#so please believe me when i say that publishers will print damn near anything

[angryisokay]

I know there's some general advice for writers to take up reading books as a hobby, and I assume the implication is that by reading more books you'll help develop your own writing style further and encourage yourself to write.

And maybe that is something that happens.

But the bigger take away is a constant reminder that publishers will print just about anything and reviewers will give it glowing praise. So you can stop worrying about your own writing being perfect and just get to it.

[wordstrings]

Urgency

Written & submitted by Silvie. Publisher’s notes can be found at the end. Words: 1,750

A/N: destiel, human AU, domestic AU, everything’s okay AU, schmoopy stuff.

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Dean wakes to sunrays pouring through his bedroom window. He shields his eyes from the harshness with a squint and notices four things:

It is the morning.

It is, specifically, Sunday morning.

There is a certain urgency in his bladder that will not stand for being ignored much longer.

His boyfriend’s arm is locked around his waist, their knees and thighs are stacked, and he is trapped.

Oh, but he really needs to pee.

He nudges his boyfriend.

“Psst.”

Cas doesn’t move.

Dean shoves at his shoulder, watches Cas’ body rock with the pressure then settle back into place. There is no response but a groan and a scrunch of brow that drips with the sentiment “what gives?”

Dean tries to pry Cas’s hand away from his skin but he is holding on. There is a sigh as Dean moves, attempting a scoot off the bed, but Cas clings tighter. Cas nuzzles into the freshly warm spot between them.

Dean growls, “I need to pee,” with an attempted final heave away from Cas’ vice grip.

He is less than victorious, and his bladder is firmly interjecting, making clear its desperation.

When Dean turns to Cas he catches the bastard hiding a sleepy smile.

“Cas, it’s urgent.”

He eyes the bridge of bare hip-skin exposed between the hem of Cas’ ridden-up top and the thin elastic of his boxer waist band, giving him a delicious idea.

Cas’ worn-soft, thrifted sleep shirt has an endearingly dorky quality, home to a screen-printed, cartoon green T-Rex, who seems almost to have caught on to Dean’s thought-train, and is posed in threatening defense. Dean has never fancied himself one to heed warnings from fake dinosaurs, so he pinches quick and sharp at that inviting skin.

Reflexively, Cas releases his arm from Dean’s waist, bolts his eyes open and gasps, pulls away from Dean and his fingers. He coughs in an attempt to cover up his startle and rolls onto his other side, facing the window, then pretends to be asleep.

Much to his bladder’s chagrin, Dean’s now very uninterested in his own biological needs.

He’s flopping over toward Cas, walking his fingers from Cas’ exposed tailbone, across his lower back, up over the hill of his hip.

“What was that?” Dean asks, voice slow, in a way that near-literally drips from his lips.

Cas twitches gently under each finger-step until they reach his hip, when he rolls further away. He cranes his neck, speaks in Dean’s direction.

“Didn’t you say something about urgency?”

Then Dean remembers, ah, yes, the pee, and springs off the bed.

“Don’t you dare think this is the end of that conversation,” he calls behind him as he shuts the bathroom door, letting his words linger in the bedroom air.

Cas is sure his chances of survival here are slim, but would be on the lesser side of slim and none if he stays put. His best bet, he decides, is to pretend he very much believes this to be the end of that conversation, and hoists himself off their mattress and out of the bedroom.

He heads down the short hallway to the kitchen, where he flips the sink on and brings some water to his lips, rinsing out his morning mouth. If he knows Dean at all—and he likes to think he does—he will not let Cas get out of this easily. Eyeing the room, he considers his options.

He could seat himself at the table, chair tucked in, right close, obstructing most of Dean’s access to his vulnerable parts.

The toilet flushes.

Or he could make himself a cup of coffee, curl the mug in his hands, use the steaming heat, filled to the brim, as a good excuse not to be jostled.

The bathroom sink runs, and Cas realizes he very much does not have time for that…

Dean’s soft footprints pad from bathroom tile to bedroom hardwood and pause when it becomes clear Cas has left their rumpled sheets.

The footsteps pick up, padding more purposefully down the hall.

In his panic, Cas freezes, ending up completely unprotected. He doesn’t quite mean to be presenting himself like a birthday gift in the kitchen entrance, the way he is. But by the time he realizes he could run, should run, Dean’s frame is filling the doorway, and he is trapped.

When Dean finds Cas he forms a smile that is anything but innocent. He steps smoothly toward his boyfriend, who is biting his lip in anticipation and pulling his elbows defensively into his center.

Just as Cas realizes that the feeling in his stomach is far less dread than it is joy, he is captured—caught easily by the waist.

He gasps, squirms, braces…

…and finds himself confused when an onslaught does not ensue.

Instead his air is stolen from him as he is whisked off his feet, pivoted and plopped down, seated on the edge of the counter, pinned between the wall and Dean’s chest—all this happening more swiftly than Cas can process. It’s standing in the kitchen entrance one moment, then air, then counter, so quickly he almost wonders how he got there.

Hands on his hips, Dean huffs dramatically, shakes his head.

“I thought I made myself pretty clear back there,” he says, moving in, beginning to push away at Cas’ already curled-in limbs, reaching for his middle, while Cas fights off his adorably-present premature laughter. Dean leans in, all predatory, and hisses. “We have a conversation to finish.”

And suddenly Dean is digging in past Cas’ defensive hands, grabbing clumsily at his middle. Cas sputters, scrunches his nose at the effort of keeping most of his laughter at bay, and arches away from the devastating lobster-claws pinching away at his stomach and ribs.

As Dean tickles, the dinosaur on Cas’ T shirt, posed mid-roar in that same threatening stance, is jostled by the goings-on, getting rumpled under the flurry of Dean’s hands, Cas’ clamped-in elbows. Despite its predicament, the dinosaur looks as if it is warning Dean away, protecting Cas, while being very much caught up in this mess itself. And the thought of this discombobulated dinosaur trying its very best to be scary in such silly circumstances has Dean losing his focus and falling head first into a giggle-fit of his own.

Cas manages to take advantage of the moment of respite, bringing a knee between him and Dean and shoving at the offending torso with his leg.

Dean gets a firm hold on Cas’ kicked-up ankle and takes a second to steady himself. He looks up through his misty lashes, and boy does Cas look ravishing—his hair askew, his shining giggle-drunk smile, the way his chest huffs, flushed and panting, as he speaks between gasps.

“You absolute assbutt—“

The lobster claw returns, cutting Cas off with four, then more, awfully, artfully, precise pinches up the shin of his caught leg.

While the sound Cas makes is not a squeak, he does fold at the middle, fall into his elbows, twist side to side, anything to coax Dean aside or pull his gorgeously tortured leg away. The unrelenting sensations draw from him another noise or two that he’d really rather not be described before he drops all effort to hold back and breaks into unbridled laughter.

Cas can recall maybe a time or two in the past twitching at a firm hand here, but had never imagined how wonderfully and unbearably ticklish his damn shins could be under this kind of continued prod-massage. He’s somehow lucid enough to wonder where Dean ever learned such a tickle-spot even exists, how he seems to already be programmed with the knowing that it is a deadly firm-pinch-spot, not so much a spidering-fingers-spot.

He has only moments to ponder this way before realizing, wide-eyed, Dean has made his way to his kneecap and is pinching above it.

Cas whines around his laughter as the feeling doubles, deepens, in this new spot. He doesn’t stop himself from reaching desperately to pry the devious fingers from his knee.

“Okay, okay, okay.” He hurries his words between cackles, “Wait, please, a minute.”

Dean obliges, releases him. When Cas is sure he’s safe, he reaches for Dean’s shoulders, leans his head down on the nearest one, pants into it. He lets Dean hold him, pat his hair, while the last of his giggles wean off.

He huffs once he’s done, pulls away from Dean, leans back against the wall. Using exaggerated breaths to buy him a few more moments of rest, he eyes Dean warily. And wow the way Dean is looking at him—warmth bursting from his chest as he tracks Cas’ every movement with such a blatant adoration.

Dean leans in, kisses light on Cas’ cheek, then deep at his neck. He speaks with a stirring mix of glee and heat, straight into his skin.

“Oh, you’ve gotta let me do that again.”

The excitement and nervousness laid dormant in Cas’ stomach with the break, revs right back up, mixing with the sweetness of lips and teeth on open skin. It curls at his toes and Cas whines again, but really can’t deny that he’s putting on a show; his widely stretched cheeks telling his truth.

He bites his lip at the sight of Dean’s hands, toying with the hem of Cas’ sleep shirt, so close to his susceptible skin. Cas can tell Dean’s fingers are just itching to dig back in for seconds. He is so, so, dangerously enthused it makes his stomach tumble.

Cas grabs Dean’s head in his hands, guides him to meet his eyeline, and God, he looks ferocious. His hunger for Cas is the new urgency that has glazed over his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas says sternly, breaking Dean’s trance and gaining his sincere attention. “I am very, very ticklish.”

Knowing Dean is milliseconds away from making some taunting comment, Cas ventures on.

“We need to proceed slowly.”

If it is possible for Dean to light up any further, he does, and traps Cas’ lips between his own. Cas is forgetting his nerves, forgetting the morning, forgetting the world, while Dean is humming excitedly. He slides Cas by the waist off the counter, pulls his hips toward his own, and sweeps him once again into the air with his legs locked around Dean’s middle.

Cas can’t help the bliss that shines from him as Dean steps them both back toward their bedroom, whispering between soft kisses:

“I love slow, I love slow, I love slow.”

__________

Publisher’s notes: This is an amazing gift and I adore it!! I already yelled at Silvie a lot about this so I won’t do it again, but this has so many things that I love all wrapped up in a cozy package – the warmth, the hunger, the promise of slowness… ahh. Thank you, Silvie! ❤️

[rosecoloredkay]

Something To Believe In

Hey there friends! I decided to give my hand at writing a Jack Kelly x David Jacobs one shot fanfic. Sorry if it’s OOC or anything. It was my first shot in a very long time writing this.  

So all of this goes down after the rally between Jack and Davey.

David was so stunned and hurt by what just happened. He just ran off entirely after the whole debacle at Medda’s theatre. Jack Kelly, the leader of the strike and his best friend! Just betrayed all of the newsies and himself. Punching a brick wall with his fist David cried out in frustration on the verge of tears recalling everything that just happened minutes ago. Sinking against the brick wall he took off his cap and squeezed it with all of his might. “Heya Davey? I was just going to take Les back to ya place for ya. If that’s a’ight with you. You look like you might need some space to think about things alone. You can head up to Jacks penthouse.” Race gestured at the fire escape near where David was slumped against the brick wall. “I doubt Jack would go there with everything that just happened at the rally.” Wes walked up to his brother and touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry Davey. I’m sure Jack will come around! I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t leave us alone like this.” David reached up and squeezed Les’s hand and smiled at him sadly. “Yeah bud, I’m sure there must be some kind of explanation. Hurry along with Race okay? Tell Mom I’ll be back soon. I just need some time to think about some stuff.” He shifted his attention towards Race and stared at him with a sad smile. “Race, thank you. I’ll head up there and try to clear my head. I owe you one for taking care of Les.” Race shifted on his feet with a big smirk on his face and smacked Davey on his other free shoulder. “Oh, trust me I’ll collect when the time comes.” David rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle. “Got it. Just don’t bleed me dry now.” “Come on Les lets get ya back to ya place.” Les and Race walked side by side as Race held his hand up in a goodbye gesture and kept walking forward until they were both out of sight.

Climbing up the ladder David had so many thoughts going through his head he didn’t even know where to start. Once David was in Jack's “Penthouse” He saw the appeal the place where his friend liked to hang out. “The view is gorgeous. I wonder if Jack ever painted this view from here or sketched it.” Sitting down he let his legs hang through the railing of the balcony he was on and just leaned against the bars and sighed looking into the distance and started talking to himself. “Jack has put so much into this strike. He cares about his friends and these boys so much. Why would he do this? It doesn’t make any sense! What about Crutchie? What about everyone else!” Rubbing his forehead he started to tear up again but he wasn’t too sure why. His chest was hurting. He felt betrayed that must of been why right? “All I was doing was going to sell papes with my brother to help feed my family. That’s it. Then he just popped up out of nowhere.” David rarely felt so frustrated with himself and the current situation he was in was driving him crazy. “Damn it Jack! You and your beautiful blue eyes and stupid-” David stiffened and he felt his heart pounding and like the world just froze. Shaking his head he tried to calm down. “No, I did not just say beautiful. That’s illegal Davey! Oh god, that and the nickname he gave me I love when he calls me that.” His eyes widened and everything just slowly pieced themselves together in front of him like a puzzle and Jack Kelly was that missing puzzle piece. “I’m supposed to be angry with him right now! I’m hurt!” Shaking he stood up and stared at the New York skyline as the sun began to set. “Well, I guess that’s that Jacobs. You’re screwed.” He chuckled to himself and noticed some papers sticking out and decided to look at them and noticed they were Jacks drawings.

Walking back to his penthouse Jack felt like screaming. “I did the right thing. I know I did. No one can get hurt because of me.” Jack recalled how badly Davey reacted to what he said at the rally and he felt his heart break looking at his dear friend like that. Sure, they just met not too long ago but it felt like forever for him. They just clicked and got along so well. But at Medda’s that all changed. “Davey..” Jack whispered under his breath. “Shit.” He got so angry he started to climb the fire escape to his penthouse and was swearing under his breath. When he got to the top he saw a tall figure wearing a newsboy cap. His heart stopped as he said in a whisper. “What are you doing here?” David turned around staring at Jack with sad eyes. “Race showed me the way here. It’s a beautiful view. I needed a place to think about things.” Jack walked up to Davey and seen he was holding his drawings and ripped it out his hands impulsively. “Hasn’t anyone taught ya not to touch other people's things!” David flinched and straightened himself up and stared at Jack. “You have skills Jack truly. Is that the Refuge? I can’t believe our friends and other newsies are staying in those conditions! We have to expose that!” Jack laughed and shook his head and walked closer to Davey. “Dave, no one cares about us and how we live!” David touched Jacks shoulder. “We can talk with Katherine I’m sure she can get your drawings published. She has to have something else we can use against Pulitzer she’s talented and witty.” Jack pushed Davey away and leaned against the railing and sighed. “Why aren’t you mad at me?” David walked towards Jack once more but stopped himself and looked at his friends form sadly. “I came to a few realizations Jack about things. But first can you please explain to me why you did it? It hurts yes. But I’m not mad.” Turning around Jack looked at Davey in the eyes and bit his lip then looked at the ground. “Pulitzer...he gave me an ultimatum he said to either A; Take the money and go to Santa Fe and disband the union or B; He was going to throw You and Les and the rest of the newsies in the Refuge and I couldn’t.” Jack focused his attention solely on Davey and stared into his eyes with tears in his own. “ I couldn’t let him do that to you. Not you. You’ve given me so much Davey. You’ve given me something to believe in.” David moved closer to Jack and took his hand in his trying to calm Jack. Jack’s eyes never left Daveys. He squeezed his hand gently. “We made this union together and I just don’t know what to do Davey. Please tell me what to do.” David took his other hand and touched Jacks cheek and rubbed it with his thumb. “Jack we can do this together. Like we have from the beginning.” David was nervous but his heart was pounding he was scared that he was going to mess this up. But at the current moment it was like time has frozen once more. Getting closer to Jack he leaned in and closed the gap between them. It was a soft chaste kiss but messy. Heart pounding he realized that Jack Kelly, His best friend. Was reciprocating the kiss he was actually kissing him back. Stunned Jack pulled away and leaned his forehead against Daveys. “Woah...I-I didn’t expect that out of you Davey.” Jack whispered and squeezed Davey’s hand. David looking through his thick eyelashes he made eye contact with Jack and whispered back. “I didn’t mess this up did I? When you said that you did it for me, I kind of just lost control.” Jack pulled away and shook his head. “No, not at all. I felt something between us since I first saw you.” Jack awkwardly took off his hat and rubbed the back of his head blushing. “What about Katherine?” David sadly looked up at Jack and Jack rushed towards Davey and grabbed both of his hands in his. “Katherine is beautiful, kind, smart, witty and beyond. But Davey she isn’t you- Wait, am I kidding myself here Dave? A guy like you can’t be with someone like me. It just doesn’t happen. You have a family, A home, Somewhere safe to stay. Here I am living meal to meal on pennies. I never know where I’ll sleep next. You know I’m a rule breaker Davey. So I could care less about being in trouble about being with you even if it means legal trouble.” Davey hugged Jack tightly against him and whispered in his ear. “I’ll always be here for you Jack. No matter what kind of situation you’re in, I'll always be by your side to help you. Now please stop rambling Jackie.” Pulling apart once more he kissed Jack once more with more passion before pulling apart at the sound of someone climbing up the ladder. Katherine looked like she interrupted something important as she looked at the disheveled boys but just brushed it off. “Guys! There you are! I wrote and article that we could use to take down Pulitzer once and for all.” She handed the paper over to David who scanned the paper and chuckled and smiled at Katherine brightly. “This is great Kath!” He handed the paper over to Jack as he started to read it. “Hey, Katherine can we use some of Jack's drawings to the paper?” He picked up the discarded drawings of Jacks and squealed. “This is perfect! A nail to put in the metaphorical coffin!” Jack drew his attention to both of his friends and spoke up. “But no pape is going to print this!” Katherine folded her arms and paced back and forth thinking. “There has to be at least one printing press that my father doesn’t control.” Jack scoffed “Oh, this is good. I know the perfect place. The printing press in the cellar of The World.” Katherine jumped up and clapped. “Perfect! You guys meet me there as soon as you can!” Katherine quickly scaled down the ladder as she had some important things to do! When they were sure they were alone Jack and Davey started laughing and held each other close. “Jackie, you gave me something to believe in too.” Jack gave him a toothy grin and kissed him once more and grabbed his hand. “I don’t know what this is but I want to give this shot. But right now, we have more important things to do. Let's go take down Pulitzer! David smiled and thought to himself. ‘I’m so glad I met this man. He makes me a better person.’ “Right after you Jackie!” Chuckling to himself, he held his hands out in a gesturing manner to the ladder. “What a gentleman! I may have been swooned!” Jack winked at him and started down the ladder. “Back at you Partner!” He winked back at him and followed him. Time to seize the day and take down Pulitzer together.

“An angel come to save me but didn’t even know he gave me something to believe in.”

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~KISS AU writings 12~

Heading straight on into the next part of this fiasco! I’m really eager to move this story along cause a looooot of shit is about to go down~ Enjooooy~

~Shandi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~MODEL AU Part 3~

Featured Pairing: Bruce Kulick/Paul Stanley

Special Guests: Peter Criss, Vinnie Vincent, Dana Strum, Mark Slaughter, Bobby Rock, Mick Mars, Vince Neil

Summary: Paul invites Bruce to to a party for the magazine he modeled for..where things escalate even further~ (told from Bruce’s POV)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later I return to the studio with the photos. As soon as I’m through the door I see Mr. Criss and Paul standing there waiting for me. Oh boy.

“Let’s see ‘em.”

Mr. Criss holds out his hand and I give him the folder. Please like them. As soon as he opens the folder he rolls his eyes, which doesn’t exactly fill me with a lot of confidence. Then he looks over at Paul who just smiles at him sweetly. “It figures that the first photo I see is of your naked ass. You really think the magazine is gonna print these?” Paul just tosses his hair. “Of course they will~ You know why? It’s me~” He’s got him there. I mean..they’ll definitely edit them heavily but they’ll eat those up just because it’s Paul. Mr. Criss sighed but he conceded. “Alright alright. I’ll submit ‘em but I don’t wanna hear any whining about how they’re edited when they’re published. Got me?”

“I’m not worried, Petey. They’ll show as much as they’re allowed to get away with~” That’s for sure. Someone would have to be crazy to not want to show off his..’assets.’ After looking through all of the other photos, Mr. Criss closes the folder. “It’s real good work, Kulick. Fantastic even.” He hands me an envelope. “I’m gonna submit these this afternoon. As soon as we have access to the first copies you can have one if you want.” It would be nice to see my work in the pages of a magazine. My heart is beating a mile a minute just thinking about it! “Thank you, Mr. Criss, I’d like that very much~” Paul of course is incredibly amused. “I am a work of art, aren’t I, Photopup? I’d be proud too~” You mean you aren’t already? I find that hard to believe. “Anyway..” Mr. Criss interrupts rather firmly. “..make sure your schedule’s open cause I’ll be keepin’ your number handy. You up for more work like this?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then we’ll be seein’ you again soon.” Paul blows me a kiss before turning to follow Mr. Criss back to his office. “Until next time, Photopup~” While I’m in my car I open the envelope. A check for $2,500! I think I’m gonna celebrate with a nice big pizza when I get home~

The next week passed by like normal. Normal and boring. As much as I hoped for a call one never came. Still, I kept my camera clean and ready for its next job. The following week however started off with a bang. Monday afternoon when I check my mailbox I find a brown package folded up inside. When I open it I see one of my photos of Paul on the front cover of Runway. “Finally!” I sit down on the couch and flip through the pages with a big smile on my face. These were my photos. My photos printed in a magazine for the world to see. They weren’t even edited as much as I thought they would be. Paul was perfect. I can kinda see why he wanted to do it this way now. If I had a body like his I’d want to show it off too~ The lighting was the best decision I ever made. No fluorescents would have been able to bring out the golden undertones of his skin or the highlights in his hair. I turn to the next page and WOW. There’s his ass in full view. How were they able to get away with this? Are models exempt from censorship? Either that or someone pulled a lot of strings. Or more likely an extremely smart executive decision. A spread as hot as this will make magazines fly off the shelves. Quite a business~

Late Thursday night I get a phone call..but not from the person I was expecting.

“Hello?”

“Well hello there, Photopup~”

“Paul..?”

He giggles. “Surprised~?”

“Yeah, a little. How did you get my number?”

“From Petey’s rolodex of course~ You busy Saturday night~?”

“Um..” Is he..asking me out..? No, that’s crazy. “I don’t..think so..?”

“You sound unsure. Are you or aren’t you?”

I usually play guitar on Saturday nights but..this could be important. I can always play some other night. “No. No I’m not busy.”

“Good! Come to a party with me~”

What? Is he serious? “A..party..?”

“Come ooooon~ The Executive of Runway magazine is throwing a little get-together and he invited me.”

“Why don’t you go with Mr. Criss? Isn’t he more suited for these types of things?” I hear a loud sigh.

“Petey’s gonna be in New York that weekend. Pleeeeeease? I don’t wanna go alone..”

Ugh he’s using that cute voice. I can hear him pouting over the phone. “Oh..alright..I’ll go.” Damn him.

“Wonderful~! I’ll pick you up at 6:00..and dress fancy~ Ciao, baby~!”

I hang up the phone and run a hand through my hair. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Saturday came much too quickly for my liking. It also didn’t help that I had nothing to wear that would classify as ‘fancy.’ I went for the next best thing. I dressed like I was just going to the club to play: a plain black tank top, black jeans and my favorite leather jacket. I’m not a fancy guy. I like things simple. I don’t see why I need to compromise myself for a bunch of people I’ll probably never see again. At 6:00 precisely I hear a car horn. “Well..here goes nothing..” I put on my jacket, grab my keys and head out.

Paul Stanley didn’t strike me as a guy who did much for himself besides his own hair and clothes..possibly not even that. I liked him, but he was a total prima donna. So it took me by surprise when I didn’t see a limo waiting out front for me. Instead there he was, sitting in a beautiful black convertible Corvette, with purple stars scattered across the rear of course~ It was immaculate, like it had just been driven off the lot. Paul smiles at me and waves. “Hey there, handsome~ Going my way~?” Hell, I’d go anywhere with him in a car like this~ “As a matter of fact I am~” When I get in and buckle up he starts the engine up again and revs it. “Mm..that sounds so good~”

“Like fast cars, do you~?”

“Ever since I was a kid~”

“Then hold on tight, baby cause we’re about to go for a ride~”

Boy was he not kidding. I actually hear the tires squeal as we take off down the road. It was fantastic~ “So..where is this party we’re going to?”

“In Malibu~”

“Oh great. I’ll fit right in with all the rich, pretentious assholes..”

Paul laughs out loud and pats my thigh. “I refuse to believe you’d give any kind of a shit about what they’d think of you. Besides you’ll be there with me so they won’t have anything to say..except compliments on your terrific taste~” I scoff but there’s no doubt a lot of truth to that statement, especially with the way he looks right now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen purple leather look so good on anyone in my life.

“You’re staring~”

I am staring. I don’t try to hide it. He’s made a career out of people staring at him. What’s one more? “What are you thinking about, Photopup~? Do you wanna fuck me~?” Okay..caught me straight off guard with that one. He just laughs at my reaction. “It’s alright if you do..a lot of people do~” There’s the shallowness I’d come to expect from his type. I cross my arms. “I’m not like that. Yes, you’re attractive but that’s not all I want in someone.”

“What do you want~?”

I sigh. What I want is to not have this conversation. But I don’t say that out loud. At least not with those exact words. “I have more important things to worry about than my love life. Like keeping a place to live for example.” After that he takes the hint, and the rest of the trip is uncomfortably quiet.

I don’t have the words to describe the place we pull up to. It’s like..if someone built a beach house and expanded it into a gigantic mansion. It’s just..absolutely breath taking. I could only wish to afford to leave near the beach like this. While I’m staring Paul silently gets out of the car and leaves me behind. Yep. He’s definitely still sore about the conversation we had earlier. I guess I’ll have to find a way to make it up to him later. I get out, lock to doors and run after him. “Paul please. I’m sorry. If..you wanna talk more later we can. It’s just..not an important subject for me..” He fluffs his hair a few times before looking at me. “I dunno..I think your annoyance was kinda justified. I tend to be too nosy for my own good sometimes~ Hm. Actually all the time~ Apologies all around, then..now let’s go party~” I let him take my arm and lead me to the door.

Everyone inside is ridiculously beautiful..and now I feel ridiculously outclassed. People shoot me disdainful looks as we walk past, clearly making it known that I don’t belong in their exclusive little fanclub. I have an overwhelming urge to beg Paul for his keys so I can drive back home. We approach a man dressed in gold from head to toe and holding a glass of wine. When he sees us Paul waves to him. “Vinnie~!!” Someone dressed that extravagantly just has to be the host. He waves back with a big smile. “Paul, you made it! How wonderful to see you!” He comes over to give Paul a tight hug with his free arm. “Have I got a lot to thank you for, darling~ Thanks to those delicious photos we’ve had the highest sales we’ve ever had in months!” Paul holds onto my arm tighter. “Glad to hear it! The photos were all thanks to this one right here~ This is Bruce Kulick, our new photographer~ Brucie, this is Vinnie Vincent, head of Runway magazine~” I take his offered hand and shake it. “Were you a model yourself, Mr. Vincent? You certainly have the look.” He laughs. “My, what a charmer you are~ As a matter of fact I was a few years back. I got my start at Catwalk just like Paul here~ Then personal life intervened and I lost my love for the stage. So I channeled what was left into this instead~ And please call me Vinnie. Everyone does~” It feels so strange calling someone I barely know but their first name..but if he insists.. “A-alright..Vinnie. I’m..very happy that you liked my photos~ That was actually my first time shooting with Paul.”

“Oh darling they’re masterpieces! I fully insisted that nothing be done to them by way of editing~” Just as I thought~ He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and hands me a business card. “If you’d ever like to do some editorial photos for me just give me a call, hm? I could use a photographer with your skill~” I look at the card in shock. “Would you look at that~” I hear Paul say, laying his chin on my shoulder. “Somebody might be moving up in the world~ Happy you came now~?” Vinnie smiles and takes my other arm. “Of course he is~ Come and let me introduce you to some of my friends~” He was absolutely right. I am happy I came~ It was more fun than I ever expected meeting Vinnie’s coworkers. Bobby was intelligent. Mark was friendly. Dana was funny. They admired my work and gave me advice on how I can improve. I could definitely see myself working with them if I decided to take Vinnie up on his offer, which I was seriously considering. I’d have to talk to Mr. Criss about it when he comes back. Paul makes a disgusted noise that snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Oh fuck. Why did he have to come here?”

I look down at him and he’s cringing, his expression twisted in annoyance and anger. “Paul? What’s wrong?” Paul pointed towards the door. Following the direction of his finger I’m pretty sure I see the culprit. How could anyone not see him? His hair was a bright blond. Definitely bleached. He made sure he stood out wearing a shredded pink tank top over a white mesh shirt, white patent leather pants and pink platform heels. He was hanging on the arm of a slightly shorter man dressed all in black leather with long black hair and red tinted glasses. His pants had MARS written down the left thigh in large white letters. An interesting..and loud way to make his name known to strangers. “Hey there, pretty people!” the blond yelled, catching everyone’s attention. “Can one of you be an absolute doll and get a drink for me~?” I don’t think I’d ever seen so many people move so quickly towards the bar. They crowded it, fighting each other to be the first to get a glass filled. I watch the spectacle amused, but Paul just rolls his eyes. “Selfish asshole..” My curiosity is piqued. “It’s obvious you don’t like him. Who is he?”

“Vince Neil. The self-proclaimed ‘hottest model in Malibu’.”

“He’s not?”

“Of course he is. He just has to make sure everybody knows it.”

“Who’s with him?”

“Mick Mars. His agent.”

“Creepy guy.”

“Mick is a sweetheart. I actually like him. Vince is an arrogant prick who thinks he’s the hottest shit in California. He’s trying to force some kind of rivalry with me..says he thinks it’ll boost our popularity. I can get to the top on my own, thank you very much.”

Looking back at the mob, it looks like a good looking red head got lucky. She pushes her way through the crowd with a glass of wine and hands it to Vince. He takes it from her with a grin. “Congratulations, baby..you win first prize~” The rest of the crowd just mind their own business and go back to partying while Vince practically makes out with the woman in the middle of the room. Quite a guy. Paul however is clearly fed up. “I don’t know about you but I’m ready to leave.” It’s not like I can say no. He’s the one who drove us here. “If that’s what you wanna do.” He nods. We say goodbye to Vinnie, Dana, Bobby and Mark and head for the door.

“Heeeeeeey leaving without sayin’ goodbye, Paulie~?”

Paul winces. Guess we weren’t getting out of here without Vince noticing after all..much to his dismay. “Don’t call me that.” he hisses, glaring daggers. Vince just gives him a cocky smirk. “Shoulda figured you’d be here somewhere. Were you hidin’ from me? “Ain’t like you to not make yourself the center of attention~” I can see Paul’s eye twitch. “Unlike you I don’t need to do such things.”

“That’s because everybody forgets about you when I’m around~ Who would notice you~?”

“How could I possibly compete with that tacky bleach job?”

“Like you haven’t had any work done on your face!”

“Maybe more people would take you seriously if you didn’t dress like a prostitute!!”

I have to grab Paul’s shoulders and pull him back. “Come on. I thought we were leaving.” Vince turns his gaze to me. “You his boyfriend? If you ever get tired of him being such a bitch I’ll be your Barbie doll~”

“YOU FUCKING SKEEZY TRAMP!!”

Paul pulls away from me but he’s stopped again by Mr. Mars. “That’s enough.” he says in a calm voice. “Vince, shut up and go mingle. You..” He hands Paul back to me. “..take him home. If those two get into a fight nobody’s gonna win.” I can’t argue with that. I take Paul’s keys from his jacket pocket and take him out to his car. “If you don’t mind I think I should drive us back.”

He doesn’t argue.

To be Continued!!

[bookmulch]

The First Review Wholly about One Infuriating Book.

When someone tells you who they are, believe them.

And indeed, this book was NOT for me.

After about a decade of staring at this book on my bookshelf, waiting to be read, I finally sat down and read House Of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. In point of fact, I sat down to read this book and decided it needed to be done in a weekend or else it was never getting done. And lo and behold I was right about that. Had I put this book down I never would have picked it back up again. The picture above is about 4 pages into House Of Leaves. Ooo. Edgy. Not for meee… Anyway.

So what the fuck is House of Leaves?

Well first, and objectively, it is about 2.5 narratives told using interesting and creative printing processes to emphasize feelings within the text. It’s experimental, it’s weird, and good God is it long.

The first narrative is about a spooky scary house. It doesn’t have ghosts or anything, just the house itself is a werewolf Bar mitzvah (that is to say; spooky scary). It is told through the lens of an academic paper being written about a documentary about this house. Neat. So many layers.

The second narrative is about a chaos goblin line cook (Johnny Truant) and his decent into madness.

The .5 narrative is about the Jonny’s mother’s decent into madness.

Had the book been published with these 2.5 parts being separate, I would have read the first narrative and enjoyed it and ignored the rest because man, I do not care about chaos goblin line cooks. I just don’t.

But Truly, this book is not for Me.

I think this book was written for teenagers, just learning about all the fun things you can do with writing. It’s an interesting compilation of writing styles and visual techniques. I genuinely think that that is cool and fun, and hey good job Danielewski. Also, the subject matter of objective reality, going insane, death, and impermanence are all written in ways that really speak to an adolescent just learning about the world. But as a full, grown-ass adult, I was mostly just rolling my eyes or thinking how cute it is that the author was trying to be dark and edgy and mlah. It’s too fucking long, man.

Part of what made this book exciting when it first came out was the aura around the book; that it was somehow underground, secret, only the cool kids knew about it. And then much like not talking about fight club, the super secret club skyrocketed in popularity.

Again, if i had read this right when it came out, I'm sure I would have absolutely drank this koolaid. I get the appeal. But I am not a sad white teenage boy. So this book is very emphatically not for me.

There are so many little bits of the story that I thought were so interesting and deserved to be explored more, but were left untouched and instead we followed this stupid decent into madness.

Also, listen, I am a scaredy-cat. I am a coward. I am horrendously anxious and everything scares me.

This horror book is not scary.

There was no point at which I was scared. Nor was there a point at which I was nervous about what might happen. And I'll tell you why; The obnoxious way in which it is written makes it damn near impossible to be completely absorbed by the story. You have to keep pulling yourself out to flip the book upside-down or inside out or shake it so the words fall out. There's not enough time spent sitting in the actual suspense. I get that the writing is used to make the reader also feel like they are going crazy. But mostly it just made me very aware that I was reading a very (literally) heavy book. (It's weighs like 4lbs and for what?)

I am also, a big dumb dummy. So maybe I "Just don't get it" Maybe if I "Got it" It would be scarier. But it did not scare me, and it did not change my life. I do not understand the airs around this book in it changing people's lives. I just don't. Did it change your life? How? Please tell me. If there is someone out there whose life was changed by this book, please for the love of all things literary, tell me how it did that.

AND ANOTHER THING There is a point near the end of the narrative (not the end of the book, which is an important distinction) at which the book starts referencing itself and becomes an ouroboros of pretension. Like, House of Leaves, and it's mythos, exist in the universe of this fictional narrative. Unacceptable.

Now the important distinction between the end of the narrative and the end of the book; this book goes on for another 100 pages after the story reaches a logical conclusion. As a result, House of Leaves doesn't actually end. Which I guess is like, the point? But you didn't need to use 700 pages to explain that life is suffering that never ends. Hey Look, I just did it in less than a sentence. Neat.

Anyway, MY point is that I managed to read this book, the biggest book I've ever read, in a weekend. The first narrative was compelling enough that I wanted to keep reading and was willing to ignore the rest of the nonsense that was going on around it. I really wish Danielewski had just written the story about the spooky ever-changing house. Which I imagine could have been done in like 300 pages or less. However the other 1.5 narratives are self-fellatio, and again, it's not for me.

So, should you read this book?

Well let me ask you this; are you a 15-25 year old white male who feels misunderstood and is probably depressed or have the mentality of the same? Then yes. You could probably read this book and enjoy it.

Are you not? Then read Piranesi instead. It's also a book about a labyrinth and a man's decent into madness, but it is almost a third of the length, is generally pleasant, and has an ending.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Leah you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Xenophilius Lovegood!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

To get a Pandora and a Xeno all in one day...! I don’t think my heart can take it. Xeno is always a beloved character and you’ve written him so well in your application that we just cannot wait to see what you do with him. Also thank you Taylor for dragging her here! *your faceclaim change to Austin Butler has been accepted

application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

I’m Leah, 25, and I use female pronouns and live in EST

ACTIVITY

I’d say about a 7. I do have a full-time job, but I’m usually able to be around some evenings and weekends

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Welllll…I happen to know Taylor and she may or may not have drug me here

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Look, I know this is going to sound like a line given who I’m applying for, but honestly, it’s always been Luna. I’ve always been a Ravenclaw and always known that and was always really disappointed that really in the books (at the beginning) the only character we had was Cho. But then Luna was introduced and I was just so happy. She’s my little Ravenclaw baby and she’s so weird and bizarre and just owns that that’s who she is. The year she was introduced in the books, I made my parents buy me a Harry Potter robe, printed out a Ravenclaw emblem, hot glued it over he Gryffindor emblem, and dawned earrings of a crab grabbing onto a foot and went as Luna for Halloween. I just love how intelligent and eccentric, but also how good and loyal she is. It’s always been her above anyone else that I relate to.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nothing I can think of :)

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Xenophilius Hezekiah Lovegood

Xenophilius knows their name is obnoxiously long. Nicknames are going to happen, it’s only natural with a name like Xenophilius, really. They don’t mind and they don’t really mind why you call them—Xeno, Xen, Philly, even Lovey if you wan to take something from their last name. But DO NOT, under any circumstances, ever call him Phil. Just. Don’t. Do it.

Additionally, being demi-male (see more later), he tends to use Xeno more when feeling masculine and Xen when feeling agendered.

FACE CLAIM

I’d really, really love Austin Butler (first choice) or Toby Regbo for Xen. I’m not against Jamie, but his tendency to play villains/assholes makes it a little harder for me to see him as Xeno

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

As stated above, I really, really love Luna which makes Xen an obvious choice. I’m also a Ravenclaw, so I feel like I have that tie to him. I started looking through the characters and there were probably a half a dozen I started looking at, but Xen just started talking to me before I even read all the way through their bio. I love that he’s kind of wild and crazy and just free. They believe fully in being whoever you are and not letting anyone stop you, unless of course you’re hurting someone else. They’re incredibly intelligent and driven to always know more and investigate more. I also see him as horribly loyal. Few people take the time to get to know Xen or become friends with them. But those that do gain a fierce friend.

I think an important thing to know about the Xen we’ll see in game play is that they’re not the same Xeno we see in the books. In the books, he’s a lot more unhinged (for lack of a more fitting word), a lot more willing to throw anyone under the bus for the sake of his daughter. But I think a lot of that comes from losing Pandora. He’s been in the midst of a war for the better part of 20 years, his wife died at her own hands (even if by accident) and there was nothing he could do to stop it, the wizarding community as a whole believes him entirely delusional, really the only thing he has is his daughter who’s taken by death eaters. A lot of what is seen in the books comes from all that trauma. He’s eccentric in the current timeline becomes craziness. His protectiveness of his friends becomes a willingness to go against even is own principles to save his daughter. His laid back, open-minded demeanor has morphed into something that’s jarring to most people. At their roots, the personality of current Xen is still very much the same as Xeno in the books, but the way it manifests itself is much more dialed back. Xen is a little more in line with their daughter now, rather than the more extreme manifestation they become in their older years.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

End-game for Xen is definitely Pandora. With how much we see that they love her in the books, I can’t imagine it any other way. That being said, I’m more than open to exploring other relationships with other characters. Xen is also definitely pansexual. They’re a person who loves love and acceptance and openness and not closing yourself off to anything for any reason so I can’t imagine them being anything other than pan.

When it comes to romance and sex, well Xeno actually has far more experience in the latter. He’s had his fair share hook ups—with parties of both genders and have they explored outside human/wizard species…well maybe. But romance? Honestly, Xen considers themselves lucky to have friends. They aren’t going to push anything more. They rather like the idea of falling in love, having some little house somewhere surrounded by plants. But love and romance at this point are more ideas to Xen than they are reality. If it happens, it does, and he’ll be more than happy with it. If it doesn’t..then they’ll just adopt a house-full of creatures and live happily ever after with them.

Xen identifies as demi-male with a bit of genderfluidity behind it, using both male and agendered pronouns. Gender is just another construct and they suppose they align more with male than female if they have to choose. That being said, the never-ending comments about being feminine for their long hair and tendency to wear far too many accessories never bothered him either. Use what pronouns you will with them, none of them really matter. Xen has far more important things to worry themselves with.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-AN AESTHETIC

Pinterest for Xeno can be found here

-A PLAYLIST

Playlist for Xeno can be found here

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Xen’s crowning achievement of their Hogwarts years is sabotaging the Slytherin Quidditch team. It wasn’t about winning a game or the house points—Xen couldn’t care less about Quidditch really and the house tournament always seemed rather trivial to them. No, the Slytherin team was being rather awful to a group of first year Hufflepuff girls and someone had to put an end to it. So right before the Slytherin/Gryffindor game, Xeno may have enchanted all their brooms to give them all a horrible case of jock itch.

When Xeno wasn’t trying to sneak into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library or wondering off into the Forbidden Forest, you could usually find them at the lake. It was a nice relaxing place and a good place to get high without the professors catching you. There was, of course, also the giant squid. Xen named him Sqedward and tried desperately to train him. Much to Xen’s dismay, the squid never did listen, no matter what they tried, and their dreams of riding the great beast as Muggles do dolphins at Sea World were thwarted.

Xeno isn’t sure how to feel about all the violence Aversio has been using lately. They’re not much prone to violence themselves and tend to take less traditional approaches when push comes to shove (see above). They don’t necessarily support just how violent the group is being, but they know something needs to be done given the state of the wizarding world and their Muggle relations. Sure, it’s nice the Order exists, but just talking about making change isn’t enough. You have to do something for anything to happen. Maybe Aversio’s path isn’t the right one, but it’s the best path available at the current time, so he’s going to take it.

Xeno has an extremely deep love of New Scamander. They think he’s absolutely brilliant. Living a life searching out and findings and treating and fighting for and writing about magical creatures, it just sounds like an absolute dream. Xen’s copy of Fantastic Beasts long ago had to be enchanted so the pages wouldn’t fall apart from wear and there’s paragraphs of notes scribbled into the margins. If they cared less about trying to make a difference for humans, they would almost certainly become a magizoologist, but there’s far too much work to be done getting humans to care about each other before trying to get them to care for creatures. Not that that puts any damper on Xen’s love of all things animal, vegetable, and mineral and his extraordinary adoration of his hero. The day Luna brought home a Scamader was damn near the proudest day of his whole life.

(Note: I saw you guys have a profession list and picked on that feels the most fitting for a young Xeno. I’m more than open to adjusting to fit your views/group needs for job positions.) Xeno currently works at the Daily Prophet. Sure, it’s corrupt and what they’re printing is hardly the truth, but Xen is convinced they’ll be able to change it from the inside out if only they try hard enough. They thought if they joined the Prophet they’d be able to print articles to change minds and change the ideals of the paper’s staff. So far it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere though. Most of his articles wind up getting cut out of the paper and the editor is scolding him more than publishing him. It’s starting to get frustrating, but they’re still holding out hope to make a difference. (The Quibbler will still be founded at a later date when Xen can no longer deny that they aren’t making any impact at the Prophet. Or possibly the Quibbler is founded as an Aversio propaganda paper that either uses Xen’s eccentric interests as a way to send veiled/coded messages to members or it just simply morphs into something entirely different as the war winds down and after Pandora’s death becoming the zany brain child seen in the books.)

Xenophilius sends Howlers quite frequently to anyone in the select group they consider friends. They’re not angry, no, of course not, that’s just now who he is. But there’s just something about a talking/screaming message that simply conveys things written letters can’t. Hand written messages just aren’t…dramatic emphatic enough.

More often than not, when writing Xen tends to dictate out loud to an enchanted quill while pacing around the room and keeping their hands busy.

Xen is a lover of accessories and is rarely without at least half a dozen rings between their two hands.

Xeno is a babbler. Bring up any topic he’s half interested in with anyone willing to even half pretend to be half listening and he’ll babble on endlessly about most anything. Their speech patters tend to involve long drawn out sentences that can be a bit hard to follow.

A few quick facts about their family: Their dad is a wizard while their mum is a muggle. Their father isn’t entirely supportive of their (for the time) progressive gender and sexual identities—the older Lovegood doesn’t necessarily scorn it or treat their child poorly, but he just doesn’t get it. Xen is an only child.

He brought a toad with him for his years at Hogwarts named Wartly. He talks to him a lot and even created a miniature, functional piano for the little guy to enjoy, fully infuriating most all of the Ravenclaw house as the toad would “play” at all hours of the night and Xen did absolutely nothing to “restrict the creature’s right to freedom of expression.”

Two brief headcanons about Xen as an adult that likely won’t have an impact on game play but I can’t shake:

Xen often calls his wife Panda Bear and his daughter his Little Moon

Xen’s knowns about the Deathly Hallows for quite some time, but the reason he carries so much information about them in Harry’s time is because of Pandora. After her death, Xenophilus poured himself into a way to bring back the love of his life. He’s still certain the only thing that could bring her back. He never managed it and maybe that’s for the best, but his knowledge of the Hallows comes down to his longing to bring back Panda.

Connections: (These are a few ideas for connections, all pending approval of the characters’ respective players and naturally his connections aren’t limited to these, but it’s a jumping off point and a look into how he relates to others)

Marlene—Marlene and Xen easily go back to their early Hogwarts days. She’s one of his best friends and one of few that can fully stomach everything that is the complexity of Xenophilius Lovegood. She’s a pub buddy and his go to for someone to smoke with. No one makes them smile and laugh quite the way Marlene can—even if they both spend just as much time rolling their eyes at one another.

The Black Family—The Black Family as a whole is just…distasteful to Xeno. They’re the perfect portrait of everything wrong in the wizarding community. They can’t stand them. Even Sirius, who’s long been a member of the Order and Aversio, Xen can’t quite bring themselves to fully trust—can someone truly disconnect so completely from a family so deeply tainted? The Blacks are violent and bigoted power hungry. Despite his typically warm personality, he’s often notably cold to the Black family and their backwards ways.

Rita—A fellow wizarding journalist, Xen and Rita have always been in the same circles. It doesn’t make them friends though. They have very different world views. She’s the kind who is actually published by the Prophet—though really he can’t see why as so many of her article are full of half-truths and exaggerations. Xeno is always trying to get her to write something good. Something worth her time. Something valuable and positive. It hasn’t worked thus far, so for the time being they’re really just rivals at best.

Arthur—Arthur Weasley is something of a treasure to Xen. They both have immense loves for things that no one else can quite fully appreciate. And sure, they don’t always have interest in the same sorts of things, but there is something nice about finding someone how loves loving things the way you do. The two can sit and babble on for hours, neither really saying anything relating to what the other’s just said and neither really minding because at least someone is finally listening to them.

Sybill—Sybill is so free and strange, just like himself and honestly, Xeno loves it. They always feel free to be unabashedly weird with her and it’s rather freeing. They’ve tried time and time again to get her to teach him divination. And she’s tried, she really has, but every time he fails to see anything of the future, he just tells her he’s failed to teach him properly rather than accept the fact that he’ll never have the affinity she does.

Lucius—Few people really truly get under Xenophilius’s skin quite the way Lucius does. He’s just so smug and so self-important and so sure he’s better than absolutely everyone when the reality is, he’s not. ‘Men’ who act like they are men, like they are more than what they are, when really, push comes to shove, they are nothing, are an utter frustration to Xeno. They’re very, very tempted to put him in his place and at some point, they just may. Someone needs to.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“One? Only one? Boiling down the entire universe worth of possibility into only one options?” Xen’s cheeks puff up as he lets out an exasperated and dramatic sigh. “Merlin’s beard, that’s a big question. Oi I suppose…something that would cause some kind of instant karmic retribution. Or perhaps a potion that allows you to know everything—absolutely everything, even if only for a while. Or what about the ability to see all creatures, even the invisible one or the ones that run away really fast. Or maybe-” They stop, suddenly realizing themselves and let out a small chuckle. “Well I suppose that’s more than one it’s it. It’s far too complex a question. You can’t honestly expect anyone to be able to give only one answer, it’s entirely unfair.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Well it would certainly have to be Marlene to bring along with me, it’d be rather grate fun. We’d find some good trouble to get into. I mean not that we haven’t already found good trouble in the Forest. You know everyone is so against the centaurs and, no, they’re not the friendlies group, but they’re not all bad. Now what would I bring with me?” They pause for a moment contemplating. There were plenty of good things to bring, plenty of things they had dug up spending far too much time in parts of the library and personal tomes that they should have never laid their hands on. The Philosopher’s Stone came to mind. Or maybe the Hallows. But that wasn’t exactly information they thought best to share with anyone. “Hmm…perhaps a griffin. Or a phoenix. Maybe a Thestral—they just have bad reps you know. Oooo, or perhaps a Graphhorn. Sure they’re rather hard to find, but you didn’t specify the likelihood of being able to obtain said object before entering the forest with it.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Decisions in general are rather difficult I find. Even the most mundane ones. The world, by design, is full of choices and you’ll never be able to choose all of them—never. Isn’t that a thought?” As their words die off, their face gets an uncharacteristically morose look to it. “Those with gray morality, I suppose. Where right and wrong blend together and white and black are not so clear. When you know more needs to be done, but you aren’t sure the best path forward. The choices where there is no right and no wrong and yet someone could wind up hurt regardless. Those are the hardest.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“Most anything that could be said about me has already been said. And frankly, I don’t much care about any of it. I suppose he one thing I’d never want said about is that I’m unkind or uncaring. There’s a great many things that can be said about a person, but I think that, by far is worst. That and unimaginative. Both terrible, terrible things.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Reading through the plot drop, there were two different places I really saw some place that Xeno would fit in. In the first portion of the plot drop where Aversio and the Order are working together, it mentions that some, including Sirius are frustrated with how long it’s taking. I think Xen would fall into that camp. To them it’s just obvious that something needs done and everyone should be willing to take action. Sure, it’d be nice if it were a little more peaceful than what Aversio is doing now, but it certainly needs to be more than what the Order has been doing. They just can’t quite understand why things aren’t moving more quickly and why the two factions of the same side can’t seem to get along and find a solution. They’re trying to get everyone to work together and find a better middle ground, but it can at times wear at him and become rather frustrating.

The second part is that he would most certainly help Hestia and Edgar making the posters. Xen, being Xen, making a paper as bright and vivid as we all know the Quibbler is, I can absolutely see him helping to write and format propaganda (for lack of a better word) for Aversio trying to recruit or spread their message. It’s something he would definitely have a heavy hand in given half the chance. It’s something that would let his imaginative and creative ways be put to work. There’s also a fair possibility that if given a chance, he would have help with creating the potions to help Aversio/Order members go undercover to the Death Eater events as well.

WRITING SAMPLE

“Lovegood! My office now!”

Xeno was more than familiar with that tone. It was more or less the only one they ever got from the editor of The Daily Prophet. Sure, it had been a bit disheartening at first—Xen was used to their fair amount of trouble, but being a disappointment, a let down…well not so much. They had gotten used to it now. Which was probably why they were more often tasked with the mundane articles—new students arriving at Hogwarts, the menu changes at the Leaky Caldron, a nasty flea outbreak at Eeylops. Not that that stopped Xen from writing the articles they really wanted to write. The ones that really mattered. They waived their hand at the enchanted pen scribbling away mid-air and it clattered down onto his desk with a rather defeated clunk as he made it way into the editor’s office.

“What in the bloody hell is this?” the editor asked, slamming down his most recent article. The big, bold headline of Death Eater Takes Minister Title and the sub-caption of Rodolphus Lestrange, a member of the terror organization known as the Death Eaters usurped power unjustly from former Minister Millicent Bagnold. Sure, it wasn’t big flashy words, and Xen has spent ages trying to come up with something better, but he figured cutting it straight to the chase might be best given the circumstances.

“Well it’s the truth.”

“The truth? The truth? We can’t go making claims like that about the LestrangesXenophilius.”

“They’re not claims, they’re the truth.”

“You’ve nothing to support that argument.”

“I have everything to support that argument,” they countered. They could feel their typically laxed personality starting to pull back as they got more and more frustrated. How on earth was he supposed to do anything, change anything when every decent article he wrote led to this kind of conversation? There was good to be done here, change to be made, but once again, they were just the crazy little wizard with an imagination too bright to understand the reality of the world. What no one ever seemed to notice was that it was that exact imagination that made them see things perhaps a bit too clearly.

“We won’t be publishing this sort of nonsense here.”

“It’s not nonsense! Sir, surely you have to know! You have to know the kind of things that man is wrapped up in. Him and the Black family, all of the Death Eaters, this never ending parade of hate that’s only leading to genocide. The wizarding community needs to know what’s happening! They have to be enlightened.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We’re the leading paper in the English wizarding community. If we’re not going to talk about it, then who will? We have a duty as members of the press to publish the truth, regardless of backlash, to make readers informed and keep them up to date on the reality of the world around them, even when it’s a reality that is hard to stomach.”

“Enough.” With that one barked word, Xen knew. They knew that surely, same as Rita, the editor knew. He knew about all of this and was just going on complicity. Maybe he was even one of them. “I was warned when I hired you. That this kind of drivel is what I’d get from you, but some of your professors seemed to have good words to say about you. Last time I listen to them.”

Xeno’s face fell. His writing wasn’t drivel. It was good. It was the only good he had to offer the world right now. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t doing anything if no one ever read it. Their mind flashed back to all of Aversio’s talks of future plans. All the wrathful ideas they had that churned Xen’s stomach. But sitting here and being peaceful wasn’t working.

People would hear Xenophilius Lovegood’s messages one way or another. Maybe they’d have a turn of staff soon, an editor who would listen, who would be interested in the truth. Maybe Rita would quit and free up page space that could go to articles that really mattered. Maybe the world would finally just start seeing things as they were and cry for the truth themselves.

“Get out of here. Go write me something I can actually publish Lovegood. We won’t be having this conversation again.”

Xen turned to the door, shaking their head as their fingers played with the rings that adorned each one, already plotting out their next articles—both the ones they would turn in and the ones they would find other ways to distribute to those who would listen. They were just to the doorway when the editor spoke again.

“And nothing about Nargles this time Lovegood.”

[wolfiefics]

WIP Wednesday-A Vampire Knight Tale

Tentatively titled “How to Get a Life, by Takuma Ichijo, Bookworm”, which I kind of like but I’m not sure I’ll keep. I have not kept up with the Vampire Knight series of late and have been relying heavily on the Wiki. So it’s a bit of an AU, more than likely, but takes place 400 years after the first series ends. Snippet under the cut. Would appreciate feedback as I’m not sure about it at the moment. I know where it’s leading and whatnot but I’ve so much on my plate at the moment, it’s unreal.

This is Takuma meeting with the ‘heroine/love interest’. I’m horrible at creating Japanese names, especially as the author of Vampire Knight uses kanji meanings for hers, so I’m just ballsing it. It’s fanfic. Treat it like Firefly did English and Cantonese/Mandarin.

Just to let you know, I do accept anon but flames and rudeness will just either get you mocked publicly or ignored, depending on my mood. It’s fanfic, make-believe, fiction. If you’re so offended by fictional stories that you have to treat someone like garbage on the street, I feel really, really sorry for you. You must have had no friends to play with as a child, real or pretend. I suggest therapy. Constructive, USEFUL criticism accepted gladly...as well as gushing praise. LOL! Goddess knows I need a cheering squad.

Abigail O’Malley was ready to tear her hair out. This freaking chapter just wasn’t working. It was the sixth time she’d written it and it still wasn’t right. Was it too early for the second victim? Did she need more social interaction between the killer and the investigator? More cat and mouse?

“Ugh!” she groused. She got up from her swivel desk chair, purgatorial thing that it was, and was heading for her kitchenette when she realized someone was knocking at her door. From the determination and strength behind the knocks, the person had been there awhile.

Grimacing at having to deal with people when she was late for her deadline and stuck in the middle of the damned book as well, Abigail stalked to the door, intending to give her visitor a tongue-lashing. She twisted the knob, jerked, found the door locked, undid the dead bolt, and tried again. The door creaked open like from some ancient tomb, and she gave a bit of a grunt as she exerted force to open it enough to peer out.

“What?” she snapped. “I’m busy.”

“Ms. Abigail O’Malley?” The voice was male, low, calm and friendly. No trace of irritation at having been knocking on her door for so long was evident.

“As I said, I’m busy. Can you come back another time?” She wasn’t paying any attention to the man, eyeballing the hinges of the door, wondering when they’d gotten so gunked up. What cleared up door hinge gunk? Oil? Rust cleaner?

“I am Takuma Ichijo. I am interested in purchasing the shop space you have for rent in this building,” the stranger was saying.

“Not for sale,” she said absently, still not looking at him and concentrating on the what definitely looked like rust on the hinges. She sighed. She hated all this home owner crap. She needed to use all this money she had to hire a maid but then that maid would want to straighten up the place and thus dislodge Abby’s chaotic filing system.

“I am very interested in that space, Ms. O’Malley,” the stranger persisted, his voice still friendly, not forceful or angry. “I want to open a bookshop and I plan on being there for quite some time.”

At the word ‘bookshop’ Abby’s gaze finally focused on the man standing in front of her. He was stunningly handsome and didn’t look at all like any bookworm she’d ever met. And as an author, she’d met a ton of them.

Abby hiked a skeptical eyebrow. “A bookshop?” she asked.

He smiled as if relieved to finally have her full attention. “Yes, mostly rare, out-of-print, or signed books but I do plan on catering to popular titles and new releases to augment sales. I’m quite fond of pulp thrillers, mangas, and murder mysteries, so I expect I’ll have a nice collection of those.”

Abby narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a more thorough once over. Late twenties, early thirties at the most, tousled light blond hair, absolutely gorgeous green eyes that brought to mind descriptors such as ‘grass’ or ‘verdant’, a tall build with an edge of masculine power, pale skin that looked like he refused to set foot in the sun, and clothing of fine make but worn for comfort not style. Again, not someone she would peg as a book nerd.

But then, she reasoned, everyone was always surprised that a half-dead, cancer-ridden twenty-something woman was the author of more than fifteen best-selling murder thrillers. Appearances were more than deceiving.

Abby opened the door wider, inviting him in. “You’ve intrigued me, Mr. – “ She hesitated, realizing she missed his name.

“Ichijo, but please, call me Takuma,” he said with a cheerful smile, stepping past her into the cramped apartment.

“Um, call me Abby. Abigail is reserved for my grandmother when she’s getting ready to yell at me for doing something stupid,” she replied, looking about with a stranger’s eye the state of her apartment. Hmm. Maybe she should rethink the maid idea.

She shuffled by him, gathered up some print outs she used for reference for one of the last books she’d published, looked around for somewhere to put them, and wound up stacking the papers on some notebooks in another chair. Ah well, at least he had somewhere to sit.

He sat down, oozing elegance, and gave her an amiable smile. “Mr. Yakata told me you are an author,” he said with a hint of eagerness. “Is all of this your research for your book?” He waved a hand at the mess.

She grimaced. “Books, actually. I think I used that stuff,” she gestured to the stack she just moved, “in either the last book or the book before. I don’t remember,” she confessed. “They kind of run together after awhile.”

He looked intrigued, staring at her as if she were a fascinating specimen. Having such narrow regard on her flustered Abby a bit and she cast about for something else to say. “I was getting ready to make tea. Want some? Then we can discuss your proposition regarding the rental space.”

“Tea would be lovely,” he said with a wide, blinding white smile. Good Lord. Was he a statue come to life of someone’s ideal human being? He was damned near perfect in every way. And he smiled a lot. Nothing looked awkward, out-of-place or, well, human about him. An angel?

She scowled at her fanciful thoughts. Angels were make believe. She should know. She’d been begging for one to save her, help her, since she’d been diagnosed three years ago. The supernatural was fairy tales. Pain, fear and misery was life.

She clanged about the kitchen, heating water in her electric kettle, setting up a tray with a tea pot, the delicate cups to match that belonged to her great-grandmother, and a little bit of cream and sugar in case this Ichijo guy took it in his tea. She put her favorite cherry jam on there for her own use and once everything was assembled, took a deep breath as she prayed she wouldn’t have a bout of weakness and drop the damned thing.

She managed to set the tray down on the coffee table and it perched precariously on some almanacs and forensic reports she’d gathered for research. Unsure of etiquette with a guy this gorgeous, Abby hesitated and was relieved when he took the lead.

He poured the steeped tea into the cups with great delicacy and practice. His nostrils flared when he caught scent of the flavor and then he put a healthy dab of the jam in both their cups before handing her one.

“You like jam in your tea?” she asked in surprise.

He smiled wistfully. “A friend taught me to drink it that way. I’ve found I prefer it more than anything else. You have good taste in teas and jam, I must say.”

‘Okay, points to this guy for liking jam in his tea,’ Abby thought as she sipped at her tea a couple of times. She watched him look around her apartment with great interest. Those beautiful eyes missed nothing, she noted. He was sharp as a tack and undoubtedly highly intelligent.

And extremely handsome. She was starting to get light-headed just looking at him. Or maybe that was the new cancer treatment catching up.

“So, Takuma,” she said, clasping her cup in both hands when they began to shake. “The shop. Why buy when you can lease?”

He turned his attention back to Abby. “I found your space perfect for my needs. Just what I pictured my little shop to be, in fact. The location is ideal as well. I do not want to lease, however. I plan on being in whatever spot I choose for a very long time. Purchasing is imminently more practical,” he explained.

She nodded. “I get that,” she said honestly, “but I can’t just sell that little corner. I’d have to sell the whole building.” She grimaced. “Some weird city ordinance,” she added. “I mean, it’s never been a problem before, but with you wanting to buy not lease…” She trailed off and gave a shrug.

“I would find it no hardship to purchase the building and give you a very generous price for it,” Takuma told her.

Abby frowned at that. “Well, first of all, I live here. I don’t really want to be a renter on property I used to own. Second of all, most of the other residents are elderly or disabled. I’m not exactly hurting for money so when they are a little late on the rent and such, I’ve got no problem giving leeway.”

Takuma nodded thoughtfully. “I see no reason why such an arrangement cannot remain with the current tenants,” he noted.

“And lastly my family has owned this building for a long, long time. I’m pretty sure if I sold it, my great-great-great grandfather would rise from his grave and do what my cancer hasn’t done yet and that’s kill me.” She tried to joke but knew it fell flat when his gaze sharpened and those keen eyes gave her a more thorough once over.

“You are ill?” His voice was sharp, almost disapproving.

She stiffened. “Not everyone gets lucky and has a long life,” she snapped. “Some of us have to deal with the shit poker hand life has given us.”

Takuma was taken aback by her tone and set his cup carefully down on the tray. “I meant no disrespect,” he assured her calmly. “It’s just – “ Here he faltered, frowning as if trying to find the right words.

But Abby had enough. She was beginning to feel worse by the second and having this healthy, beautiful man in her apartment made her feel like some sort of defect. When was the last time she ate?

“Lease or leave, Mr…” She blanked on his last name, “Takuma. Make your arrangement with the real estate agent or find somewhere else. Please leave.” She didn’t add ‘and don’t let the door hit you on the way out’ but she was positive he picked up on it, if the narrowed gaze he gave her was any indication.

He rose with a wounded dignity that raised Abby’s ire just a bit more. He walked with an even pace to the door and paused before opening it. “I offer $4 million for the entire building,” he told her. “I will change no agreements the tenants currently have for their residences. The other businesses are also allowed to keep their existing arrangements. Furthermore, I will charge you no rent at all, until either you move or…” His voice caught and she scowled. What did he have to be upset about? “Or until you pass.”

“Get out,” she snapped.

“Please consider my offer, Ms. O’Malley,” he said in a soft voice. “I make it in good faith. I am willing to let you look over my finances and credit to assure you I can uphold my end of the bargain.”

“I said get the fuck out.”

He stood there for a long moment but she refused to look at him. Hot tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks and she didn’t want to look weak and frail in front of that perfect human being standing at her front door.

“Very well. Again, please reconsider.” He opened the door and left, the door closing with a gentle click behind him.

Abby looked around her. This apartment was her refuge. It was a place to hide from the poking and prodding of doctors and the interminable tests that offered hope only to snatch it away over and over again. It was a safe place that well-meaning but morose family members wouldn’t go with their platitudes, remember-whens, and sad-eyed, mournful looks. Here she could defeat evil, overcome adversity, and create a happy ending with her stories. The happy ending that would be denied her.

Angrily, Abby dashed away the tears that finally fell, stood up and marched on unsteady feet to her desk.

She had a chapter to write. Many chapters. And the next victim was going to be a green-eyed, blond, too-good-to-be-true, insensitive jerk.

With relish, she began to type and soon immersed herself in murder and the investigation that would bring a bad guy to justice.