about the Dead Dad club for someone who’s father was not a great guy. 

I had a complicated relationship with my Dad. When he died two years ago it all became very final. At the time of his death, our relationship felt broken, and nothing blows your chance at redemption like death. I’ll never make more moments with him, or be able to try to mend our painful relationship, because he’s gone. The finality of his death meant we’d never be fixed. It’s a hard thought that I struggle with, and most days I just try to not think about it. 

My dad was sick and depressed my entire life. He was depressed because he was sick, and got sicker because he didn’t take care of himself, because he was depressed. From what I’ve gathered from other members of Dead Dads club, this is not an uncommon phenomenon. He didn’t participate in a lot of family life, but didn’t go on disability to help us out either. He didn’t do much of anything but watch TV and lash out when challenged. He wasn’t violent, except on a few occasions when he was, and those dark moments were hushed up, justified, and ignored. He was waiting to die. It’s incredibly harsh, but unmistakably, achingly, unfairly true. 

When I was a kid, I didn’t know. I felt sorry for my father for being so sick. I felt sorry that he couldn’t work, or make friends, or participate in our family. I felt sorry that his illness made him sit alone in the den watching TV 24/7, sleeping on and off all day. I thought that was normal because I didn’t know anything else.

As I got older and came to see other people in worse health be more involved parents, I started to resent him for not being able to rise above his struggles. It was a hard moment when I realized it wasn’t his diabetes or heart condition or hearing loss that stopped him from being involved in our lives - it was him. I resented him for not fighting harder to be a better father to my brother and I, and for not trying to be a better partner to my mother. Eventually, that resentment turned to anger when it seemed like he just didn’t care about us enough to try. 

After his death, all of my angry feelings were mixed with sorrow of his passing, the trauma of his last few months and days, and the guilt that I didn’t do more. Replaying in my head the trips I didn’t take, the phone calls I missed, how he’ll never meet my future husband or his grandchildren (but would he care to be in their lives anyways?) It’s a lot of feelings that I try to turn off - ‘Don’t go there’ is the family motto. But covering something up doesn’t make it go away, it only makes it more scary to eventually lift back the covers and deal with. When Father’s Day rolls around, it’s impossible not to go there. So, today on Father’s Day, we go there.

One truth that I have learned in my adult life is that you don’t get anywhere without being grateful. It’s not just the bullshit of self help books and woke millennialism - it’s true. Being grateful makes you happy - not the other way around. Fathers Day and Mothers Day are about honoring the people who made you. This day has made me face my biggest elephant in my darkest room - I have never really felt grateful for this person who made me.

That’s messed up.

I can’t walk around carrying the sadness of a failed relationship with my father for the rest of my life. If I can’t have empathy and compassion for my own father, the person who made me, then no amount of self care and great friendships are going to make me happy. I’ve trudged through life so far with a big bundle of emotions in the middle of my heart room that I pretend isn’t there - I cover it up with smiles and comedy and boyfriends and food. But, it’s there. Girl, it’s always there! It’s Dad! I know that feeling empathy, compassion, and gratitude instead of negativity towards my bundle will make it less oppressing. I’ve heard the phrase - if you want to change your mind, think different thoughts. It sounds so easy, but it’s actually very hard. It’s actually wicked fucking hard.

But, I’m getting too old for this. All this sadness and drama is too much weight to carry around all the time. And most importantly, to only feel the weight of the bad feelings is not fair to him. It’s wrong to ignore all the good things that he brought into my life, and for the gifts that he did give me to go unrecognized. He’s not here anymore, so I must consciously and intentionally make space in my head and my heart to feel gratitude, empathy, and compassion for someone I’ve largely felt negative emotions towards. Because ultimately, I get to choose how I live my life, and I want to live with love and gratitude so that I can be happy. So today, I will focus on all the things for which I’m truly grateful for my father.

I’m grateful for when he’d take me and my brother every weekend to McDonalds to play the Monopoly game and we’d eat french fries in the car. We’d sit in the parking lot with the windows rolled down and towels in our lap to wipe the grease on. It was warm, cozy, and safe. 

I’m grateful for him showing me how to drive (terribly) with my knees. 

I’m grateful for him teaching me about rocks and crystals and leaving me with some of his rock collection, which is very cool and very heavy.

I’m thankful for the way he encouraged me to be into the sciences, and taught me all about the stars and outer space.

I’m grateful for all the times we lit fireworks - I love a good explosion because of him. 

I’m grateful for every meal he perfectly grilled for my family. 

I’m grateful for the silly swear words that he would use in replace of real swears, like nincompoop and ralph.

I’m grateful for the hours we spent in the car together listening to Motown, which gave me a rich taste in music. 

I’m grateful for him taping Dragon Ball Z for me every afternoon for two years when I went to Catholic school and got home too late to watch it live. I am not grateful for him sending me to Catholic school. But that’s ok. 

I’m grateful for all the mornings he made pancakes.

I’m grateful for him taking me to the ice cream shop for strawberry ice cream sundaes. 

I’m grateful for how he’d come to every youth soccer game I ever played, and how he'd stand by himself almost incognito in his old worn cap, aviator sunglasses, and an oversized blue hoodie. 

I’m grateful for the excruciatingly annoying way he’d eat so fucking slow.  

I’m grateful all the dumb baby animal calendars he’d get me every year for Christmas.

I’m grateful for when he said I love you.

I’m grateful for the ways he showed he cared.

I empathize with the depression he felt as a result from his illness. I didn’t realize until recently that he was deeply depressed and never sought or accepted help. I don’t think it was in his capacity to admit he had a problem, and I can empathize with that too. This same illness killed his mother right after he was diagnosed with it - I’m sure that was terrifying, and I don’t think that she took care of herself or her illness either. Giving up and sinking into the depression was easier. 

Sometimes, I too feel a creeping sadness from the center of my being that makes me feel useless, stupid, and sick - a paralyzing dull weight that aches in my bones and whispers “retreat to the couch and watch reruns all day! Forget this life, it’s too hard!”. In a way, my father taught me what not to do. He is an example of why not to let that feeling linger, and why it’s so important to get up off the couch and live your best life even when you feel overwhelmed with fear and sadness. He showed me why it’s so important to get up, reach out, and get help. Because you can get stuck there. You can die there. Maybe this will be the most important thing he’ll ever teach me.

I have compassion for his struggle. Yes, he couldn’t slay his own monsters. Yes, they got bigger and badder than his will to try for his family. And that’s ok. Not everyone has a hero’s journey. I still love him. 

 In Dead Dads club, we can still mold our relationship with the memories of out fathers. We can grow to honor them. And I will try to do that for now on.

Daddy, thank you for doing what you could. I know you did your best. I know you loved us. The good things were not unnoticed. I really wish I could sit down and share another excruciatingly slow meal at a terrible restaurant with you. I love you, Dad, and I honor you. Happy Father’s Day.  

[milesgaylsprower]

Family Reunion

Also readable on AO3.

Sometimes family reunions happen every year at grandma’s house. Sometimes they happen in the parking lot of some dumpy gas station in the middle of nowhere. For Mabel Pines, who hasn’t seen her brother in nearly a decade, it’s the latter.

              As far as Mabel was concerned, the bathroom she was standing in barely qualified as a bathroom. The tiles were grimy and slick, the mirror broken and graffitied, and, well, she tried to not take in the other details. The stench was enough by itself to make this place a biohazard, and that wasn’t saying anything about the spot of mold on the wall that had definitely winked at her when she came in. But hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go. And in times like that, even a run-down gas station in the middle of nowhere was a better option than one of the numerous desert shrubs outside that provided relatively little shelter from the highway. Times like this made Mabel think though: why exactly did she think putting her headquarters in the middle of Arizona would be a good idea? Maybe it was the “middle of nowhere” aspect. After all, it was hard enough selling products with neon animals printed on them without mobs of little girls trying to get free stuff.

              When she had finally relieved herself (of being in that death trap called a bathroom), she returned to the affixed convenience store, clutching the bathroom key between a wad of toilet paper. She chucked it onto the clerk’s counter along with the toilet paper. Outside, a bit of motion caught her attention; an RV had just pulled into the station. As she approached the door to head back outside, she stopped mid-step and realized that she was really really hungry now. When was the last time she had eaten? Shrugging, she spun around on her heels and trotted off down one of the aisles to peruse the snack foods. Most of the food items available were covered with a fine layer of dust. The packaging was written in fonts that Mabel hadn’t seen since her childhood. She scanned the labels for something that looked like it contained the slightest amount of nutrition and wouldn’t kill her if she ate it. A familiar, bright pink label brought her to a halt.

              “Smile Dip, haha. Good times,” she said. Wasn’t this stuff still illegal? She couldn’t remember, but its dubious legal status wasn’t going to stop her from buying some anyway. She grabbed a few packs when the bell above the station’s door rang, though she couldn’t see if the RV owner had walked in or if maybe some poor lost soul had finally made it out of the building. She made her way further down the aisle towards a refrigerated section stocked with cans of old soda and off-color milk. When she rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of a customer who was studying the selection of beverages. Just as quickly she ducked back behind the shelving, her hand clutched tight against her chest. Thudthudthud. Was that…

              She peeked around the corner and studied the man, who had his back turned to her, for any details she could pick out to be sure it was him. The long-sleeve plaid shirt had been sewn up in places with a lack of grace that only Dipper could manage. His jeans, caked with dirt and dust, called to mind scenes from their teenage years when he would go hunting for monsters in the woods. The hair she could see from beneath his hat looped and curled in an oh-so-familiar way. Then suddenly it hit her – that psychic connection, that intangible bond between twins, was thrust back into her consciousness after having laid dormant for years. Every nerve in her body was tingling; there was no longer any doubt in her mind.

              That slumbering psychic bond must have awoken in Dipper again as well, since he suddenly stiffened and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He thrust his hand into the cooler without looking and grabbed whatever drink his fingers wrapped themselves around. Then he turned and, without even the slightest glance in Mabel’s direction, covered the distance to the cashier in several long strides. He pulled out an assortment of bills and coins from his pocket (was that some Monopoly money Mabel just saw?) and slammed them onto the counter.

              “This should be enough,” Dipper said, still clutching his drink and already making his way out the door.

              Mabel crept out from behind the shelf and said, “Dipper?”

              Dipper tensed even more. “I don’t need any change. Or a receipt,” he said to the clerk.

              Mabel watched Dipper recede through the glass of the door. He was crossing the parking lot to the RV, getting faster with each step as he evolved from a “trying my best to look casual” walk to an “oh man I really screwed up” run. Memories drifted through Mabel’s mind, overlapping with the present scene as she once again watched her brother disappear from her life. No, not this time. This time it would end differently. Dipper might be enough of a jackass to drive away from his sister, but she wasn’t going to let him. She bolted through the door, still clutching the Smile Dip.

              “Hey, you have to pay for that stuff!” the clerk yelled.

              She tossed the snacks back into the store. “They’re out of date anyway!” she said.

              Dipper was already shutting the door to the RV as Mabel ran across the parking lot. “Dipper, don’t even think about starting that rusty bunch of garbage up!” She grabbed the handle of the door and tugged on it, but Dipper had locked it. Her stomach sank.

              “Dipper, open the door!”

              There was no response. She went to the one of the windows and stood on her tiptoes to look inside. If Dipper was in there, he was probably crouched down on the ground like a dork. Mabel returned to the door and wiggled the handle again, hoping that maybe she just hadn’t pulled hard enough the first time. When the door refused to open, she rested her forehead against it and sighed.

              “Dipper… it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Why won’t you let me in?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ve missed you so much…”

              Mabel felt too numb to move. Maybe if she waited long enough, she’d spontaneously develop telekinesis and would be able to open the door by herself. Before she even had the opportunity to discovery her latent psychic powers, the sound of faint footsteps came from inside, followed by a faint click from the door. Lifting her head, she stared at the door handle, waiting for something to happen. When the door remained shut, she reached her trembling hand out towards the handle and took hold. She pulled, gently at first, then harder when she felt no resistance. The door swung open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the RV. She ran her forearm across her face to wipe away the tears, then took a step inside.

              The dimly lit cabin called to mind scenes of Weirdmageddon: an absolute whirlwind of a mess that could have only been made by an omnipotent demon or her brother. Papers and notebooks were strewn across the floor, countertops – any surface that would hold them. Some of the papers had been taped up with pictures and maps in a sort of collage, with strings and thumbtacks connecting them in an incomprehensible web. Sitting on the kitchen table was what looked like some radio equipment and a small laptop that had been scorched at least once in its lifetime. One of the RV walls had been shot through a few times, though Dipper had patched it up from the outside (probably with duct tape). The one space that wasn’t overflowing with clutter was a small bed whose covers had been jumbled up to match the rest of the décor. Near the bed, tucked against the corner of a window, was a photo of Dipper and Mabel from their days at Gravity Falls.

              Mabel said, “Nice place you got here.” Real smooth.

              Dipper chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it does the job.” He was sitting on one side of the tiny kitchen table, clutching its side.

              Mabel stood there, soaking in the silence with her brother, until Dipper finally said, “You can sit. I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to.”

              “Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” Mabel said, moving to sit down in the seat opposite Dipper. She stopped when she noticed that the seat was cluttered with more folders and papers. “Should I-” she started to ask, miming the act of picking up the pile.

              “Yeah, just. Just move them where ever you find space,” Dipper said. He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry about the mess.”

              She gathered the papers up in her arms and let them fall to the floor with a resounding plop. “It’s alright,” she said, taking her seat. Again, the silence enveloped them as they tried to find interesting things to stare at in the RV. It was impossible to tell what exactly Dipper was thinking about, but Mabel had rehearsed this moment in her head for years. Each time it played out differently, but even with all that rehearsal and all of the variations she had conjured up, she was letting the silence between them stretch as long as the void in time that separated their collective lives.

              Mabel took a deep breath, sorting through the tough questions in her mind, and asked… “How have you been?” Great job, Mabel. Starting with the hard-hitting questions.

              “Oh. I’ve been, you know. Fine. But like, good fine. Busy.”

              “I can tell,” Mabel said, taking a look around the RV once more. Some of the things pinned up to the wall dredged up old memories, vaporous images that were all too easily obscured by the clouds of dust that had gathered on them after so many years: memories of journals, of other worlds, of unfamiliar creatures and growing pains and summer. “Looks like you’re still into monsters and ghosts,” she said, her eyes still scanning the cabin interior.

              Dipper forced a laugh out. “Ah, yeah. I guess that’s… sort of what I do? I hunt down paranormal things and… study them. It’s… you know… but hey, what about you? Big time CEO of a major company, that’s incredible!

              Mabel’s attention snapped back to Dipper. How in the world did he even know that? “Yeah, who knew that neon colors and cute animals would be such a hit with this generation?” she said with a shrug.

              “I’m proud of you,” said Dipper, either to his shoes or to Mabel. She was trying to figure out which it was.

              Dipper started to fidget with a pencil. As his arm moved about, his sleeve tugged upward and Mabel caught sight of a tattoo.

              “Hahaha, bro, is that a tattoo?” she said, a bit louder than she had intended.

              Dipper’s face turned red. “Oh. You saw that, huh?”

              “Lemme see, lemme see,” Mabel said, trying her best to lean over the table to get a closer look. The barrier between that had dissolved, if only for a little while, and it was just like old times again.

              Dipper hesitated for a moment before rolling up his sleeve. Red plaid receded and was replaced with a network of arcane lettering and geometric designs.

              Mabel frowned. “No offense, bro, but I was hoping you had gotten something a little less… weird.”

              “It’s… not really supposed to be fashionable,” he said. His voice got small as he said, “It’s for protection.”

              “Protection? From what?”

              Dipper swallowed hard and looked out the window. “There are things out there, Mabel. Dangerous things. Things that you and I can’t even comprehend.” He looked at Mabel, who nodded slowly as if to signal that she already knew this. Dipper said, “And someone has to protect us from those things! Because if someone doesn’t – if I don’t – then I…”

              “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Mabel interjected. “Is that why you left mom and dad? To go hunting for boogeymen and demons?”

              “No, Mabel, that’s not what… Mabel, I… you just don’t understand! I was doing this to protect you!”

              “Protect me? From what? Dipper, I’ve dealt with things that go bump in the night! I was there, remember?”

              “I just didn’t want you to get hurt!”

              “But I did get hurt, Dipper! You hurt me! Okay? You hurt me.” The tears returned without warning, tumbling down her cheeks and onto the table. “You promised me that nothing was going to tear us apart, but then you got up one day and left without even saying goodbye. Our parents were so worried, Dipper. I was so worried. Grunkle Ford spent so long looking for you but even he started to give up eventually. And then when Grunkle Stan… you didn’t even come, you weren’t even there.” She was trying to breathe normally to maintain at least some shred of composure, but could only manage a stuttered inhalation. She hated the stale air of the RV, hated this gas station, hated that her brother had done this and that there was no going back to the way things were before.

              “Mabel…”

              Mabel clutched her arms to her chest. The anxiety and catharsis that came with confronting Dipper shook her body. “I never understood, Dipper. I always thought that maybe it was my fault that you left, maybe I did something wrong and I didn’t know it. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. And I know I shouldn’t feel that way because I’m not the one who left. You disappeared from my life and you haven’t even said sorry. You never called to see how things were. I wondered where you were every day, if you were okay. And then I find you here, at this shithole of a gas station, and you tried to run away from me. You didn’t even want to say sorry.”

              “I’m sorry, Mabel. I felt like I had to do this. I wanted to do this. And I knew that everyone would try to stop me from doing it – except for you. You would have wanted to come along, and I didn’t want you getting hurt. I didn’t want this to end up like –”

              “Like Bill.”

              Dipper nodded.

              “Dipper, none of that turned out bad in the end.” Dipper opened his mouth to speak, but Mabel raised her hand to silence him. She continued, “I know it could have turned out bad, but it didn’t. We worked together in the end and we did what we always do… you know, be awesome. You’re right Dipper. Even though what you do is dangerous, I would have wanted to be there, by your side. You can’t do everything alone.”

              “I’m sorry, Mabel,” Dipper said again.

              Mabel was beginning to regain her composure, though her sniffles still punctuated the quiet tension that had settled between them. There was still so much Mabel had to say. There were things to share, stories to tell. Things that needed to be patched up. For the first time, Mabel realized the enormity of the task of rebuilding their relationship. From where she was sitting, it felt like an especially hopeless endeavor. Even if they did rebuild there was no guarantee that it would bring her any sense of closure or happiness. But today had been a first step towards mending things and Mabel wasn’t going to let that momentum go to waste.

              “Alright,” she said. “I’m going to help you.”

              Dipper blinked a few times. “What?”

              Mabel stood up and started closely examining the connections that Dipper had made between blurry photos and government documents. She took one of the strings between her finger and thumb and traced its path. “What are you looking for right now? You said you hunt paranormal things, you have to be doing something here.” She looked back at Dipper. “I’m going to help you look for it.”

              “What about your job?”

              She waved her hand in the air. “Please, they can manage fine without me. How hard is it to come up with those designs anyway? You could give a dog a packet of Smile Dip and they’d be able to do my job. Come on, what do you say? Mystery twins?”

              Dipper furrowed his brow for a moment, but then his expression softened. “Alright,” he said, a smile growing on his face. “Mystery twins.”

              “Yes!” Mabel said, punching the air. “Lay it on me, Dippin’ Sauce. What are we up against?”

              “Okay, Mabel. Have you ever heard of an omniscient extradimensional axolotl…”

[the-feline]

Hello. Hey. Hi. Late night ramblings because I've had a lot of feelings I've been trying to sort out in my brain, and I've also been reading a lot of inspirational quotes. So, there's that. I don't really know how to begin what I want to say so: I am learning to embrace uncertainties and try to live with pure intentions. I'm allowing myself to simply be: to belong to myself again, be the person I currently am, and strive to be the person I wish to be. I am learning to accept that it's okay to be afraid and not have all the answers. Fear is the gateway to many challenges but also happiness. I plan to step out of my comfort zone and welcome acceptance. I believe that what and who you are is what you attract. But I've always feared being happy and felt unworthy of it. I pushed away and fled. I told myself, "Not yet. I don't deserve this yet. When I become the person I want to be, then I can be loved." I forgot that the person I am right now also deserves all the things future me deserves. Just because I'm trying to improve myself doesn't mean I am undeserving of love right now. Respect is always gonna be at the root of all love, so if I don't have enough respect for myself how could I ever give enough love to the world? Right now, I can say that, I am learning to be patient with myself. There is no shame in being honest or being vulnerable. I am learning to be comfortable with my vulnerability, accept the things I can't change, and be uncaring with my femininity. I am allowed to respect myself enough to know that I can be unapologetically myself. I don't need anyone to fix me because I am not broken. I am a constant work in progress but that shouldn't disregard the progress I've already made. So, I guess this is me being okay with the skin I have and the thoughts that spill from my brain. This is me being okay with loving myself. So... Hello. Hey. Hi. My name is Mary. I am horribly straightforward and can be a little reckless at times. I often find myself subconsciously fiddling and I bite my nails. I'm honest and can be insensitive. I have messy hair and laugh at my own jokes. I believe a hot cup of tea cures the troubled soul. Autumn is my favorite season and my favorite color constantly changes. I am carefree yet I overthink everything. I change my mind constantly. So, my ideas and favorites might not be the same as they were a year, a month, or a week ago. I prefer sunsets to sunrises because I'm usually not awake to see the sun rise. I bet it's just as beautiful. I believe in aliens. I believe in reincarnation. I was beheaded in a past life. I'm a little superstitious. Conversations in a car at 3 am are when you really get to know people. I like/am terrified of new feelings. I love writing and receiving letters. Potatoes, need I say more? I am sarcastic. I love the little achievements like waking up before your alarm, finding a good parking spot, or going to bed at a reasonable time. Sometimes I don't sleep at night and stay up until 7am. I set multiple alarms because I turn them off instead of snoozing. I'm a bad driver. I trip over nothing and find that mysterious bruises have invaded my skin. I believe in magic and fairies. I slouch and need to work on my posture. I love to call people because no one really calls anymore, they just text. I love Disney movies and know too many songs. Seriously, one person should not know this many Disney songs. Rainy days on a Sunday. Sometimes I have to much energy and have to run around for a few minutes. I pop my knuckles. I like to care for others. I'm protective. I get restless. I hate routine but get comfortable in it. I am both extroverted and introverted. I'm impulsive. I'm impatient. I love the smell of grapefruit. I am kind. I believe that great ideas come to you in the shower, I always forget mine. I love art that gets you. Books that get you. Songs that get you. Poetry is pretty cool. I'm pretty book smart, but I need to work on my street smart. I'm really good at sfx makeup and it's okay to be proud of that. I don't like scary movies because I'm a wuss. Haunted houses don't scare me. I'm a hypocrite. Documentaries are cool. Peonies and sunflowers and wildflowers. Just flowers in general. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I trust people until they give me a reason not to. I'm always late. I cuss. Shit, fuck. You see? I really like to play chess and monopoly. Also big trees that look like they've been through some shit, but they're still standing. I'm really good at making spicy food, and really bad at making pancakes. The first one always goes in the trash. I like spontaneous shenanigans yet also like to plan things out. I like to be organized but am always disorganized. I hate slow walkers. I'm afraid of spiders and thunderstorms. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of opening cans. I like jellyfish and tigers. Birds freak me out. Unless they're crows and ravens. I am a proud Slytherin. I watch too much anime. I am compassionate to others and trying to be more compassionate to myself. I'm open minded. I'm bad at explaining things. I forget important things and remember minor things. Don't trust me if I say I'll remember something. Seriously, make me write it down. Sometimes I feel disconnected and have trouble opening up. I'm funny? I get passionate about my beliefs. I love to laugh but get self conscience of my smile. I'm intuitive. I have a hard time saving money. I dislike it when things are too serious. I love heart to hearts. Sometimes I get self conscious of my height. I accidentally interrupt people and I touch my nose when I'm trying to remember something. I sing in the car, the shower, walking down the street, basically all the time. I have a knowledge of useless facts. I can be bold. I can be soft. Sometimes I stay in bed all day. I'm stubborn. I am authentic, unique, and undeniably myself. I am a walking contradiction. I am my own home and I'm still learning about my foundation. I am finding myself again. And that's okay. I guess this is the first love letter to myself. Hello. Hey. Hi. My name is Mary. I'm aspiring to be a beam of light. P.S. if anyone read all of this and wants to tell me about themselves, I'll listen!