#taster of what was to come. it wasn’t like. the WHOLE thing. you’re telling me a cryptid that eats motherfuckers is NOT the main horror????

[fingertipsmp3]

Hate when you finally find a copy of a book you’ve been searching for for ages and then as soon as you start it you’re like “actually I’m not in the mood to read this right now”

[ldouble]

Slumming It | Kevin Atwater X Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: When pulled into an undercover op for the Intelligence Unit, you couldn’t be more excited. The only person who catches your hesitation is your boyfriend. A lot is unsaid in the bullpen, your relationship being one of them.

gif is not mine :)

“You keep looking at me like that and they’re gonna know you’re slumming it with a uniform.”

Your words were punctuated by the complete zip of the knee high leather boots. But it wasn’t till the hell smacks the concrete of the locker room does Kevin look up at you, unimpressed with your statement.

You tilted your head at him, hoping it aided your humor. All it did was send the little eye contact held fleeting.

“I’m not slumming it with a uniform.” Kevin shook his head toward the ground, until he realized what he just said. “I’m not slumming it with you, either.”

Your hands found the other boot, a sigh escaping your lips at how much the tight fitting accessory is going to fit. “You’re tripping up, Atwater,” It glided up with little effort, giving you the chance to cross your legs and look across the room. “I can see Ruzek getting on your ass already.”

“Can you stop with-”

“Or is Halstead sending a sly smirk at you?”

Your light heartedness has no place in the backlit changing room and even little place in a situation like this. Joking about your boyfriend’s friends finding out about his relationship, with you standing there dressed like a hooker, all while working an undercover op...you should’ve stuck with commenting about how the color of the dress did absolutely nothing for your eyes.

Still, Kevin would’ve found a way to call you out. He was quiet but that just meant he spent more time listening. He was done with your ill timed jokes.

“Sorry.” You bit your lip, knowing you pinched a nerve. You didn’t know what to worry about more - the way you just embarrassed yourself in front of a member of the Intelligence Unit or how you insulted your boyfriend.

You hated that the latter took priority.

You found Kevin’s eyes, too dark to read. But the look he was giving you - an analytical gaze mixed with what looked like frustration with the furrow in his brow - had you resorting back to your go-to.

“We uniforms aren’t used to working anyone other than a partner.”

You could hear the worry in your voice growing as each word entered the space. If the tone didn’t solidify his assumption, the choked laugh you gave did it. Nothing said “Can I do this?” like a meek laugh.

Girlfriends worried.

Cops did no such thing.

Straightening your posture you released your hair held in a tight ponytail. Shaking it out, you offered a smile. “Having your team at my disposal just got to my head for a second.”

Kevin pursed his lips, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He looked great, done up in his own undercover wardrobe. Of course, his wasn’t as extreme as yours.

You were pretending to be a hooker. Short dress, fishnet stockings and heels that were nearly half your height. And that wasn’t including the heel. You hadn’t looked in the mirror after Trudy bombarded you. The amount of lipstick you could just feel on you made you want to wipe it off.

Kevin on the other hand was just supposed to be him. Tall and handsome, a drink of water to fit in right among the elites of this Hookah Bar you were raiding. Minus the badge, you could’ve sworn this look of a blazer and dark jeans had made an appearance at your front door. As well as your bedroom floor at one point or another.

He walked forward, hands finding your shoulders gently, his eyes pouring into yours. He took your breathe away. Or maybe that was the anxiety creeping up on you.

“We’re not at your disposal. We’re on your side.” You couldn’t help but lean into his palm as it crept up your shoulder. “We have your back.”

“Better you than this dress.”

Again, he didn’t find it funny. You sighed, nodding in all seriousness. “You have my back.”

Giving up on the idea of convincing him with a look of complete and utter confidence (you were saving that for the mission) you strode past him, grabbing the furry white jacket off the end of the bench.

On your way, you gave him some of the rope to tug at.

“That easy to tell I’m nervous?” You asked, slipped the fur over your shoulders.

He followed your steps, the pink handbag looking teeny in his grasp. “You uniforms got no damn poker face.”

You chuckle at that, feeling better with him in a joking mood. It was forced, you could tell by the way his tongue was sticking out between his lips, but you didn’t call it out. Humor came to everybody in their own ways. Yours was easier to cling to.

“Yeah, well without a uniform I’m sure it’ll get better.” You accepted the bag, twirling it in your fingers.

“Better?” Kevin asked with offense. “Gonna be the best. Why else would we bring you up?” He whispered in your ear as you made your way to the garage.

You pretended to think for a second before turning around, tiptoeing backwards and tracing his collar.

“For you to oggle me.”

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to reality. This was work. You might’ve been pretending to be a hooker but you weren’t on the job yet. Definitely not with a colleague who you would never do such a thing with.

Kevin caught the door, holding it open for you. As you walked past you gave your best respectable-just-another-day-in-the-office smile. But upon his next words, it was hard to keep it up.

“Like I’d show them I’m slumming it with you.”

----

Slumming it, you were definitely not.

You had quested the expensive dress placed in your locker. Why did a hooker did a $500 piece of clothing that barely covered her ass? Because as a high class hooker, expensive taste breeds....expensive tasters.

Men. With money.

But there was only one man you wanted.

He had money, sure.

But he also had guns.

A whole warehouse and business of illegal firearms. Chicago, ever the “Heart of America” was this guy’s selling point. Everything shipped here and then shipped out.

But a man he was. A man with needs. Expensive needs on short time. Besides, he had cash to burn. Made sense he booked it to this club, paid for a girl, had his way with her, and then was onto a business deal with a couple AK-47s by dawn.

Lucky you, getting a front row seat to it all.

You really hoped all you got was a seat. You really didn’t want to have to go to bed with this guy.

Jay would hopefully make sure of that. Imploring a deal on this guy’s “night out”. Who could resist making some money while spending it on something as pretty as me?

You gulped, remembering your first date with Kevin. He paid for the meal, quoting something similar. He couldn’t believe I had said yes to going out. He insisted on paying.

Tough as nails he was in his bullet proof vest. Beneath it, a teddy bear with manners of every mother’s dream.

“Aye, mami, how you doing?”

You turned to the fourth? fifth? guy who approached you, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He was security, like every other guy who had hit on you yet, and not your target.

They really thought protecting their bosses wasn’t their job. Trying to catch the runner ups was their priortiy.

“Looking for something a bit better than that.” You heard Ruzek say over the comms.

“She’s got standards,” You looked over your shoulder toward Kevin, posted at a table near by. He sent a quick wink before finishing his statement. “As every girl should.”

“High ones, too.” You whispered.

You knew he was rolling his eyes, more so at you chiming in than your hint at your secret boyfriend’s height, but missed it since your view became full by another presence.

“Hi to you, too.”

Bingo.

You smiled at the man you had waiting for all night. One glance at his opening jacket, shimmering from the gun strapped in on both sides, and you knew this was the one. You’d been studying his face for weeks, of course. But nothing said arms dealer like...arms.

Arms that you felt wrapping around you.

Arms that you had to embrace.

It wasn’t the guy that had you nervous. Or the situation. Hell, you felt fine pretending to be a hooker. You had your team behind you.

You also had your boyfriend watching. That’s what made you resistance to accepting the embrace, taking in the fluttery whispers, and nodding at the invitation to his booth.

It was one thing to go undercover and flirt. A whole other when doing it in front of the one person you were undercover with and wanted to flirt with.

You were a cop first, you reminded yourself as you sat down on the plush velvet sofa. You were a cop, you repeated at lips found your neck.

Where the hell was Jay? Swooping in to make this deal? Get you out of this?

“Hey man, hate to intrude here.”

You froze for the first time at the sound of that voice.

A voice you loved to hear. But not here. Not with some other guy all up on you.

The dealer let his grip loosen on you and as he turned toward the newest addition to the booth you got your first clear look at it.

Your secret boyfriend.

Currently playing an undercover role he was not assigned to. All while you were undercover as a hooker attempting to get in good with a well known criminal.

The rest of the team was having just as much of a frenzy on your ear piece. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Jay panicking, not so much as ten feet away.

Kevin must’ve beat him to it.

Something told you it wasn’t the want to be the bad guy. Rather, break up the bad guy and you.

He had your back. Too much this time.

The target felt the same way, attempting to shake him off and coming back to you for more.

Your eyes met Kevin’s - more hallow than earlier - over the shoulder of the suspect. It sent you freezing again. What were you to do? Blow cover to save a relationship just as hidden? Or keep this going and lose something you never would’ve really had?

“I like seeing you work.” You giggled, gently pushing him off of you. Your eyes glimmered with fake admiration (really anxiety bubbling up) but it did the trick. You didn’t even have to use your line about how you would work for him later.

Taking the bait, he spun and began chatting with Kevin.

Unfortunately, he liked his work and play mixing. A hand found your leg, circling your knee. Kevin’s gaze never left the dealer’s but you could tell it was killing him. The toothpick, which had been loosely hanging out his mouth earlier, was now being gritted together so loud you could hear it over the music.

What was more obvious than his clear discomfort? The hand sneaking its way up your leg. No amount of disco lights or smoke from nearby bongs could hide the manly grasp on your thigh.

Even when he lifted your skirt up you couldn’t flinch. He was so close to admitting it all. He’d skimmed the numbers and the details but if Kevin pressed a little bit harder...

“Tell me more.”

Kevin’s eyes had swiftly found the connection on your leg. It wasn’t obvious enough for concern but his tone was. It was distant. Unfocused. Everything a dealer didn’t want in a deal, no matter the environment.

“You don’t seem interested in enough.”

“I am.” You giggled.

Damn. You were too quick to jump. He gave you a disapproving look and you could see it all falling. Everything you had worked for. Gone because you were trying to protect this case more than your real relationship.

“Not as much as me, girl.” Kevin spat.

He caught both of your attention’s, scooting closer. “I want armory. I know you have it. I can swear on the things you’re gonna do to this girl tonight, you can get it to be by tomorrow.”

OK, you weren’t the only one putting work before romance.

The thought scared you for a second but you had more to worry about. Most importantly, the feverish squeeze of your thigh that bloomed from the exciting prospect of a business deal.

The guy said it himself, shaking hands with Kevin and giving all the details we needed for a case.

You were stunned how good this was going. It was all falling into place.

Kevin seemed just as shocked too, sitting there silently...which was very unlike the bold player he was pretending to be.

Of course, no story has a perfectly happy ending.

The fault in the plan, the lack of calling out the safe word to trigger the team flying in.

The word slumming (your choice) barely crossed your mind before the guy’s lips were on yours and he was hurting you with such force.

You felt trapped for what felt like eternity (with your boyfriend looking on at least) but what was really seconds before he was ripped off of you.

“Get your hands off of her!” Kevin threw the guy on the ground, the gun in his belt loaded and aimed at his head.

He looked back at you once his hands were up, breathing heavy. OK, it had messed with his head as much as yours.

A little too much, though.

Because the next thing you knew, Kevin was kicked to the ground and the dealer was grabbing his own gun.

Thankfully, you were wearing a uniform more fit for the job.

In seconds you clashed with the arms dealer, hitting down hard on his hand to realize the gun in his grasp while simultaneously grabbing the other pistol from his pocket. Just as you lifted it up to aim it, Kevin was forcing him onto the booth, hands behind his back.

“Chicago PD!” Had just left your lips as the rest of the team came by. You breathed out, no longer having to play it cool.

Kevin was also given a break when Jay came in to take him away. In two steps he was in front of you, releasing the gun from your hand and pulling you close.

“I’m never letting you out of that uniform ever again.” He muffled into your head before tipping your chin up.

You smiled, cutting the distance between your lips till they grazed his when you spoke. “You can try all you want but I know you love seeing me out of it.”

Kevin pulled your close, squashing whatever space lay between you two.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” Ruzek called out with a holler, bringing you both to reality.

Out of the corner of your eye. you saw Kevin stumble a hand flying over his head as he thought on his feet.

You took a step forward, a hand on Kevin’s chest. “Kevin is slumming it with me, a uniform.”

Laughs erupted from the team, Voight shaking his head.

Kevin saddled up beside you, pulling you close once again.

“How many times I gotta say I’m not slumming it with you?”

“A million. “You shrugged. “I did have to lower my very high standards for-”

You words went unfinished as his lips found yours again.

You didn’t mind, thought. There’d be another undercover case sooner or later. You could tell him then how it was you who lucked out.

The End

[diavolosthots]

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 12

READ CHAPTER 11 HERE

Warnings: mentions of rape, non-con, kidnapping, usage of sleeping drugs

Pairing(s): Diavolo x F!reader, the brothers, lucifer x F!reader

Authors note: im fucking pissed at Solmare and Diavolo right now so I decided to continue this and give Diavolo some much deserved pain.

You hated him. You hated him so much. He was so confusing, too, which makes you feel even worse. One moment he’s ordering you around like the little puppy that he believes you are, and the next you’re in his arms and he’s comforting you. It messed with your emotions and your head and you didn’t know if you wanted more of it or to lock yourself away. At this rate, even Cerberus’ slobber was better than being tossed around like that, but you wouldn’t dare say that out loud because Diavolo would actually take you back down there if he was given the chance, no remorse or guilt evident. After last night, part of you even believed that he only did this for show, to gain your trust and then beat it back down. You hated how he felt, but you hated even more how much your body seemed to enjoy it. He wasn’t ugly to look at either, so seeing him on top of you, you couldn’t even be disgusted by it, not fully at least. “I’ll never love you!” You winced at the memory, feeling the sting from the slap he delivered right after your words. If only someone actually cared about that. 

Right now, your bed was empty and it reminded you on the first night you slept together with him, where he forced himself on you, and then left you alone in an unfamiliar room the next morning. You didn’t need to get up to know that the room door was locked, much like it had been the first night, but you did need to get up to try and wash yourself. You had long given up on the crying; tears only spurted him on and gave him a reason to further break you. Instead, you started to feel numb. The angels never came to save you, no matter how much you prayed to them, and you started to believe that God couldn’t give two flying feathers about you. Sadly, you couldn’t turn to the Devil in his absence. You didn’t even know where Diavolo was right now; at least in the beginning, he’d be so kind to tell you he was in his office or off with Barbatos somewhere, you know, anything. Should you know where he was right now? A good wife knows where her husband is, no? But then again, this wasn’t a normal marriage. 

You allowed yourself to fill up the bathtub with hot water and plenty of bubbles. Your legs ached, your abdomen ached, and you could feel his leftover cum drip from between your legs. Part of you didn’t care anymore, but another part was, thankfully, still disgusted by the action and rational enough to get in the tub to try and wash it off. If there was one thing that you thoroughly enjoyed about this castle, as silly as it sounds, it was this giant gold bathtub, that seemingly swallowed you up and let you hide beneath the bubbles. The hot water brought relaxation to your sore muscles and the bubbles just made you happy; just a little bit of happiness in a world God has long forgotten. “I’m sorry…” You apologized to yourself, washing over your body as gently as you could while still getting rid of anything he left on you the night before. You owed your body, your soul, yourself that apology… it helped you think straight. You also spoke it to Lucifer, silently, for lying to him, for leaving him, for not giving him the chance to help you, although you doubted that he truly could. 

“I accept your apology.” Your body immediately stiffened at his voice, but you refused to turn your head, keeping your hands moving by continuing to wash yourself. Diavolo, for whatever reason, was so certain that you’re just not broken enough yet to fully submit yourself to a husband, specifically him. That’s what last night was about, a struggle to prove his reign over you and sadly, momentarily, he had won. You didn’t speak back to him, keeping your eyes on your hands’ movements in hopes that he would soon get bored and leave again. What is it with him always barging in when you’re in the bathroom? “No Good Morning? Where are your manners?” He chuckled, although you knew better than to believe it, knowing that he was annoyed already. He positioned himself behind you, pinking up the sponge to clean over your back, but honestly you were just thankful that he didn’t try to join you in the bath. There was space between you right now, and although it was just the rim of the bathtub, and honestly not that much, it brought you some sort of comfort. 

“I won’t be here today,” then why is he? “I’m sure you enjoy that,” you do, “but Michael scheduled a meeting with me.” Michael? “You know of Michael, do you not?” Yes, but you don’t like the way this is going, “I’d love to have you there. As the Queen, My Queen, you should be there, but he insisted on it just being us,” what a bummer, “that’s why I’m sad to announce that you’ll be here for your day. I made sure to have Barbatos ready to comply with your every request and need, “ how wonderful. The shady butler. “I hope that’s to your liking.” You felt him move again, presumably standing back up, but his eyes were still on you, “can I at least have a good morning?” It almost seemed normal right there. Just a regular couple trying to make up after a regular couple’s fight, but this isn’t a regular couple thing, so you shook your head. Diavolo grew angry, but he opted for a sigh instead, reminding you, “this could all be easy on you, yet you choose to make it more difficult. I can’t keep giving you a warning and let you get away. Think about your actions before you force me to do something both of us will regret.” You hated the thought of something even worse happening, but you still didn’t dare look at him, only slightly turning your head instead. 

“Good morning… have a good day….” The words sounded forced, even a bit scared, but Diavolo smiled at them, ever so softly, and then he moved back closer again, turning your head a bit with his hand, forcing you to look up at him, “was that so hard?” Yes. He leaned in to kiss your head softly, not your lips, just a loving kiss to the forehead, that once again, almost felt too normal, too nice. “Have a good day as well.” He didn’t push it. He didn’t force anything else. He left it at that and then he left completely, leaving you alone in the bathtub, in the bathroom, in the castle, with only yourself as a companion. “Michael, huh…? Wonder if he ever heard my prayers…”

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

Lucifer waited. He waited a long time, asking Beel to go in first. Honestly the whole plan was absurd and he doubted he could pull it off on many occasions. Barbatos was everywhere and even with the spell he placed on himself and Leviathan, everyone else was in danger. Leviathan managed to spy out the castle by hacking into the cameras and they were incredibly lucky when they saw Diavolo leave, albeit by himself which meant that Barbatos was still inside and presumably watching your every move. That’s why they send Beel. He could easily disguise himself as wanting some of Barbatos’ food and Lucifer watched as the younger managed to slip inside the castle’s walls. Of course, none of the others were actually at the castle yet; that’d be too risky. They send Beel ahead while they watch from the safety of Levi’s computers, making sure everything goes according to plan. 

“What are you doing here, Beelzebub? Tea?” Beel nodded happily, holding his hand to grab the cup from Barbatos, quickly thinking of a fool proof reason. “I know you’re busy… but at the buffet, you know, during the wedding, you had these crab cakes…” “You want me to make you some, don’t you?” Beel blushed softly, nodding while taking a sip of his tea, “yes please… I can’t stop thinking about them. Everything you make is delicious, but I think that was my favorite.” Barbatos actually found himself smiling. Beel was always one of his favorite test tasters because although the demon liked everything, he still gave really good feedback. “Very well. I just delivered breakfast to the Queen so I have some free time before lunch. Perhaps she will enjoy them as well if we make her some.” Beel’s eyes seemed to sparkle and he quickly nodded, “you’ll let me help? May I come with you when you deliver them?” Barbatos eyes Beelzebub for a while, thinking about his request before walking over to the fridge to get the ingredients out, “yes and no. You can help me, but My Lord is currently not at home and thus I can’t allow anyone else near the Queen. You understand, don’t you?” It was a bummer, to say the least, but Beel knew that he actually couldn’t see you anyway. He’s supposed to keep Barbatos distracted. “You may write a note, though.” and that was all he needed. 

While Beel did his best to keep Barbatos occupied, Lucifer and the rest were on the move. Even Satan helped out willingly and Belphegor finally arose from his slumber to help Lucifer out with this. They all missed you more than you could imagine so teaming up for them was a no brainer. You meant a lot to all of them. “Oh this is so exciting!!” “You think we can sell her ring?” “We need to watch out for the guards outside.” Only the last one really mattered to Lucifer. Perks of having wings is that you could fly. Downside was that the brothers without wings had to be carried. He currently carried Leviathan and only because the third born had access to the cameras on his DDD. “I know a blindspot to the castle. None of the guards go there. The old King, Diavolo’s father, used to take his torture games back there and none of the guards particularly like it.” Levi nodded, turning his head to look up at Lucifer, “good good...you think this is a good idea?” Lucifer looked down at Levi, his face unreadable, “no, but I have to get her out of there.” 

It was hard to fly as a group and not get spotted but somehow, by some form of miracle, they managed to land on the castle’s roof, crawling around to find the balcony connected to Diavolo’s chambers, where he knew you’d be at. For once in a few millennia, he silently prayed that Beel is keeping Barbatos busy so they have enough time, “you’re good to go in…” Levi looked at him worriedly, and even Satan shot him a quick glance that held something more than disapproval. All of them were worried, not just for you, but also for Lucifer. One wrong move and he could get caught, and sadly, no matter how close Diavolo likes to pretend they are, this wouldn’t end well for him. “Thank you… I trust you have my back.” Lucifer knew he could rely on them. Whenever it came down to it, his brothers were loyal and protective, just as he is to them. With that in mind, and fear in his heart, he dared open the balcony windows. 

Immediately, a strong smell of your scent along with Diavolo’s entered his nostrils and he both loved and hated it. He missed you, a lot more than he allows himself to admit. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cloth, laced with drugs to keep you quiet and unconscious while he and his brothers do the rest. He hated doing this, truly, but he can’t risk doing anything wrong, not with this, not when it comes to you. Sounds are coming from the bathroom and for a moment he feared Diavolo was still around, but it was just your sweet voice he heard. His heart ached; he hated this. “I’m sorry, Darling…. Please forgive me…” he’s whispering to himself, finding the courage to make his way to the door and slowly open it. 

Steam from the bathroom along with your cent and the sight of your naked body met him and he’s quick to hold the cloth up to your nose. You struggled, obviously scared, but he wraps his arms tightly around you, “ssh… it’s okay.” “Lu!.....” the drugs worked quick and he silently thanked them for it, wrapping his coat around your naked body before draining the tub and turning off the light, trying to make it seem like you either did something dumb or left willingly. Lucifer couldn’t look at you too long, the pain bearing too much. So, he picked you up swiftly and flew out, motioning for the rest of his brothers to follow quickly after, leaving the balcony doors open. 

Lucifer knew that what he had just done was far beyond what Belphegor did, far beyond treason against the now King. This was life threatening, this was unimaginable suffering, but most of all,

this was a call for war.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by mathmaticalknight)

A lot of people underestimated Ceobe’s intelligence. It wasn’t their fault, per se - after all, as far as books went, the Perro was sitting firmly in the “why read?” camp - but it gave her an advantage when it came to certain things. For example, when Gummy was telling their new kitchen helper Jaye the code for the kitchen door, they didn’t expect her to know the numbers, or to have studied the guard rotation long enough to know that when the clock said 2125 there’d be no one watching it until 445, meaning she had a whole...lot of time to open cans and eat the delicious secrets inside of them. She wasn’t sure how many cans she’d find, so a lot of time to eat them was good, and as long as she didn’t eat too many at a time, they probably wouldn’t figure it out.

So, one night, at 2200, Ceobe slinked through the dark cafeteria and over to the kitchen entrance...but something was off: the door was propped open by a knife. Ceobe liked knives, so she picked it up as she headed inside- and found another person. “Eh?” She gasped as the door closed behind her.

“Eh?” Cutter replied as the door closed behind the kitchen’s second intruder. “Kay?”

“Cutter? You snuck in, too?” The Perro’s eyes were locked on the Vulpo’s.

She nodded. “The door was open, so I took my chance. Can I have my knife back?”

“Oh. Okay.” It was a nice knife, but it was Cutter’s, so she reluctantly returned it. “Are you cooking food?”

“I hope so. I found a recipe I wanted to make.” The Vulpo showed her a piece of paper; the words on it meant nothing to her, of course.

The picture of a honey cake, however, was plain as day. “Ooh. Honey cakes are my favorite...sometimes. We’ll see about yours.”

“You’ll try them for me?” The would-be chef felt a surge of confidence. “Alright, I’ll do my best. Thank you, Kay.”

“Sure! I’m gonna go open some cans.” With that, the Perro made her way to the pantry, giggling to herself. This was going to be a good night…

---------

About two and a half hours later, Ceobe emerged from the pantry mostly unchanged except for a few stains around her brightly-grinning mouth. “That was fun! I wonder if- Cutter?!”

“Mmmm...” The Vulpo was leaning against the counter, head in her hands. “Kay?...Sorry.”

“Sorry?” The Perro walked over to stand by her, and from her new vantage point she could easily see the problem: a pan of uncooked honey cakes broken on the counter.

The would-be chef sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I tried, but I broke it like last time, and I don’t have the money to pay for it right now...”

“Oh, Cutter...” Ceobe patted her on the back. “It’s okay.”

“But I only get to do this every few weeks, and I don’t get any better.”

The Perro looked at the door, then at the sad Vulpo, and knew what she could do. “I know the code for the door.”

“You do?” Cutter sniffled again before looking her in the eye. “You mean...”

“We’ll sneak in together; you can try cooking again, and I can open more delicious cans. It’s a win-win!”

Her friend smiled, but then she looked at her failed pan and sighed. “No, as much as I want to, I shouldn’t. I’ll keep breaking things, and I need money for food still.”

“You do?” That was the first Ceobe was hearing this. “I have a plastic rectangle for that.”

“They put your money on that card,” the Vulpo explained, feeling down again.

The can opener took out her food-card, looked at it carefully, and handed it to Cutter. “I can pay for what you break.”

“No, Kay, I can’t-” But she wasn’t given the choice, as the Perro grabbed her hand and put the card in it. “Kay, seriously-”

“If I can get cans from here, I don’t need to buy as much food. You use that money to learn to cook. Easy!” The smile on her face was hard to argue with.

But argue with it Cutter did as she put it on the counter. “No. I have to pay for what I break myself.”

“Hmm...Okay, then.” Ceobe took the tray, moved the uncooked biscuit dough back into the mixing bowl it’d come from, flipped it over so she could see the cracks, and nodded. “I’ll fix it.”

“You will? You can?”

The Perro pulled out one of her Really Hot Knives and slid it along the pan’s bottom; the cracked metal mended as the heat blended it back into one pan. When no cracks could be seen, the repair-woman blew on it to cool it down and nodded to herself. “All fixed.”

“Wow.” The Vulpo blinked. “How do I pay you back?”

“Make the honey cakes,” she replied, obviously.

Cutter nodded. “Okay, then. All I had to do was put the dough in the pan, and then put the pan in the oven. I can do this.”

“Mmhmm!” Ceobe hopped onto a stove behind her. “You can do it!”

“I can do it!” The would-be chef returned the dough to the pan, opened the oven door, and put the pan in. “Okay, now we wait.”

Her friend cocked her head. “We wait?”

“Mmhmm. The directions say we wait fifteen minutes while it cooks.” The Vulpo leaned against the stove Ceobe was sitting on...and accidentally turned on the burner beneath her.

“Ah!” The Perro hopped to the floor, swatting the dial to turn it back off. “Hot!”

Cutter cringed. “Sorry. That didn’t hurt too much, did it?”

“No, it was just hot. I’m fine.”

“Good.” She sighed. “You’re not mad?”

Ceobe shook her head. “I get burned watching Vulcan all the time. It’s fine!”

“Okay.” Now fully out of words to say, the chef settled against the stove - away from the dials this time - to wait for the fifteen minutes to pass.

“...Fifteen minutes, like, big one and little five?” Her friend nodded. “Oh. What are we gonna do now?”

The Vulpo shrugged. “Wait?”

“That’s kinda boring, though.” The Perro started looking around the room for something to keep her interest, eventually landing on the knives Cutter had with her.

“Hmm?” She followed Ceobe’s gaze. “You want to look at my knives?”

The weapon hoarder nodded. “They look cool. I wanna know their story.”

“Oh. I can tell you that.”

“Yes and no.” She pointed at the bandolier. “Not the same way.”

That didn’t make a lot of sense, but the chef wasn’t exactly straightforward herself. She handed her friend a knife. “Here you go.”

“Thank y-” Within seconds of touching it, Ceobe was no longer on the same plane of existence.

“Kay?” On the outside, it was like she’d just frozen in place. “You okay?”

The Perro shook herself back to reality a few seconds later. “Cutter?”

“Yeah?” The Vulpo was watching her closely, making sure she was okay.

“Um...” She set the knife on the counter and wrapped her arms around the mercenary. “It’s okay.”

Cutter blinked a few times. “Kay, I-”

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Ceobe started stroking her hair gently.

“...Okay.” Not that she was feeling bad about anything at the moment, but as it turned out, her friend was nice to hug.

About fifteen minutes later, the air sufficiently awkward from all that’d happened that evening, the biscuits were baked and cool enough to eat. The Vulpo handed the Perro a kitchen knife, since her own knives seemed to trigger something. “Here. You can cut them.”

“Sure.” She slashed the knife through, cutting the biscuit block into two equal triangles, then again the opposite way to make them easier to pick up. “Two for each of us.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Cutter admitted.

The taster shook her head. “You should try one still.”

“Alright.” The chef picked one up and took a bite. “...Hmm.”

“Does it taste good?”

The Vulpo shrugged. “I don’t know; I don’t have taste buds.”

“Oh.” Ceobe hadn’t heard of someone not being able to taste. Well, it looked like she’d have to figure it out. “...These aren’t honey cakes, but they’re good.”

“They are?” Cutter sighed in relief.

The Perro nodded. “Yup, they’re good. Let’s take them home.”

“You can have them.” The chef put the other dishes in the sink. “I can’t taste them, after all.”

“Okay...” Her ears drooped as she picked up the tray and walked towards the door.

No, she couldn’t let her leave sad like that. “Kay? What’s wrong?”

“I want to go home with you.” The Perro pointed at the clock. “Vulcan won’t let me back in this late.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Let’s go.” Cutter hit the ‘wash’ button on the sink and walked towards the door.

Ceobe smiled. “Yay. Thank you, Cuddler.”

“Cutter.” The Vulpo chuckled. “I’m not a good cuddler.”

“That’s okay. Vulcan says I am.”

...The now-chef wasn’t sure what to do with that information entirely, but she suspected her friend would help her figure it out once they were back at her room.

[dolls-self-ships]

One Thing You Can Taste

synopsis: Hades and Kassandra go on their first official date, but Hades is acting a bit different than usual. Almost like he’s.. *gasp* nervous. You heard it here folks, the big bad god of the underworld is nervous for a date.

ship: pomegranate seeds 🥀 (hades/kasssandra)

(fluff, flirting, a kiss happens, yea)

It wasn’t the ritziest place in Athens, but it was quite a nice restaurant. Kassandra had insisted that Hades didn’t blow too much on what was essentially their first official date. Sure they knew each other and had… something going on, but this was their first actual outing together. And so far, Kassandra had been doing most of the actual, well, dating.

“And then I said-“ Kassandra said through laughter, stopping when she noticed Hades still sitting rather stiffly, which was wildly out of character for his usual relaxed and flow-y self. She looked him up and down with concern. “-hey, you’re usually talking my ear off, I’ve been doing all the work since we got here. Where’s the sarcasm, the witty jokes you always have, what’s up?”

Hades blinked. “Me? Oh uh.. nothin’ nothin’ just.. uh..”

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? With me? Pfttt nooo ‘course not! I.. I..” Hades waved a hand, attempting to mask his embarrassment.

Kassandra raised a brow, clearly not buying his facade no matter how much he tried to brush it off. Hades saw this and sighed, his shoulders slopping in defeat.

“Okay.. uh.. l-look-“ he rested his elbows on the table, making a gesture with his hands. “-Iiii haven’t been on a real date.. in.. a while. Y’know I got the Underworld to run and I got all these plans for Olympus and well you get the jist” he fastly explained, trying to mask his nerves with a cool smile. “I’m uh.. heh, I’m a busy guy you know?”

The princess cheekily smiled, feeling like for once she had the upper hand. “So.. you’re nervous?”

A moment of anxiety struck him, with it clearly showing on his face until the god (what he thought was smoothly) attempted to recover but putting on a faux grin. Hades felt he couldn’t admit such a thing, he was a god, gods don’t get nervous. “Nervous? Aheh- well- ah-I-I don’t know about nervous maybe.. maybe outta practice sure but..”Hades trailed off, knowing his desperate clambering to keep his cool was not holding up, the princess saw right through him.

“Alright” he sighed out “you got me red-handed- or y’know I guess blue-handed”

Kassandra giggled, making Hades’s dead heart resurrect itself. “It’s okay.. I’m nervous too.. how would you rate yours? Like.. on a scale of one to ten?”

“Huh?”

“Just answer”

“Okay um… 7….” Hades looked between Kassandra and the floor “and a half”

Kassandra stifled a chuckle, tossing her hair back and leaning forward closer to Hades, looking up at him through her lashes (and simultaneously inciting a tingling feeling throughout the god’s chest and stomach). She really had no idea, because he’d never let her see it, but the princess had the Lord of the Dead himself wrapped around her little mortal finger.

“Alright, we’re gonna do this together. I want you to look around the room and just.. name 5 things you can see.”

Hades was about to ask why, but then realized this was his chance to swoop in and return to being his suave and savvy self. Pretending to look frazzled by glancing around and tapping his chin, he rambled on “oh uh.. gee I don’t know babe, that might be hard since the only thing I’m seeing in this joint right now is you aheh~” he slyly returned his glance to her, with one elbow on the table and the other resting on his hip, complete with his usual cheesy grin.

Kassandra tried to hold back the flustered and giddy feeling he gave her, but her reddened cheeks gave her away. “Hades, I’m serious.” She smirked.

Hades chuckled, putting his hands up in defence. “Alright alright alright” he mumbled “let’s see.. huh..” he glanced up, spotting a somewhat humorous sight from over Kassandras shoulder.

“That waiter guy’s got a paper straw stuck in his back collar” He pointed over to the scrawny young guy waiting tables, prompting Kassandra to glance over her shoulder and look. A snort escaped her throat.

“Should we tell him?”

Hades shrugged. “Nahhh he’ll figure it out. Or hey be stuck with it the rest of the night, who knows”

Kassandra put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Okay, 4 more things, and they don’t.. have to be interesting by the way.”

Hades dipped his head in acknowledgment, scanning the room and pointing at really the first of anything he saw. “Hmmm alright, empty table, chairs… uh… artwork with a very suspicious stain on it, aandddd…” he drummed on the table, turning his head to the table. “Ah, menu. Boom, done, easy.”

Kassandra nodded. “Alright, good. Now list 4 things you can touch.”

Hades leaned back, still confused as to what exactly they were doing. “What is this what are we doing here, is this some sort of game orrr”

She shook her head. “Nope, not a game, just… something I do when I’m feeling a little on edge. Come on, let’s finish this. 4 more senses to go.”

Deciding to go with the flow on this one, even though he really didn’t see or understand how listing things that exist would help, he trusted Kass with this sort of thing.. you know.. feelings. They weren’t his bag but hers? She had the whole suitcase.

“Okayyy uhh.. 4 things I can…?”

“Touch.”

“Touch? Oh, well…” Hades’s expression quickly went from cutely confused to suitably sleazy as he slipped his hand underneath Kassandras’s, taking it while refusing to break eye contact with her. “there’s your… smooth skin” he drawled, using one finger to draw little patterns on her wrist and lower arm while gazing at the princess through hooded eyes. Hades then kissed the back of her hand for 3 looooong seconds before pulling back to see the princess’s pale skin glowing more and more red, which he thought was adorable. Hades casually leaned his arm on the table, taking a lock of Kassandras chestnut hair with his free hand, twirling one of the wispy strands around his finger. “your… soft hair hehehe”

Kassandra felt her breathing become short and her heart rate slowly start to pick up. She wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but she was a little embarrassed as they were kind of out in the open for anyone to see. And if her mother taught her anything, it was that getting all nice and cozy with someone in public was very unladylike.

“Hades, we’re in public.” She whispered, trying to sound stern but it just came out more coquettish than anything.

Hades’s hands retreated, next time, he hold himself as he tried to play it off smoothly. “Alright alright, um..” he let his hands rest on the table and started to feel around, gliding his palms over the smooth surface. “Oh this is some nice wood really smooth what is this mahogany? nice huh?”

Kassandra lifted her hand to feel the smooth surface, finding herself amused by how dramatically he was trying to hype up a table. But that’s just how he was, always trying to ‘sell’ something. “Mhm” she softly agreed. “Okay, one more thing.”

Hades sighed, leaning back trying to think of something. That’s when it hit him. “The chair.”

Kassandra smiled. “Perfect! Alright, what are 3 things you can… hear?”

Hades hummed, looking at the ceiling. “Well… there’s that loud fan that’s been kinda buzzing in my ear this whole time.” He and Kassandra let out a breathy chuckle after he said that.

“And all the people talking in this place is hard to miss dont cha think?”

The woman nodded, briefly glancing at said people before turning back to him. “Aaaanything else?? Just one more thing.”

“Hm.. well, just a second ago my ears were graced with the sound of your sweet sweet voice~”

Kassandra caved, letting out a girlish giggle as her head dipped. She was unable to contain the amount of butterflies he invoked in her. “Okay Romeo, who gave you professional smooth-talker lessons?”

Hades clicked his fingers, shooting her finger guns. “Years of practice, doll face.”

“mhmhm~ what are 2 things you can smell?”

Hades sat up straight, dramatically taking a deep inhale of the air around them. “Oh, mm, that’s a lot of ambrosia someone ordered. Might have to go over there, hah.” he sounded enticed, briefly thinking about how it would taste, which would be delicious as per usual.

Kassandra giggled, gods he was too much. She loved it.

Hades’s yellow-ish eyes trailed back to her, a softer grin curling on his face. “And your perfume.. mmm what is that that is just.. intoxicating~” he made a wafting motion with his hand, as if impersonating a wine taster.

Kassandra laughed, which for Hades, meant mission accomplished. He could listen to that laugh all day, all eternity even. It was like a warm symphony of sirens that rang in his ears.

“Okay.. last one.” She leaned forward, as if getting him ready for the news of his life.

“Hit me babe~”

“Mhm~ this ones tricky, but, what’s one thing you can taste?”

Taste. That one was tricky, they haven’t even gotten their food yet. However…. Hades got an idea.

“Taste huh?”

Kassandra nodded. A small gasp escaped her throat once she felt Hades’s hand slip up to cradle one side of her face. Her eyes darted back and forth between his hand and him.

“I could eh.. think of something..” Hades mumbled with a grin that was half dazed and half flirtatious. His words slipped away from him, too fixated on the princess’s full and.. smooth lips to concentrate on anything quick or witty to say like he usual did.

Kassandra was too breathless for words herself, she could feel her chest tighten as she glanced up and down Hades’s face, gods, he was handsome. Her eyes fluttered as they both leaned in slowly, and for a moment, the room felt quiet. Like they were the only two people there. And once their lips touched, oh, it was like fireworks had went off inside of both of them. Hades was sure he had melted the chair and some parts of the table at least a little by now. The kiss lasted for about 5 seconds before they both pulled away, a small squish noise emitting from both their lips as they separated. Hades missed the sweet taste of her lips already, and he couldn’t wait till later tonight when he could (hopefully) get another.

“Mm..” Hades moaned as if he had just a gourmet meal. “cherry, nnnnice~”

Kassandra, still a little flustered and dazed from the kiss, tilted her head. “Hm?”

“Your lipgloss”

Kassandra’s eyes widened as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. “Oh! Ha! Right. Um… of course…” she breathlessly chuckled as she adjusted herself in her seat, trying to sit up right once again.

Just in time for her, but less ideal for Hades, a posh sounding voice interrupted them.

“So sorry but, has this table been helped yet?”

Quickly, the princess began stammering, haphazardly looking between her date and the waiter that definitely just saw them almost make out in the middle of the restaurant.

And what would you know, it was the waiter with the paper straw in his collar.

“Ah,, y-yes, We’-we’re just waiting.” Kassandra declared politely, trying to mask her slight disappointment that their moment was now kind of ruined as she cleared her throat and looked at her lap, then back up at Hades.

The waiter smiled, “ah, very good.” And nodded before taking off.

Hades, despite his current gripes with that boy in particular for interrupting their little moment, stopped him in his tracks.

“Uh, hey! Kid, you uh.. got somethin stuck in your collar there.” Hades gestured with his fingers to his back, hoping that would get the message across.

The waiter hummed and reached behind him, pulling out the straw that had been stuck there. “Oh, uh, thank you, sir! That’s.. ha- embarrassing.” The now blushing waiter stammered, attempting to exit cooly with the straw still in his hand.

Hades chuckled. “You think he woulda felt that huh?”

Kassandra turned back to him, shrugging. “Yeah… I guess he was just too busy to notice.”

Hades nodded, turning his head and mumbling “not too busy to interrupt us though that’s for sure”

Kassandra gave him a look, to which Hades grinned with faux innocence, acting as if he had done nothing wrong. “Whaaat?”

“Hades, be nice.” She half-jokingly scolded him, if he was gonna be around her he’d have to get used to the whole ‘being kind to people’ thing. Again, no bag, her suitcase.

“Heyyyy I’m a saint! a cherub even” he innocently batted his eyes with a grin in likeness, hoping that’d get him to cute his way out of her disappointment.

And oh, it did, works like a charm every time. A melodic giggle escaped Kassandras throat.

A second of silence passed. “So… Wh-what was the point of that whole… senses thing we just did?” Hades asked with boyish curiosity.

Kassandra perked up, quite happy he actually seemed interested to know. “Oh, uh, it’s just an anxiety thing. I learnt about it in my years working with a doctor and phycologist, Hypocrities, he was hired by my mother for the kingdom at the time… do you know him?”

Hades’s eyebrows knitted together, remembering the time that doctor started curing actual dead people in his domain. DEAD PEOPLE. Ohh he knew him alright. “Yeah, yeah I’ve heard of the guy.”

Kassandra nodded. “It’s supposed to just.. remind yourself that you’re here, like, grounding.”

“Huh”

“So how do you feel now?”

Hades blinked, looking into the earnest eyes of the princess. He felt himself melting inside, his lips slipped into a rare, genuine smile. “Good, I.. I feel good.”

Kassandra beamed, happy to see he was feeling better now. “Great! I’m glad” her tone was so sweet it was like she actually spoke with little hearts at the end of her sentence.

Hades could tell this was gonna be a good first date.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Life of the Party

This is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written and it still involves a swingers’ party. But seriously, other than the setting, this whole thing is just humor and boy-meets-girl cuteness. 

Pairing: Adam Cole x reader

Word count: 2,117

Content advisory: nothing beyond the setting

“Could you please stop acting so uptight?” Jeanie asks, poking you hard in the ribs. “You said you wanted to try it.”

Yes, you have to admit, you did say that you wanted to try it. Jeanie had been sharing her stories with you and Ellen about going to the swinger parties hosted by a physiotherapist who regularly attended Jeanie’s yoga classes and her husband, and a month ago, she’d finally persuaded Ellen to come along to one. Ellen had been so impressed that she’d talked about it for a week nonstop and you finally had to concede that, yes, you were curious and that you did want to come along the next time there was an opportunity. And you had wanted to come along. You wanted to get into the spirit of liberation and exploration that these nights offered. But here you were, walking into a party with a very select guest list and all you could think of to do was make wisecracks. 

Jeanie and Ellen were both insistent that you keep your mind open, to which you responded that you couldn’t keep your mind and legs open at the same time, which got a chortle but also a withering look from both of them. Your inclination was to separate from the crowd with them and to pass the night making catty comments. They, however, preferred to circulate and see who might be interested and what they might be interested in. Normally, sarcasm and irony were the weapons you used to prevent yourself from feeling vulnerable. But normally, your friends would be right beside you. Tonight, they weren’t so interested in smart remarks and were more interested in seeing what kind of adventure they could find. It was almost like disinterestedly scanning through Tinder and getting frustrated by playing eye contact games with guys in bars wasn’t enough for them anymore. 

It took exactly 38 minutes for you to completely lose your sense of ironic invincibility. You know this because you’ve been able to time it on your phone. In those first minutes, you were joking with Jeanie and Ellen, then they chose to migrate into the crowd and started chatting with a few people. Then you’d just chilled on your own and thought it was funny how everyone else seemed to be trying to hook up with someone. Then it had occurred to you that everyone else was hooking up with someone, almost as if being open about what they wanted was something that wasn’t a source of humiliation for them the way it was for you. Then you’d realized that you were standing by yourself, protected by an impenetrable wall of sarcasm, completely isolated while everyone around you was getting laid. 

You’d sure showed them. You alone had discovered the secret to not having sex at a party the point of which was to make sure that everyone had all the sex they wanted. Lucky for you that the guests were so distracted that it was easy to just steal alcohol from the refrigerator. It was like you were doing the hosts a favor, making sure that the supplies they laid in didn’t go to waste. There were little hors d’oeuvres on trays catered from a company whose treats didn’t come cheap, so you grabbed plate full of those too and retired to the back patio to feel awkward and superior and incredibly envious that there were people who could just approach other human beings and tell them they wanted to have sex with them and get it. 

This goes fine for about fifteen minutes, or two full glasses of wine and about half the plate of exquisite mini pastries and vegetable art, at which point another solitary figure slinks out onto the patio with you. There is immediately a dirigible of silence between you, swollen with mutual desire, the desire to be left alone and to have no one notice you. On the other hand, it is also fueled by the awareness that the two of you are the party’s resident weirdos and that social convention demands that you try to forge some kind of connection so that you can eventually make eye contact and fall in love or something. It’s you who gives in first. 

“Miniature sausage?”

The tumescent blimp of tension between you deflates as the man looks up with a combination of defensiveness and hostility. 

You press the still half-eaten plate towards him. “They ordered these individual mini sausages with gourmet ingredients and everything. There’s like four different kinds and they all look like they’re made by hand. I mean, I can’t imagine they found a machine that could make them this size.”

He’s still giving you a bit of a suspicious look, scanning you for any sign that you’re mocking him but gradually he drags his chair a little closer to observe the food you’re proffering. He snatches up a tiny deconstructed spanakopita-type-thing that crumbles in an avalanche of phyllo crumbs over his dark shirt when he tries to take a bite. 

“Those are a bit tricky,” you commiserate. 

“So, you’re the… official taster?” he kids, obviously trying to project a bit of cool as he brushes himself more or less clean. 

“Sure, we can go with that.” You once again extend the plate to let him try something else and, after allowing his hand to hover a moment, he takes one of the perfect little sausages. 

“Ok,” he says, nodding, “you have a point. These are pretty awesome.”

You resist the urge to say ‘I told you so’ by pushing one of the salmon-lemongrass wraps into your mouth. 

“You prefer fish?” he grins. 

“I just like to eat.”

He laughs a little and, as ridiculously clichéd as it is, you bat your eyelashes because now that you’re able to get a better look at him, you feel your thighs inadvertently press together. He is really good looking. His light brown hair is drawn back into a loose chignon, and he has that perfected, give-a-shit scruff you’ve seen in musicians and you hope to god that he’s not one of those because they’re always such cocky assholes. But what really draws you in are the bright, sparkling, mischievous blue eyes. You can’t stop staring at them and into them, imaging what they’d look like sparked with lust and… you realize it’s been an inappropriately long time since either of you has said anything. 

He takes your last oyster, the bastard, and tips the shell against his mouth, allowing the flesh to slide through his lips and over his tongue that flashes out for just a second to capture the drops of briny liquor. The change in his expression shows that he’s definitely caught you looking in a way that’s entirely appropriate to the party inside. 

“So why aren’t you enjoying the main course?” you ask, trying not to be quite so obvious and hitching your head in the direction of the house. 

“I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing here,” he sighs. “I was with my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend now, for seven years. Two weeks ago I came home from a tour a day early and I run into her with her movers clearing all her stuff out of our condo. Braden’s my nutritionist and told me he and Sheryl were having this party and he thought it might be a good chance for me to shake off some of the… well, you know. Seven years with the same girl and now I’m single.”

Everything after “home from a tour” is a sort of verbal soup to you. A tour. He is a musician. Oh no. 

“What about you?” he asks. “How did you end up on Fuck Island?”

“My friend Jeanie is Sheryl’s yoga instructor,” you squeak, wishing very much to leave it at that. He gives you a pointed stare and a smile that seems to light up the entire yard and so, feeling more than a little self-conscious, you continue, “My husband left me about a year ago and I haven’t been… well, I haven’t dated anyone since then and Jeanie figured that this might be a good opportunity to get back in the saddle.”

He gives you another big smile and you think, or at least hope, that there’s a bit of a flirtatious glint in his eye. “I didn’t know they had a saddle too.”

It’s a silly joke but it does make you laugh and that makes you feel a little less awkward that you basically told a complete stranger that you got your ass dumped and hadn’t had sex since. Still, you’re eager to move on. 

“So you’re a musician?”

“What? Oh, because I was on tour. No, I’m a professional wrestler.”

And that, you think, might be worse than a musician, because it’s sort of like being a jock version of a rock star, right? All of the testosterone and none of the creativity? 

“What do you do?” he asks, pleasantly enough. 

“I’m the curator at the A.E. Backus Gallery.”

His dazzling eyes widen. “Wow…” he stammers, “Art.”

You giggle and pour yourself another glass of wine. “Wow… Wrestling.”

He leans in and takes the bottle from you, gulping directly from it as he leans back into his chair. “I’m not really arty.”

“Not at all?”

“Does videogame art count?”

“It can,” you answer, pushing a note of gentle humor into your voice. 

“Well then I guess I’m a bit of a collector. Maybe you can sell me something.” He hitches his eyebrows a little and it is endearing. 

“I didn’t know wrestling paid so well.”

“It does when you’re as good at it as I am,” he grins, taking another long swig from the wine bottle. 

His arm is slowly moving towards you and you’ve leaned forward so that you’re at once helping to close the distance between you and giving him a nice view of the tops of your breasts, something which does not appear to go unappreciated. Feeling a little cheeky, you take a big drink from your wine glass and allow a drop to fall from your lips. As you were hoping, he reaches over and brushes it away with his thumb. His eyes are definitely more intense, more curious and threaded with a hint of lust and they are every bit as thrilling as you thought they would be. 

“I’m Adam,” he whispers. 

“Eva,” you tell him, and you both laugh a little at that. 

“So I guess we really should be naked.”

“Or if we felt self-conscious, I think that one of the hors d’oeuvres has some minced grape or fig leaves.”

“Are you suggesting that I would be able to cover myself with just a tiny sausage?”

You laugh again and blush because his hand is still resting against your face, stroking your cheek ever so softly. 

His eyes flicker towards the house and he struggles for a minute to form words, his jaw twitching a little with the effort. And as much as you feel yourself growing damp at the idea of being with him, the idea of doing so in a sauna of sex mist is not working for you. 

“I cannot tell you,” he begins finally, waving a hand towards the indoors, “how uncomfortable I am with this whole thing.”

“Oh,” you exhale in sweet relief, “you don’t need to tell me because I just… This is not my scene. No judgment but this just isn’t going to work as a way of getting back out there.”

He gives you a wink. “Eva, would you like to go somewhere and not have sex with me for a bit?”

You look down at what you’re wearing, dismayed. “I’m basically wearing lingerie.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I feel naked.”

“It’s ok,” he assures you. “I know an amazing place to get drive through. You know. If that’s something art gallery girls can get into.”

“I can get into that.”

He stands and offers you his arm, the muscle flexing a little as he helps you up and sending an electric shiver through your core. Toned and firm but not the bulked-up, steroid-ridden balloon you would have imagined all pro wrestlers to possess. You bite your lip and he definitely notices, edging just a little closer to you,

“I really hope no one’s fucking in my car,” he says wistfully. 

“I’m so glad I came here in a cab.”

The two of you share a conspiratorial glance as you pick your way down the driveway and onto the street towards his hopefully unoccupied car. No sex for a bit, you tell yourself, but maybe not too long of a bit.

[platinumnib]

Meet the Wessels

Prompt by @musikfurfreiheit: Charmer, Merel meets Charlotte’s parents for the first time. Very long overdue, I’m sorry, I’ve been busy and caught up in various obligations and obsessions. 

Hope you enjoy.

“Just one more time, why are we in your parents’ house in secret making dinner for them?”

“It’s a nice surprise for christmas, isn’t it?”

“They think we’re two countries over snowboarding.”

“That’s why it’s called a surprise.”

“Why do I have to be here then?”

Charlotte waltzed towards her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Cooking alone for five is boring.”

Merel cocked her brow, unconvinced.

“They know we’re together, sweetheart,” Charlotte reminded her. “It’s not like you broke in to rob their liquor cabinet. We’ve cooked enough food to sway them anyhow.”

“You’re paying tribute in meat so they won’t shoot me, that’s comforting.”

“It’s a joke, you donut, go set the table!”

With a sigh of resignation, Merel went into the dining room and searched the cupboards for the “good” china. five people were more than she had ever set a table for, but even through all the apprehension, the idea was pleasant. The idea of family gathered around a meal to celebrate nothing in particular beyond having each other.

Charlotte heard the clatter of broken glass. She hurried to the dining room to find Merel standing unsteadily above a puddle full of shards.

“I’m sorry, I… I heard a car in the driveway,” she stuttered.

“I’ll take care of the breakables,” Charlotte directed, “you don’t touch anything that’s not squishy.”

In moments, the mess was cleaned up, the dinner table was set, and Charlotte disappeared into the kitchen again.

Merel was close behind, wrenching her hands and worrying at her bottom lip.

“Charlie, this isn’t a good idea, they’re gonna hate me, and they’ll yell and everything will be a big-”

Before she knew it, Charlotte was holding her close and shushing her like a child. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” she said.

“You always say that,” Merel groaned, hiding her fearful expression in the red hair. 

Charlotte tightened the embrace and hummed in her lover’s ear.

“I’ve been right so far, haven’t I?”

“Yeah…” 

“Don’t worry. This is my family, and you’re going to be part of it.”

Merel unwound a little and nodded. Eventually, she let go.

Charlotte put on a pair of mitts and slowly, carefully withdrew the centerpiece of the feast-to-be from the oven. It was a thing of beauty: a roast ham studded with cloves, glazed with honey, baked for a century or so it had felt.

Her squeamishness wouldn’t allow her to handle a full carcass, and so they had foregone the customary goose or hare, but the old guard would surely understand. Merel had served as the reluctant taster - less and less reluctant the more she had sampled.

Fragrant steam filled the kitchen with heady smells of herbs and cooking juices. With great effort, the ham was laid in the largest dish they could find on a bed of roasted vegetables. 

Just then, the bell rang.

“Come on, time to meet the gang.”

“Umm you - you go,” Merel stuttered. “I’ll be right out. In a minute…”

Perhaps it wasn’t the worst idea to give her a few moments to compose herself.

“I’ll go say hi, take your time and get ready for first contact, alright?”

Merel just leaned back against the worktop and listened closely as if for the sound of a gun cocking. It was all ridiculous, even for her scaredy cat self, and yet the visceral anguish that grabbed at her guts and twisted them into a knot was not going away.

The key turned in the lock, some cheerful greetings and pleasantries were exchanged on the other side of the wall and the surprise was taken well as far as she could tell.

Then, a stentorian voice shook every wall in the house.

“So where is this daughter in law of mine?”

Merel gulped, mechanically removed her stained apron, and walked out of the kitchen to meet her fate.

*** *** ***

“How many strays?”

“Thirty-one, in one winter’s time!” Merel chirped “You just can’t leave them on the streets when it gets this cold, you know.”

Charlotte’s sister nodded attentively as she sampled the baked potatoes.

“See, mom,” she said, thoughtful, “that’s what we should do. There’s enough room in here for a whole flock of cats.”

Mrs. Wessels rolled her eyes.

“What is this thing with you young women herding every animal you can find?”

Charlotte chimed in with a solemn “It’s a gay thing, mom” between two draughts of beer.

“I’m not gay!” her sister protested.

“Right, you’re the one who paid attention at Sunday school. I doodled.”

Hanneke sipped at her wine.

“Mmm, red, round and fruity,” she mused, “just like my sister!”

Charlotte snorted, too pleasantly full of good fare and drink to pursue retaliation.

“The future of the family, over here! She’s going to make all those grandchildren you go on about, papa.”

He chuckled.

“I wouldn’t dare discuss the matter surrounded by able-bodied women with knives in their hands.”

He did not, however, refrain from voicing his approval of the ham and various sides. It was so exquisite by her parents’ consideration Charlotte almost lamented that she couldn’t partake, but her vegan tart - mushrooms, chestnut and cranberries - had turned out lovely as well.

She reached across the table, clumsily looking for a frail hand with gnawed nails.

Merel looked up in disconcertment.

“Charlie?”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

An impish glint was in Charlotte’s narrow eyes.

“Told me?”

Told me what? It came back to her soon enough. And she smiled when it did.

“You were right,” she said. “Again.”

A kiss seemed to be in order, but they refrained for the parents’ sake. Charlotte couldn’t trust her tipsy self to keep it modest.

They shared a tender look, patient and heavy with understanding.

A kiss could wait for a more private setting, and so could many other things.

[elven-wine-lover]

The Taming of Thorns - Chapter 2

Pairing: Raymond de Merville / OFC 

Warnings: None as of yet. YET. (insert maniac laugh). 

Enjoy (hopefully)! Feedback is always welcome. :)  Read it on Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13410333/chapters/30881019 

In retrospect, I was foolish and careless. I was determined not to let the invaders ruin our harvest feast, so I made a promise to myself to pretend as if they weren’t there. Not listening to the whispered warnings not to dance so exuberantly, to talk less heartily with the village men.

Nonsense, I told myself. I had always danced, not well but enthusiastically, and I had always talked to everyone openly, be they man or woman. We were in Blackwater, not in the royal courts of distant lands. For most of the evening and long into the night, I actually thought I had gotten away with it.

That changed when I went into the city hall’s storage room for more ale. I should not have gone alone.  

“How suitable your name is, after all.”

I stopped abruptly. I did not like how he made me feel, how his voice could tempt me to believe he was more than just a violent brute. “What?”

His hand on my cheek, travelling down to my throat. “Intoxicating.”

I flinched back, out of Raymond’s reach. He scared me, no matter how hard I tried not to let it show. Too tall, too broad, too violent and harsh. He didn’t belong here and I wanted him gone, but at the same time the knowledge he never would go away easily twisted the knife in my side.

“Your uncle clearly failed in his duties.”

“What? He took good care of Ella and me when our father went to the Holy Land,” I replied indignantly. It was true, more or less – Thomas may not be a great man, but he was not a monster and he had tried to do well. I could not ask for more under the circumstances.

Either way, I was in no mood to have this discussion now, or any day, not with him. I clutched the small barrel of ale tightly in my hands. How had he even gotten here without me hearing him approach? I had not seen him throughout the evening, had dared to hope he did not care for “pagan” feasts. Had he been sitting, watching in the shadows this whole time?  

“He did not get you a husband,” Raymond replied coolly, his eyes on my breasts, my hips. “You are clearly ripe for one.”

He wasn’t the first to make such a remark. Though he was the first one to phrase it so bluntly, so salaciously. “That is for me decide, nobody else,” I muttered. Certainly not by him.  

Suddenly, my wrists were in his grip, the barrel in my arms that had served as a shield crashing to the floor and my body forced to arch against his. “Did you think,” he seethed, “I allowed your pretty sister to be off the hook without some form of recompense?”

No, not like this. I struggled against his hold, trying not to think of the tales I had heard. Of what men could do to women. I did not dare imagine what a man like Raymond could do to a woman like me; any woman, to tell the truth. “My sister was never yours to take in the first place!” I spat and pushed him away with all the strength I could muster. “Neither am I. We are not toys for you to pick up when you like and discard when you’re done with them. Perhaps your French women like it that way – I, for one, do not.”

He looked almost amused as he glared at me. “Wake up, sweetling. The world does not play by your would-be rules. The strongest win, and they take what they will,” he growled. His fingers were tightly woven into my hair, leaving me without leeway to flee. He was no more sober than I was, but the lucidity he displayed nonetheless made him even more terrifying.

“Then why haven’t you taken Jerusalem yet?” I whispered. I cried out when he released me so suddenly I stumbled.

“How could a heathen ever understand?”

“Do you?” I challenged. “Do you even understand? Your compatriots may be devout Christians, but I fail to see the same fervour in you.” My fate was already sealed; it was tied to this man for as long as he remained in Blackwater. I had apparently piqued his interest, for whatever reasons. Why should I not say what was on my mind? There were few things he could do to me that were worse than what I was already living through. Rather he brutalised me than my sister. That was my only goal now: Keep Ella away from them, keep her safe.  

“I have given enough for God,” he seethed. “I certainly don’t need to be lectured by a heathen girl like you.”

“I didn’t invite you to follow me,” I growled.

He looked at me again, and it reminded me of a wolf who had caught sight of delectable prey. “Oh, but you did, Maeve.” Suddenly he was too close to me again, one hand on my hip while the other took my chin firmly and forced me to look up at him. “The way you danced tonight… made it all too clear you wanted this.”

“What?” My exclamation was close to a screech. I pushed hard against his chest, managing to at least get a breath of distance between us. “I dance how I please, not to please others. Let alone to invite… to invite this!” What did he think I was? Desperate? Property? Shameless? All of it?

“Maeve?”

I used Raymond’s split second of distraction to break free from his hold, just as William came in. Frowning at the scene before him, he slowly asked: “I just wanted to see… if you’re okay? We’re getting thirsty out there.”

Dear, sweet Will. He would never stand a chance against Raymond, but in this moment, he was the saviour I needed. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. “Sorry, Will – I got interrupted,” I added sharply as I picked up the ale and followed William out before the situation could escalate.

Back at the fire, I released the breath I had been holding. But I could not shake the feeling of Raymond’s gaze, his hands upon me. They haunted me even as I lay in bed.

#

For days, I dreaded leaving the house just for fear of seeing him, being alone with him. When nothing happened, I relaxed and went about my usual business.

Foolish, again. I had forfeited every right to call myself independent and smart. It took all of three days for the summons to come to our house. Asking – demanding – me to visit him. Supposedly because of the way I handled the distribution of corn. I suspected other motives.

“You wanted to see me?” I said tensely. Why was I asked, commanded, to be here? I was not the leader of this town. Politically or elsewise, I had nothing to offer. Certainly Raymond de Merville cared nothing for corn.

“Yes. Sit.”

I could have rebelled, could have refused. I decided to save my energy.

“Tell me about this town.”

I blinked in confusion. He sounded calm, almost interested. As if he had not forcefully made Blackwater his home and stationed his army of brutes outside our doorstep. “There is nothing to tell. It is a town, like so many others.” I would not spy for him, if that was what he was after.

“Certainly there is more to it.” That dangerous edge had returned to his voice, hidden by the deep baritone of his, but it was no less sharp for it. “This is Gaelic land, yet an English town is allowed to prosper, to be at peace. One might think you had a deal with the Gaelic heathens.”

“Not everyone tries to make a home by coming in, swords blazing and threatening every breathing soul. Some do try the diplomatic way, by talks and truces. Cooperation,” I added, knowing this might be dangerous. “We do not invade on their land, and they let us be. That is the only deal we have with them.” I was stretching the truth, and omitting quite a few facts completely. Raymond de Merville was in no way entitled to knowing them.

He sat down opposite me and waved at someone behind me. “Is that so.” Disbelief, veiled as its mocking opposite. I would have to try harder, if I wanted to be left standing by the time this game was done.

A plate of food was placed before me, next to a goblet generously filled with wine. I looked up, confused – was I to be his taster now, make sure nobody would poison him? I was tempted to poison it myself. “Eat,” Raymond ordered instead as another plate and goblet were put before him.

“I don’t-“

“Eat,” he repeated. “Allow me the indulgence of your company.” Blue eyes sparkling with mockery, and something darker.

“If it is company you seek,” I began hesitantly, “there are better choices.” What would ‘company’ even mean? This man made me uneasy, scared me even, yet my sinful pride would not allow me to do the sensible thing and back down. To disappear into the shadows and become invisible to him.

“That is for me to decide.”

It sounded final. With a sigh, I picked up my cutlery. It shamed me to admit it, but I was hungry and the food smelt good. I haven’t had wine in… years, I think. I hadn’t liked the taste then, but now it tasted like heaven. I couldn’t think about what Raymond might demand as payment for this dinner – it would have turned the delicacies to ashes in my mouth. I wasn’t worried about poison. If he wanted me dead, all he had to do was lift his sword.              

No, I worried about the demands. The feeling of entitlement, which he already possessed in abundance. If all it took for him was a village dance for him to think I was asking for male company at night, I dreaded to think what he might make of us dining together.

Lest you judge me, bear in mind that these were hard days, and the food before me was more luxurious than I had ever seen, smelled or tasted. Would I sell my body for it? No. Once again, I deluded myself by telling the rational part of me that my body had not been asked for in exchange.

Of course it hadn’t been, I realised later. Raymond de Merville didn’t trade. He took, and if he was feeling generous, you got something out of it, too. If.

[inakua]

Unexpected

Request: In a world where Voldemort won, and people die on the daily, a rag-tag group of teens could change the fate of the war. Follow Dom Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy - squibs - and their best friends Rose Weasley and Kieron Zabini as they team up with the Muggle Resistance to bring down the Death Eaters once and for all.

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Weapons (knives, guns etc), Death, Serious Injury, Violence, Bad Parent Relationship, Slurs, Bodies/Corpses, Hostages, Murder, Warfare. (I will always try and tag as many warnings as I can think of for each writing, if you read through and find something that I haven’t listed which may be a trigger for someone please send me an ask or DM me so that I can add it to this list, thanks!)

Pairings: N/A

Words: 3,973

A/N: Okay so this is an extract of a new fic that I’m working on, it will be called Unexpected, and probably won’t be posted on fanfic.net for a while but I just wanted to give you guys a brief taster :) Hope you enjoy, don’t forget to let me know what you think in the replies or when you reblog!

REQUEST A ONESHOT HERE

We've been here for 2 years now; me and Scor. Not much has changed, we're still best friends, still squibs and the war is still controlling our lives. Uncle Harry never won on the eve of the 2nd May 1998, they did. His side, the death eaters. It's been 20 years since the battle of Hogwarts.

20 years since Voldemort won.

20 years since all hell broke loose.

Families turned against one another, mother against daughter, father against son. The muggles didn't stand a chance once Voldemort took control, many tried to flee, some tried to fight but the majority were captured in the mayhem. Me and Scor were born in the midst of it all. Both into two completely different lives.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, son of Draco Malfoy - Voldemorts right hand man - and the late Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass was born on the 12th November 2002.  

Me? I'm Dominique Aveline Weasley, but everyone calls me Dom. I was born on the 19th January 2003 to worldclass asshole and half-veela, Fleur Delacour. My father, Bill Weasley, passed away just two years ago. 

We're similar like that, me and Scor, both of us have lost the one thing we held most dear; a loving parent.

When my mother found out I was a squib, she wanted nothing to do with me. The love she once had for me quickly turned into hatred. She was angry at my father, blaming him for my 'condition'. No daughter of hers was going to be a squib. Everyday I was ridiculed, blamed for the countless mistakes others would make, she concentrated all of her anger towards me and it quickly became too much.

In the end the only people I had left were my father, Rose and Victoire. On the 6th March 2018, my father went on a solo mission, the order needed information on a rogue death eater and he volunteered.

He never came back. 

The whole family was a wreck for days and it wasn't long before my mother started shoving the blame on me again. I decided that enough was enough, and took matters into my own hands. 

That's when it all started, when everything changed. 

That's when I met Scorpius.

****************************** "e eez dead and eet is all your fault! I loved eem and now e is gone, taken from me." 

Fleur was hysterical, people tried to stop her but to no avail.  She'd been screaming at me for the past hour. Blaming me for my fathers death, shouting profanities at me at the top of her lungs. I'd tolerated her up until now but the anger was starting to get the better of me. I couldn't stand here and take her shit any longer, my anger was flaring, I could feel it building up.

"My fault? How the fuck is this my fault?" I screamed, rendering Fleur speechless.

"Stop accusing me of something that was out of my control. I'm just as devastated as you Fleur, I love him more than words can describe, but you don't see me taking it out on anyone. It's not my fault that dad is dead, it's not my fault you hate me and it's not my fault that I'm a squib. When will you stop putting the blame for everything on me? I've had enough of you treating me like I'm nothing. I can't deal with you acting like this 24/7!" 

I could see Rose move into my line of vision, her hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to turn and look at her. My family were stood behind her, shock evident on their faces.

"Dom calm down, she's not worth it." Rose whispered in my ear. I could tell she was trying to help but I was fed up of everyone pretending that Fleur was this perfect angel. I was fed up with everyone assuming that she'd never hurt me, that she loved me as a mother is supposed to love her children. They needed to know the truth; they needed to know now.

"No Rose! They need to hear this," I hissed back at her through clenched teeth. I turned back to face Fleur. She'd turned as white as a ghost, time to let my Weasley temper loose.

"Did you really think they wouldn't find out eventually? Did you honestly believe I was going to let you get away with the pain you've caused me over these past couple of years. You've blamed me for everything that has gone wrong in this family, you taunt me and call me names. I'm your daughter you're supposed to be there for me, you're supposed to love me unconditionally. Instead you hate me, you hate me for something that I have no control over, do you think it's been easy for me? Do you think it's been easy living with the knowledge that my own mother hates me, that she hates me enough to blame my own fathers death on me? Dad and Rose were the only ones there for me, they were the only ones who stood up for me when you treated me like shit. I know how much you hate me, dad knew how much you hate me. Hell even Vic can see how much hatred you have towards me, everyone else may be oblivious but I know better and I'm not putting up with it anymore. I'm through with your bullshit Fleur. I'm done." 

I was filled with joy at the sight of Fleur cowering in front of me. I could see the guilt consuming her from within, with the pleasure of knowing that she felt guilty I stormed up to my room. Grabbed my bag and started shoving everything I could find into it.

I heard the door slam behind me and felt Rose put a hand on my shoulder, she knew what we had to do, we'd talked about this on many occasions. We had a plan, the only problem was if it would work.

"Vic was coming up the stairs behind me, she'll be up in a minute," Rose said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans to fetch her wand. She quickly shrunk my case and slipped it into her back pocket. Before Victoire could make it up to my bedroom, I pulled open my bed side drawer and stuffed the knife my dad had given me before he left in my pocket. Rose eyed me as if I was crazy.

"How else am I going to defend myself?" I told her, she shrugged before moving her eyes towards the door, anticipating Victoires entrance. 

She knew I was right, I'm a squib, it was the only defence I had. Victoire stormed into the room, her eyes red and puffy as she walked over to me, pulling me into a bear hug.

"Do you have to go?" She whispered in my ear, her voice raw and scratchy as she talked. I felt my heart break as tears splashed onto my shoulder. I loved my sister so much, I didn't want to leave her but it was for the best. I didn't belong here, not any more.

"You know I do Vic, I'm so sorry." My voice was filled with regret, she may be the older sister but she definitely wasn't the stronger one. 

She didn't like disobeying anyone and breaking the rules made her shudder; literally. She depended on me just as much as I depended on her. Victoire hadn't always been like this, she was just as feisty as me, up until about a year ago. 

Teddy Lupin was called out on a mission about a year ago, he never came back. He'd been Victoires friend since birth and about 4 years ago, they began dating. Many suspected him dead, but Vic refused to believe it, she'd kept her hopes up for a couple of months after his disappearance but eventually she had to face reality, he was gone. She was never the same after that, always following orders and never standing up for herself. It pained me to see her like it, but no matter how hard I tried she carried on wondering about like a little lost puppy.

"I love you Dom," Victoire wailed as I held her tighter, not saying a word, in fear that the tears gathering in my eyes would spill. She'd barely calmed down before clambering off me and hurtling herself towards Rose. 

"You know I love you too Rosie, I'll miss you!" 

"Love you too Vic," Rose replied, finding it just as hard as myself to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. 

"We have to make a move though, we don't want any one to notice our absence." Rose replied regretfully.

Victoire stepped back and watched us as we made our way to the window, Rose climbed out first, making her way down the pipe. I turned towards Vic before I left.

"Look after Louis for me," I whispered, before taking one last look at my sister and following Rose down the pipes. 

We ran as fast as we could, if the family found out that we'd gone before we reached the wards then we'd never escape. 

We stopped at the edge of the land, just before the wards. Rose pulled out her wand and began breaking a section of the wards so that we could get through and onto the other side. 

I turned around, looking at the building I was supposed to call home, but staring at it now, I realised that it had never been my home. It was more of a prison, somewhere that I couldn't escape, and I never wanted to see it ever again.

"I'm done. Hurry up Dom, we've only got a couple of seconds before the wards are put back up," Rose cried urgently, racing through the gap in the wards and pulling me with her, we made it onto the other side just as the wards went back up. All I could see now was the beach, the house I've lived in all my life wasn't in sight, and I could’ve never felt more ecstatic.

"We did it Rose, we actually did it," I cried in triumph, Rose jumped into my arms unexpectedly and I spun her around, crying with happiness. We stayed like this for a couple more minutes, just sobbing on each other, we managed to escape and it was the best moment of my life. I had no doubt in my mind that Rose was thinking the exact same thing, even though Rose was a wizard she still hated that place. 

When she was a baby her parents, Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley, were caught in an attack by death eaters who were trying to kill Uncle Harry. They died protecting their best friend, leaving an 8 month old Rose orphaned. While she was still young, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny looked after her but when she got older and they started having kids of their own, she was moved around between relatives. At the age of 11, my father decided that she could live with us permanently. By that time, Fleur knew that I was a squib, Rose stood by me and in return was hated by Fleur, she hated Rose just as much as she hated me.

"We should probably start moving," I told Rose, untangling myself from her embrace, "We don't want them to come after us."

"Not that they would bother," Rose said scornfully, picking up her wand that had fallen out of her pocket.

"Not that they would bother," I agreed. 

We made our way along the beach, eventually reaching  the woods surrounding the nearby village. We had to make sure that we were far enough away from the house before putting our plan into action.

"Over here," Rose called, we were looking for a good place to sit, where we were out of sight and not too close to civilisation. Nowhere was safe anymore, so we had to be alert. 

I made my way over to Rose, following her through some dense undergrowth and finally turning up in a small clearing by a stream. We were surrounded by trees and bushes, nobody would be able to find us here.

"We need to apparate to a little village just outside of Oxford, it's called Aston. I overheard the adults talking about it a couple of months ago, it's meant to be a safe haven for witches, wizards and muggles alike. The Death Eaters haven't attacked it yet so we should be safe," I told Rose, she nodded along. 

"I don't know what it looks like, how am I going to apparate us there?" she asked.

"Surely you don't think I expect you to apparate without knowing where we're going," I told her.

"Of course not but how am I going to know what It looks like?" She asked, obviously thinking I was stupid for bringing this up. I rolled my eyes at her lack of confidence in me, I tossed a small piece of paper at her, that I'd retrieved from my back pocket. She looked at it, realisation burning in her eyes.

"How did you get this?" She asked, holding up the picture I had of an alleyway in Aston.

"I stole it," I told her, "The adults were all talking in Uncle Harrys office about an apparation spot and he gave everyone a picture of it, just in case they needed to apparate somewhere in an emergency. I waited for them to leave and took one from Uncle Harrys' desk," I said proudly.

"You sneaky little bastard," she said, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she smiled at me.

"Why thank you," I said, bowing in appreciation, "I pride myself in that area of expertise."

"But, seriously, do you think this could work?" Rose asked, after slapping Dom playfully for her sarcasm.

"I'm not sure, but what do we have to lose by trying it?" I told her, hoping she'd agree with my plan.

"Oh I don't know," she said sarcastically," only a couple of limbs if we splinch ourselves."

"Come on Rosie, It's our only option. If we don't do this then we'll be living in this forest for the rest of our lives. I don't know about you but I'd rather spend my life back at that house than in this woods forever," I knew I was exaggerating but I really wanted to get away from this place.

"Fine." Rose snapped, giving up, "We'll apparate there."

"Thanks Rosie."

"Hurry up, I want to get out of this forest," Rose told me, studying the picture carefully and grabbing a hold of my hand. I felt the pull of apparation and before we knew it we were in the alleyway.

"I did it!" Rose whooped, punching her hand in the air. I clasped my hand over her mouth. Something was wrong.

"Stay here," I whispered to her, creeping down the alleyway and peeking round the corner. Nobody was there, where was everyone?

"Dom, I think you should come and see this," Rose called me, I turned to see what Rose was talking about. She was white as a ghost, her hands were shaking and she was pointing to the other end of the alley. 

I walked over to the other end, Rose following closely behind me, and gasped at the sight in front of me. 

Blood. So much blood, I stared at it with fear. How could they have not noticed before? People were running around frantically, screaming for those they'd lost. Death Eaters were everywhere, those who couldn't defend themselves perished. Sparks of colour were flying everywhere, people were dying. This was meant to be a safe haven, what was happening? 

"Dom, I can't -" Rose began but was cut of when she let out a strangled cry. I turned to see what she was looking at, a death eater was rounding up children, the youngest could've been only 4. 

He raised his wand, Dom could just make out what he was saying.

"Avada Kedavra"

A spark of green left his wand, hitting one of the girls square in the chest.

"No!" I screamed, watching as the girls body fell to the floor, her eyes were vacant, distant. The death eater laughed as her body hit the cold stones with a thump. I couldn't take it, I was filled with an indescribable surge of fury. 

Reaching into my back pocket I grabbed the knife, my fingers curling around the handle menacingly.

"Stay here." I barked at Rose, before charging out into the street, towards the death eater. 

I dodged spells that came flying in my direction, it was as if I'd been doing it for years. My eyes burnt with anger and my skin prickled, with what? Fear. Sadness. Anger. I couldn't be sure but it wasn't going away. 

I reached the death eater without any harm, he'd already killed another child, a boy this time. He had sandy blonde hair, and what were once baby blue eyes. He reminded me of Louis - my little brother.

The death eater raised his wand, preparing to kill another. Without thinking about what I was doing I ran up behind him and plunged my knife into his back.

He stopped, frozen. 

He turned around to face me, obviously not expecting such a hands on attack. why would he, when everyone else was using wands.

"What -" he never got to finish, because I pushed him harshly onto the cobbled street. His blood pooling around him, staining the stones red. 

"What - What are you - do - doing?" He asked, his face overcome with shock and pain.

"I just came here to kill you. No harm done," I hissed violently. I'd killed before, growing up in a world where Voldemort ruled and around every turn someone was more than willing to kill you, you had to make sure that you could defend yourself. Dad taught me self defence since the age of 8. I'd only killed two people, both Death Eaters, when they tried to attack me and some other members of the family while we we're taking supplies.

I watched as he took his last breath, his body turning pale, his eyes clouding over. I reached towards him, pulling my knife from his back.

I was just about to turn around and help the kids when a hot pink light hurdled towards one of the kids. I flung myself in front of the spell and hissed in agony as a deep gash was carved across my stomach. 

Just as I was about to get up I saw another spell flying in my direction, I ducked just in time and the spell hit a building above, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere. Luckily, nobody was hit. I turned around only to come face to face with a wand. There in front of me was a Death Eater, his wand pointed directly at my face.

"Hello there sweetheart," He sneered, luckily he hadn't noticed that I'd just clutched my knife in my hand, I was at the advantage.

"Hello to you to," I said innocently, as I drove my knife into his throat. 

The Death Eater fell and I was finally able to focus my attention on the group of children, they were all looking at me in shock. Some of them looked really scared but who could blame them, they'd just seen two other children die, me kill two men and get hit by a severing charm.

"Please, don't be scared," I tried to tell them, it wasn't very reassuring when I was covered in blood and had just stabbed someone in front of them. I looked over to the alleyway, to check if Rose was still there. She was watching, her eyes wide. I turned back to the children, I had to keep them safe.

"Please, come with me. I'll keep you safe," I tried pleading with them. Eventually, one of the elder ones walked over to her.

"Wh - why did you ki - kill them?" She stuttered.

"They were going to kill you, I couldn't stand by and watch you get hurt," I told her truthfully. The little girl nodded in acceptance before turning to the little group of 7.

"It's okay, she'll keep us safe," She told them, they seemed to listen to her and all of them looked up at me to see what they had to do.

"Follow me," I told them, I walked next to the group of children, hoping nobody would fire at them. Everybody seemed focused on their own battles and we had just made it to the entrance of the alley way when the girl who talked to me earlier screamed. I turned to see that a death eater had grabbed a hold of her and was pointing his wand to her head. 

"Let go of her," I hissed. Rose was behind me in the alley motioning all of the other kids to get behind her.

"You killed Goyle," he said, looking over to the body on the other side of the street.

I grinned, so it was his friend that I killed. Good. 

While he was distracted I ran towards him, he was only a meter or so in front of me, so he didn't have enough time to react. I stabbed my knife into his shoulder, he cried out in pain, I quickly pulled the knife back out and in the process he dropped the girl.

"Go," I shouted at her, pointing towards the alley way. She ran off towards Rose and the death eaters eyes turned on me, he was pissed. Great. 

"Sectumsempra," He shouted at me, a jet of light shot out from his wand and I jumped out the way, narrowly missing the curse as it went into the wall of a building, sending bricks flying everywhere. A piece of the wall hit my shoulder and I cried out in pain as I felt it embed itself in my flesh. 

The death eater was hit as well, he seemed to have been hit with more brick than me though, so I ran towards him, my knife out in front of me and aimed for his throat. I'd barely left a scratch when his fist came pummelling through the air, landing a punch on my jaw. 

I crashed to the floor and watched as he advanced on me, his wand out in front of him. In one final attempt to kill him, I threw my knife towards him. Before he could move out the way, it hit him in the side of the stomach and I grimaced in victory. It didn't deter him though, he was weaker but he could just about walk. He hobbled towards me.

"You stupid Muggle Bitch," He shouted at me, he thought I was a muggle? I did attack him with a knife and technically I am a muggle but with magical relatives. 

"You don't mess with Vincent Crabbe and live to tell the tale," he sneered at me, lifting his wand and aiming it at my face.

"Avada Ke-" He was dead before the gunshot reached my ears. The grip Crabbe had on his wand disappeared and I watched as it fell from his hand and clattered to the ground. I stood up, trying to ignore the pain my body was in. I walked over to Crabbe, rolled him over and pulled my knife out his abdomen. The man who shot Crabbe walked up to me, I looked around, the death eaters had gone. Some were dead on the floor and many were being killed. I stared at the man who was now in front of me, he offered me his hand.

"Scorpius Malfoy," He said, shaking my hand, I shook back and replied.

"Dominique Weasley."

[thelondonfilmschool]

INTERVIEW with Newcastle-based and one-of-a-kind filmmaker: Benjamin Bee

Writer/Director Benjamin Bee graduated from London Film School in 2015 and moved back to his home town of Newcastle Upon Tyne, where he’s continued to hone the unique brand of personal- tragi-comedy which has seen his films screened at some of the world’s biggest film festivals and attracted the likes of Mike Leigh to his Crowdfunding videos. Ben turns his own life story into art, and it’s not hard to see why – within minutes of meeting him I’d been told an anecdote involving an axe, a crazed lunatic and a carton of banana milkshake. Below is the publishable version of Ben’s take on the North-South divide, his time at LFS and what it is that makes his ‘bonkers’ stories so universal.

S.M: Can you tell me a bit about your life before applying to London Film School?

B.B: I left school in Newcastle when I was 14 without any qualifications, and then I went to an access to college course. They did photography and had an old, broken VHS video camera, and with the people that I met there we started making comedy, stupid little films. They were unscripted, and weirdly I used that to get into the University of Westminster to do Contemporary Media Practice. That was in 2002, and then at the end of that course I made a short film called The Plastic Toy Dinosaur, which was produced by Rob Watson who’s an NFTS producing grad who’s doing really well now. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I wrote it when I was 21 and I directed it when I was 22. I moved back to Newcastle and started working in a bar, but I hated it and I was miserable and the only thing I realised I had was this short film. I didn’t know about anything, I didn’t even know Cannes or Sundance existed. 

So, I just started entering it in places that I found and one of them was the BBC3 New Filmmaker of the Year Award. There were tons of submissions and they selected it down to the last ten. It was actually a really good year – Alice Lowe had written and starred in one of them, and Sean Conway had a film as well, he writes for Ray Donavan now. It was nice because people started to screen the film and it seemed like they liked it and it resonated with audiences, but I still had no idea what I was doing and I was incredibly naïve. I mean, seriously dyslexic and had the reading and writing age of an 8-year-old. Not going to school probably didn’t help. So, I was kind of lost. I started working a theatre box office and I worked, like, 60 hours a week and tried to save money. And then I saw a Skillset bursary advertised. I’d always looked at LFS but I couldn’t afford the fees, but eventually after I’d saved some money from my job I applied and I got the bursary.

S.M: What did applying for that involve?

B.B: It’s based on previous work and it’s means tested so you basically have to be poor and talented, or at least fake them into believing that you have some form of talent (laughs). I think I had something to say, coming from a slightly different background, and all my stories are weirdly personal. You go in front of a panel and when I got called back I literally cried like a small child. And then I went to LFS! It was interesting and difficult and there were people from so many different walks of life. I learnt the craft of filmmaking – I tried to eat up everything. 

The most important thing for me was the people – you’re surrounded by people who are really passionate about film. It’s two years surrounded by people who’ll put a lot of effort in, and I met a lot of people who had a lot of fun making films that I’m really proud of. I did a film called Step Right Up when I was there, which was my Term 4 exercise. We had 36 minutes of film stock to make a nine-minute film and it was screened at 40 film festivals. We got long-listed for the BAFTA, which means we were down to the last 10 or 15, which had never been done before by a fourth term film. It was huge.

S.M: What do you think it was about that film that made it so successful?

B.B: I make comedies and they’re personal. I’ve never really struggled with getting films into festivals because I don’t try to make arduous bulls**t. It’s personal, and also I’m not the most masculine man but I know lots of masculine men who do have feelings, and everybody has a shared experience of feelings and pain so there’s nothing that makes even the most masculine, awful guy not sensitive. A lot of my films are about paternal bonds or absent father figures, because my dad left and he was an utter c***. So, I’ve got a lot of things like that, that kind of resonate. 

My new one’s about something that genuinely happened, which was when my dad left when I was five and my mum decided to take me and my brother out of school and take us to Metroland, which is a theme park in Newcastle. My brother went on the dodgems but I was too little, so I had to go on the merry-go-round. It was amazing, and I was on a big white horse going round and round. Every time I’d come round I’d see my mum just stood there in floods and floods of tears, and then I’d go past her, and I could see my brother having the best time ever. That’s an analogy for my relationships with my siblings! I think if you say things that are deeply personal then they’re always going to do much better than things that aren’t you. When I started in term one and term two, I started trying to make stuff to look more “intelligent”, and then I realised that it wasn’t making me at all happy. So, by term four I made something ridiculous and by graduation I made a film called Sebastian which was a horror comedy which was also a bit nuts.

S.M: Was it always your plan to go back to Newcastle after graduation?

B.B: The day I handed my grad film in I went for a meeting to direct a pilot taster for Baby Cow, Steve Coogan and Henry Normal’s company. I got that, and I brought Yiannis (Manolopoulos, fellow LFS student and cinematographer) in, it was written by a friend of mine, Dan Mersh, who was also in Step Right Up, Plastic Toy Dinosaur, Sebastian and Mordechai. And that was really good because I got to meet Henry Normal, who was the managing director of the company. He’d written the Royle Family, Mrs Merton, he’d produced some of my fave TV shows, including the Mighty Boosh … He loved it. but Channel 4 didn’t pick it up. Then I moved back to Newcastle, in 2015, and broke my ankle running for a train! I was in a cast for over a year. 

Then I applied to the Jewish Film Fund for my film Mordechai, I’m not actually Jewish but the film’s subject is. It’s doing really well, it’s got into Palm Springs, BFI London Film Festival, and various others. It’s about these identical twins, one of which has left the community and one of whom has stayed at home. There’s an ultra-orthodox community in Gateshead and it’s quite insular and interesting. So, I developed a story about, what if one of them had left and then had to come home for a reason? The dad dies and the other brother comes home and he has to go and pick him up. They’ve got very different life choices – one brother’s dressed in black and the other turns up wearing tie-dyed hippy shit. He’s still Jewish but in his own way. Mordechai is really happy and charming and Daniel, who stayed at home, is a bit more down-trodden and miserable. Then Mordechai drops dead and Daniel makes the decision to body swap and becomes Mordechai and goes to his own funeral. It comes out the end quite positive but it’s also quite emotional!

S.M: You work a lot with producer Maria Caruana Galizia – is she someone you met through LFS?

B.B: No, she’s from Malta. She moved to Newcastle after living in Scotland for a while (I think), and there’s very few producers here. I met her at a networking event – she liked something I’d made, I liked something she’d made and we just decided to try and apply for stuff. She’s fu***ng awesome, super talented and incredibly hardworking. Also, she puts up with me…

S.M: Do you find that being based up in Newcastle has its pros and cons?

B.B: It really does. The benefits are that you can shoot anywhere for dead cheap but crewing’s impossible because every good member of crew’s doing Vera or The Dumping Ground. There’s swings and roundabouts. It’s beautiful, and has a better quality of life but there is definitely a massive divide. All the work’s in London, all the agents are there.

S.M: Do you manage to make a living out of the work you’re doing at the moment?

B.B: I’m a very cheap human being. It’s difficult when you start out because a lot of the stuff that you’re doing, like the shorts, aren’t going to make any money unless you start winning prize money. I’m at the stage now where it’s a little bit easier because I can apply for funding for development from the BFI etc. That’s what I’m applying for at the moment. I’m doing a project with Henry Normal, a documentary on him and his poetry. I’m also just finishing Metroland and I’m really, really happy with it, but I’ve got no idea how it’s going to go down ‘cause it’s a bit mental.

S.M: How did you get Mike Leigh to appear in the crowdfunding promo?

B.B: He pops up in it, and basically the whole joke is that the film’s kind of like Weekend at Bernie’s, but imagine Weekend at Bernie’s if it was directed by Mike Leigh. You see the door open and it’s Mike Leigh going “Ben, can you stop phoning and emailing me and if you give me another copy of Weekend at Bernie’s …” (laughs). 

I sent him an email going, “Hi Mike! Creative England are insisting that I do Crowdfunding and I really don’t wanna do it, so instead of making a video in which everybody’s positive, I want to make a video where everybody’s really negative about the experience.” He said yes without questioning it for a second… When I shot the video with Mike it was me, Yiannis and Eoin Maher, who did Filmmaking at LFS as well, and Mike who was just really hilarious. It was a lot of fun. Mike’s always been incredibly kind and supportive. He’s got a really good sense of humour. It’s the thing I love about his work to be honest.

S.M: Have you found it cathartic making such personal work based on your own life?

B.B: Unless you’re very good at what you do, this is just my advice, you can hide everything but what you do has to at some point be personal and resonate. Deconstruct any movie ever, like every movie Wes Anderson ever made is basically about his father walking out on his family, even though you don’t always realise it. It’s all about masculinity. It’s that thing that all your faults are your strongest features. I definitely find it therapeutic and I definitely think you deal with stuff. Spielberg says that it’s the only job where you get paid for therapy. I think that’s a great quote because it’s true in a way. Especially if you can’t afford therapy!

S.M: What do you think was the most important thing that LFS taught you?

B.B: The main revelation was that, whenever anybody goes into anything, doesn’t matter if it’s school, college or university, everybody comes in with a competitive nature that they’re going to be the best. Being competitive with yourself and wanting to make the best work is amazing, that’s the best way to be. But anybody else, whether they’re a director or whatever, should be your friends and your peer group, people that will help you. You basically have a support network with other filmmakers. That was really helpful, because it felt like you had a cheerleading squad and you could also do it for other people and you’d be really grateful. And that’s the industry – you’re not really in competition because nobody’s going to make the same film as you. You learn that very quickly at LFS because there’s people making such different work and you can really appreciate it. Then those people can come and work and collaborate on something you’re making, and you make something different and everybody learns from each other. Definitely the international vibe really helps as well. I was one of very few Brits and that was really nice, because obviously in Newcastle it’s mostly just people from there. In my term I had Yiannis from Greece, Pauline who was French, Rodrigo who was Mexican, Habib who’s American … it was really nice. I enjoyed it. Everybody’s great! Working with happy, positive people who feel comfortable in a nice environment is what makes the best work. And I think that’s what comes from having so many passionate people at LFS. It was a life-changing opportunity.

[slenderframe71]

There was a level of clandestine stealth and security surrounding the means by which Clash first got to hear the selection of tracks chosen to offer a teasing taster of the forthcoming fifth 30 Seconds To Mars album that was unprecedented in all our past experiences with advance listens - but then 30STM are no ordinary rock band.

It’s the last day of May, and London is in full bloom amid an early-summer heatwave (which, as it turned out, was our summer), and we’ve followed top-secret directions to an undisclosed address where an LA record exec will allow us, under watchful gaze, access to his laptop and the handful of songs they’re prepared to share at this stage. Unmixed and some weeks from completion, they still sound epic: we’re pulled into giant, welcoming landscapes that share a positive and reassuring energy, made all the more invigorating in this agreeable climate.

Buoyed and fortified by this quick burst of expansive power, we’re led upstairs to meet one-third of these songs’ creators: the prolific and proficient lead singer, who’s the cause of today’s heightened secrecy.

It strikes us, as we prepare to step into Jared Leto’s suite, that today’s covert operations were entirely justified; more than just an exclusive playback of new material, this was an audience with a platinum selling, award-winning rock star, an acclaimed award-winning director, and an A-list award-winning Hollywood movie star. We were about to hang, we realised, with someone that owns an Oscar.

In a career spanning almost 25 years, Leto has remained an enigmatic and compelling talent whose pursuits have consistently afforded him a pan-generational iconic status; to those of a certain age, his turn as high-school heartthrob Jordan Catalano in 1994 TV series My So-Called Life was the catalyst for many an adolescent crush fantasy, and since 1998, 30 Seconds To Mars have risen to become stadium-filling, anthemic heroes to a legion of fans who favour a more profound and progressive brand of rock, while his on-screen conquests (including Fight Club, American Psycho, Requiem For A Dream, Chapter 27, and the imminent Blade Runner 2049) combine to form a range of immersive and stimulating roles - most triumphantly, of course, his portrayal of transgender AIDS patient Rayon in Dallas Buyers Club would earn him the Best Supporting Actor statue at the 2014 Academy Awards.

This moment, therefore, was bound to be unforgettably significant for all of us - it was the first step towards his most coveted accolade to date: a Clash cover.-

Three months later, with the capital’s tropical conditions a distant memory, we have reconvened in Central London to make this dream a reality.

A fortnight ago, 30 Seconds To Mars premiered to the world ‘Walk On Water’, the lead single from the still as-yet-untitled new album, at the MTV VMA’s in California, with a visually and physically spectacular performance captured by thermal cameras that featured a guest appearance from Travis Scott. Shannon Leto, Jared’s older brother, band co-founder and drummer, is centre stage, surrounded by an army of dancers, hammering the track’s pounding heartbeat, while guitarist Tomo Miličević intrepidly prowls amid the throng. Leering directly into camera, Jared forcefully delivers the call-to-arms’ leading question: “Do you believe that you can win this fight tonight?”

If the answer was in the trio’s self-assurance and resolve, then it would be an irrefutable ‘yes’. It’s been four-and-a-half years since the group’s previous outing, ‘Love, Lust, Faith & Dreams’, and 30 Seconds To Mars on that stage look like lions released from their cages. At our second meeting with Jared, with this track out in the wild and its successors to follow, he’s noticeably ready - and hungry - for the fight.

And so, with a new record comes new responsibilities: namely interviews. As Clash begin our line of questioning, we can’t help but wonder what the difference is, for the ultimate renaissance man such as Jared Leto, between talking about music and the other mediums he’s so involved in.

“That’s a good question,” is the welcome response. “I think the difference with music is that it’s a very intimate and personal process. When you make a film, you work with really a large group of people and it is very collaborative. When you make music, it’s a much smaller team. Over the years it’s been mostly my brother and I - we’ve done this since we were kids - so sharing that with family makes it different right from the get-go. It’s just special; it’s hard to really compare it to anything else. Writing music starts from the most simple, most humble beginning and can turn into something that really connects in such a powerful way around the globe, so it’s a very beautiful process that a thought, an idea, can in turn end up touching so many people and in such a deep way. It certainly has for me in my life; music has changed me. It has been my soundtrack, it has been my companion, it has been my inspiration, and so many artists have taught me about life and the world through their writing.”

Unlike the punishing press schedule that actors endure, musicians are less obligated to promote their product - Frank Ocean, for example, is refusing all interview requests - so, if his music is so personal and intimate, why doesn’t Jared simply let it speak for itself?

“I guess I’m motivated to do [interviews] because I recognise that it’s a great way to spread the word,” he reasons. “Music is meant to be consumed, just like… I guess it’s kinda like cooking; if you’re at home and you’ve made a big dinner and you put all the food out on the table, it’s certainly a lot nicer when people show up and consume the meal. In order for that, you need to invite people to do it, so I think I look at this as like the invitation process.”

Facing this mouth-watering banquet he’s laid before himself, Jared is practically tucking a napkin into his collar and sharpening his knives - he’s more than ready to gorge on music once more. “It’s been a long time coming, and we’re excited about the new music,” he attests. “In four-and-a-half years a lot happens, and the world changes - you change - and I think you can hear that change on the album. I think it’s a different album, and I think people are going to be pretty surprised by the songs they hear.”

As persistent and intense as always, on these new songs, 30 Seconds To Mars have refined the electronic inflections of ‘Love, Lust, Faith And Dreams’ and the more expressive qualities of it predecessor, 2009’s ‘This Is War’, to create something palpably vivid in its passionate perspective and connectivity.

Jared’s boundless enthusiasm can also be put down to the relief and gratitude he feels to even be in this position again. His 2012 documentary, Artifact, captured the traumatic experience of 30STM battling with their record label, EMI, in a $30 million breach-of-contract lawsuit that threatened their very existence - “We went to war,” he says, “and it wasn’t easy.” The conflict would ultimately produce the justly dramatic ‘This Is War’, but the whole brutal ordeal did little to dampen the band’s creative spirits. “There was a lot at stake, and that experience changed our lives. It taught us about ourselves, this business of music, and there were great lessons to be learned in that experience.”

Almost a decade after their legal wrangles, Jared is optimistic about the progress made by the music industry in that time that now allows 30STM to prosper - the business, he says, is “more transparent, and I think it’s got better, because musicians have the ability to have a louder voice and to speak to their audience directly. We were signed a decade before Facebook, or more. We were signed six or seven years before YouTube. The world has changed so much and I think for the better.”

Adding to Artifact and the series of 30STM videos he’s directed, Jared is continuing the tradition of marrying his two favourite mediums - music and film - in album companion pieces with A Day In The Life Of America, which picks up on the themes present in this new album. “Times are changing,” he warns in ‘Walk On Water’, and this film aims to document their impact on modern America through the viewpoints of those both within and without the country. “It really could be about any country in the world right now,” he argues. “I think so many of us are going through similar things. We’re all so connected now. I mean, people are asking really crucial questions - who are we, who do we want to be, what kind of country do we want to live in - and I think that it’s hard to tell the story of America without telling the story of the world.”

Having sent out 92 films crews across all 50 states, and extended a global invitation for a submission of clips, they have amassed reams of contributions, “from the Middle East to China to Africa and beyond,” that promise to form an insightful and objective portrait of our planet today.

Clearly, Jared relishes being in the distinctly fortunate and enviable position that allows him to exercise his inquisitive and inventive mind in a number of fields - in addition to music and movies, he’s become further aligned with fashion, more recently appearing in campaigns for Gucci at the behest of his best friend, the brand’s creative director, Alessandro Michele - but, like the fearless looks he’s rocked on red carpets of late (Gucci, naturally), his judgements have always followed a rather maverick trajectory - as exemplified in his diverse choice of non-conformist movie roles.

“I like to be challenged,” he says of his attraction to projects. “I like to be provoked creatively, and I like an opportunity that pushes me to a new place and teaches me something. I love to learn, and it’s a good opportunity when you’re doing these things to be slightly off balance, to be on uncertain creative grounds.” He points to A Day In The Life Of America, the VMAs and the experimental nature of their new songs as representative of his latest forays into unknown territories. “And it’s not just the result,” he adds, “it’s the process of how do you do these things, how do you prepare for these things, how do you craft and figure out the production and the technical side of things that is part of the journey itself.”

It’s a particularly individualistic journey that Leto has undertaken, one driven by instinct and inspiration, but not one he could necessarily do alone. “You follow your gut and your heart and your head,” he says of his method of working, “and you build a great team of people who can help bring your vision to life.”

When it comes to 30STM, therefore, how lucky he is to have such an attuned collaborator as his brother. “[Shannon] is the reason that we are doing this,” he states. “He was the one that kinda led the charge with music. He was the one that always saw the future here… To have been doing it for this long is absolutely mind-blowing, and we don’t take it for granted for a single second… You know, we talk often about how fortunate we are and how grateful we are to be in the position that we’re in.”

That familiarity also enables Jared the freedom to truly be who he wants to be on stage: himself. Though screen characters have required drastic physical transformations - he piled on the pounds to play Mark Chapman in Chapter 27, and became practically emaciated for Dallas Buyers Club - and a method-like immersion in character (his Joker wreaked havoc on his Suicide Squad co-stars, who claim never to have met Jared Leto), there is no mask worn by the lead singer of 30STM. “Music is incredibly personal,” he affirms. “It’s about pulling the veil back. It’s about sharing as much of yourself as you can, or your thoughts, whether it’s your head, your heart, or your guts, whatever. Your spirit - whatever that is. You know, it’s not about taking on an imaginary set of circumstances and building a character. I’m never more of myself than when I’m standing on stage. There’s an absence of character.”

Daunting to some, that prospect is entirely natural to Jared Leto, who professes to feeling more comfortable performing in front of 140,000 people than he does holding a conversation with one person in a restaurant, and it’s the foundation of 30STM’s unfaltering relatability that ensures they remain a pertinent and provocative band for our times. “You can never stop learning,” Jared says of their perceptive and exploratory nature, which thankfully shows no sign of ever abating - unlike our conversation, which draws to an end as cryptically as it began. “Craft isn’t something that ends. Songs are elusive - they’re like dreams,” he smiles knowingly, “they’re hard to catch a hold of.”

[hannahstocks]

Chapter 2

We set up the tent on the edge of a golf course and rode off to explore the tiny island, coming across an old settlement which 'may' be the oldest stone house in the whole of Northern Europe, but then again, it may not, who knows.  It sat right on the fringes of the farmland, a stones throw from the waters edge and boasted ancient wisdom. 'Do you think they had small doors because they were all really short?' I ignored the question and pretended not to be thinking about the answer, he was trying to catch me out.  It really was amazing to think what life would have been like on this exposed stretch of coast all those year ago.

'Whistle when Dinners ready, I'm off to catch us some fish'.  We'd set up a stone kitchen on the beach, taking things back to basics with the modern twist of super noodles on the boil.  

The beach bent round from the jetty and I could see his silhouette, casting out.  I was falling in love with the seals, they were so inquisitive, dogs of the sea, popping up and swimming off again when my curiosity got to much for them.  The sun lapped against the shore, the light dancing up and down the sand.

I felt like 'mum' whistling him back for dinner, watching him hop on his bike and race to our beach kitchen of dreams, empty handed and just in time for tea.  

'No fish out there, the seals chased them off'.

It had been a nice thought, fish for tea.

We'd woke to clear skies and sunshine, to beach yoga and morning swims and to the prospect of porridge & coffee outside, but the unpredictable weather put pay to that dreamlike state, light at first, heavy within seconds, both of us diving in the tent, the camp kitchen left exposed to the elements as we read our books and hoped it would pass quickly. Our boards were really coming into their own as umbrellas, the most amount of water they'd experienced the whole trip.  We waited till it was light enough to pack up, back to the jetty, back to the fishing boat, bikes on, trailers on, passengers all aboard.  It was a little rougher than yesterday, I closed my eyes quick.  

I was coming accustomed to this way of traveling, slowing everything down with what felt like lower impact on the natural surroundings. Being outside all day felt good for the soul, for my busy mind, for my body to be constantly moving.

'You'll need to unpack the whole trailer if you want to bring those back on again' called the captain.  His words weren't angry or annoyed, just came across in a 'matter of fact' kind of way, but still I felt bad as their bent over bodies hauled our heavy weights up and off of the ferry. We apologised, although he wasn't looking for that.

We picked up the rest of our gear from the hostel & made our back to the ferry and to mainland Orkney. Our hopes of surfing on the islands had been dashed, but the charts were still showing signs of hope, we crossed our fingers and toes.

It was getting dark as we disembarked, the rain was starting to fall once again and we had a mighty headwind to contend with.  Another two hours of cycling lay ahead of us, so instead of turning right at the roundabout, we turned left and followed signs to a highly commercial campsite with a swimming pool & cinema, a world away from wild camping.  I wondered if this meant that we had failed, turned our backs on a challenging situation but then I realised, it was just plain old common sense.

Whilst pitching our tent our friendly neighbour turned out to be the half german, half canadian lady who had fallen off her bike and enjoyed talking very much about the second world war.  Although it was a lovely surprise to see her, it was also 8:30pm on a Saturday night in Kirkwall, all I could think about was food and whether or not we'd find a table. Luckily, she had a date with a maths group so we parted ways.

There's always room for misunderstandings & arguments when you're both a little sleep deprived & hungry, so we got it out of our system first thing in the morning & made up over a banana and a cliff bar stood outside Tescos.  As we hit the main road the landscape opened up & engulfed us, suddenly feeling insignificant against the dramatic back drop of rolling hills and the speed of the traffic.  

There's only so close you can hug the curb when you're pulling a two wheeled trailer, much to the dissatisfaction of the piled up traffic behind us.

I was beginning to notice a real sense of camaraderie between fellow cyclists, a little nod here, a thumbs up there.  Just a smile at the right time and a mutual understanding of a steep climb or being soaked to the bone. Little moments of encouragement that energise you and even for a split second, make you feel part of something. The longer stints felt like a meditation, the rhythmic motion of peddling brought the mind into a single point focus.  I could feel myself getting fitter by the day.

'I don't think it gets much flatter'. It was quite the statement.

It was our last ditch effort to use the boards for what they were made for, but it was now obvious they wouldn't get ridden on this trip. We sheltered from the cool wind, basking in the last of the afternoon sun, staring out across the flat ocean. 'We tried', oh we tried.

We carried out our evening rituals & just as the sun was about to set, hiked up to the top of the hill and watched as it disappeared into the ocean. From where we were camping you could never have imagined how dramatic the landscape was just a small walk away, Jagged cliffs rising up, layers and layers of rocks stacked on top of one another and the wide open ocean for as far as you could see.

We ate the last of our chocolate and starred into the distance, the light sound of a shutter every now and again when the composition felt right.

I'd had my heart set on a fried egg roll in the kind of bap that leaves white dust on your face after every bite, the egg, crispy round the edges, yolk still a little runny.  It had served us well on the way round, a small food truck on the side of the road.  We'd even stopped into the local shop to get cash back, picking up a couple of celebratory beers at the same time.

I swore quite hard when we pulled up and it was closed, like a teenage tantrum,  I really needed that egg bap.  To add insult to injury, the rain started to come down pretty hard. We stood outside  the brown brick toilet block, eating the dregs of our scroggin mix, wondering why we didn't stop in at Twatt.  I had no idea what was there, but with a place name such as that, who needs a reason and I guarantee there would have been a food truck there, one that was open.

The cruise ship had obviously just come in as there were a million coaches & a million people, all shoulder to shoulder observing the standing stones, a popular landmark.  We were the youngest there by a couple of decades & were pretty much shoulder barged out the way whilst reading the information plaque, innocently educating ourselves whilst our peers muscled their way in.  

It was all too much for both of us, we left immediately.  Back on our bikes, back on the road, heading home.

The thing about the weather, is that you really can't predict it.  We'd found ourselves on a busy A road, cars flying past so quick we felt like we were on a German motorway and not only that, it was raining harder than it had done our entire trip.  'It's not even meant to be raining!!!'

Tell that to the weather man.  Water was now coming in from all angles, the upward spray off the road left us cycling blind down hills & the rain pouring down from above was soaking us to our underwear, it was exhilarating! If there was ever a time to feel alive it was on that stretch of road, our final leg. Crossing back over the causeways we reflected on the past that we could only know about through books and grand parents, so much history at every turn.

The woman shuffled out of the empty pub and down the road, closely followed by him, my cycling buddy, grinning from ear to ear with a ever so slightly nervous undertone as they disappeared into a doorway. I stayed with the bikes.

Where was she taking him?!

The room smelt musty & the door didn't shut properly, but it was dry and in about 2 hours time, there would be hot water.  The pub appeared to be empty but was fully occupied so the lady had found us a room and we negotiated a price based on what cash we had in our pocket.  She seemed happy enough.

We peeled off our wet clothes, dressing ourselves in something that smelt reasonably clean and I decided, it was time for a clean pair of socks, I'd worn the same pair for seven days and it was in that moment of changing them, I realised how disgusting that was.

I felt funny, in a peculiar slightly sad kind of way. We'd arrived in the port town and tomorrow we'd catch the ferry back to the mainland and back to our van.

I already missed it. The cycling. It had been a taster, a chance to slow everything down, to see the world from a different perspective and I liked it, I liked it a lot. It had been a micro adventure but the longest cycling adventure I'd had and I was already thinking about the next.

'Shall we plan another trip over dinner?'

'I think we shall'...

[wordmage-girl]

I would live a lost-princess trope trashing novel when the lost princess is returned but WHOOPS no, it's not her, it's an enemy spy set on dismantling the kingdom from within

That sounds amazing! Also it prompted me to write 2,000 words so here you go, with my deepest apologies:

Princess Cecilie Camellia of Sevonia, who had until recentlybeen known only as Cammie, the kitchen girl at the Shield and Rose, took toroyalty like a charm. The skepticism expressed by a few courtiers and royaladvisors at her discovery quieted down as soon as they saw her sweeping throughthe corridors, graceful and shy, the very picture of the king’s first wife,rest her soul. How beautiful she was, dancing with her half-siblings in hersilk gowns! How kind she was, giving away food to the beggars at the castlegate! How genteel she was, learning tapestry and court manners and the lap harpwith the ease of true royal blood.

Prince Filbert Frederic of Sevonia, son of the king’s secondwife, who had retired to an abbey after growing tired of the king’s philandering, did not like her one bit.“She’s using all twenty three forks like a natural,” he confided in PrincessGabrielle Galina, who was busy flicking olive pits at the Minister ofAgriculture.

“You’re just jealous because Papa is making much of her,”Gaby said, squinting to improve her aim.

Filbert frowned at her. “You know I would rather Papa notnotice me at all,” he said. “Last time he remembered I exist, I had to spend aweek at a hunting lodge with him and Alexander.”

“Yes, yes, and you had to cancel your tryst with what’s-his-face,I remember.” The olive pit landed in the Minister of Agriculture’s wine glass.“Listen, Cecilie has royal blood. Plus, she was working at an inn, so she knowshow to set a table, and she’s been learning proper manners and everything.There’s no reason for her not to use the artichoke pincers properly.”

“And how long did it take you to learn them?” Filbert asked.Gaby scowled. “She’s only been in the castle for two weeks! Besides, she was akitchen girl, and besides number two, no one outside the royal household usesthe artichoke pincers.”

“Really?” Gaby asked idly, filching Filbert’s olive pits.“How do they eat artichokes, then?”

“They don’t,” Filbert said, but Gaby had already turned herattention to filling Lady Troumant’s hat brim with olive pits.

+

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Cecilie, when Filbert found heron his way to the royal archives. “I’m hopelessly lost. This place is a maze,and it’s enormous.”

“Well, it is a castle,” Filbert said. “Where were you going?I can point you in that direction.”

“Oh, I was just wandering about, but I got so turned aroundand I promised Elena I’d have tea with her and her lady-in-waiting.”

“…Well, you’re on the opposite side of the castle from theliving compartments,” Filbert said slowly. “This is the ministry side of thecastle.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You’re right next to the…” Filbert glanced at thenondescript door to the Royal Spymaster’s offices and hurriedly changed tack.“The Minister of Education’s offices.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes, and I think I should walk you to Delia’s rooms. Likeyou said, this place is a maze.” He offered her his arm.

“Thank you so much, dear brother,” Cecilie said sweetly. Itwas too sweet. Filbert had grown up with enough noble girls to know that whensomeone looked at you like that, she actually wanted to kill you. Her grip onhis arm was feather light, but Filbert imagined that she wanted to dig hernails into his flesh. “That is so kind.”

+

“Gaby tells me that you’ve been worried about Cecilie’sadjustment to royal life.”

Filbert looked away from the window into the face of hisbrother. “Bastian. What are you doing out of a meeting? Are we at war?”

“Very funny, Filbert,” said Prince Bastian Bernard, who wasso rarely outside the castle that he was often rumored to be dead. He joinedFilbert at the window, which overlooked the castle gate. Currently, the beggarswhich gathered there were crowded around Cecilie, who was handing out food. Itwas quite a large crowd. “It doesn’t look like she’s having trouble adjustingto me.”

“I wasn’t exactly worried about her adjusting,” Filbertsaid. “I think she’s adjusting too well. Like, suspiciously well.”

Bastian raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I mean, she knows everybody’s names, she gets all thedances right…she’s only been here for a few months. This isn’t normal.”

“Just because you can’t dance…”

“This isn’t about me!” Filbert snapped. “A week ago I foundher wandering around the spymaster’s chambers, claiming she was lost.”

“Maybe she waslost,” Bastian pointed out.

Filbert shrugged. Outside, a little girl handed Cecilie aflower.

“The people like her, and we could use their support rightnow.” Bastian patted him on the arm. “Do try to be less odd, Fil.”

+

Noise was made about Cecilie being wed to a suitable foreignking – she was of age, and the negotiations for Elena’s hand in marriage werealmost over, and how inappropriate that a younger daughter be married beforeher elder sister – and Filbert almost breathed a sigh of relief. Cecilie couldhardly make trouble for Sevonia if she was across the sea, ruling in Jaroc.

The king of Jaroc arrived for a visit. There were severalballs planned, and a feast that sent the kitchens into a tizzy. The balls werepleasant enough, the feast decadent. The king of Jaroc was handsome and dashingand solicitous.

It only took a few days for the whole thing to fall apart.Someone said something at a party, although later no one knew who had said it;a glass of wine was spilled on someone’s gown; a turn of phrase in a speechwent down wrong. The feast ended with Cecilie, pale and trembling, beingushered out of the hall, while dignitaries threw insults at each other.

The king of Jaroc and his retinue left Sevonia in highdudgeon.

“It could be worse,” Sir Oscar comforted Filbert. “They’re asmall kingdom.”

“The king’s aunt is Dowager Queen of Pela-Pela,” Filbertsaid glumly, naming one of the largest kingdoms in the area.

“You’re not even involved in ruling,” Oscar said. “Come on,have a drink. Dance with me.”

“Pass, thanks,” Filbert said. He hardly even noticed Oscarleaving.

+

For a while, nothing happened, but Filbert couldn't let itgo. Cecilie’s graces and mannerisms were too perfect, her behavior too good.She was everything a princess should be, when Filbert knew that the royalfamily was entirely comprised of horrible brats and selfish, power hungryassholes.

Something about her kept niggling at him until, in the finetraditions of royal brotherhood, Filbert payed off a castle page to report to him onCecilie’s doings. The girl fell ill within the week, but not before she toldhim that Cecilie was completely normal, and a lovely person besides. Why, theprincess had even given her candy.

The next page broke his neck. Filbert stopped paying thepages to spy on her.

+

Where Cecilie walked, ruin followed. Filbert was sure of it,but no-one believed him.

Cecilie had a picnic with Elena. Elena broke her engagementto Duke Galen, estranging one of the most powerful families in the kingdom.Cecilie danced with so-and-so. Feuds broke out in the court. Cecilie had aquestion for the Royal Treasurer. Papers went missing from his office, and aproclamation was issued to raise taxes which the Royal Treasurer claimed toknow nothing of. (The king was quite pleased with that turn of events.)

Of course, all of these things could easily be dismissed ascoincidences. Elena could have heard about the Duke’s mistresses from anyone.The court feuded constantly (although usually not so bitterly). People went inand out of the Royal Treasurer’s office all the time, and mistakes happened.

Filbert was not fooled.

+

It was a relief when Cecilie chose to join the royalhousehold’s excursion to the summer castle in June. Filbert always chose tostay behind, relishing the quiet and relative solitude. He dined with Elena,who was ill and could not travel, and he had his own duties to attend to, butsocial life crawled to a halt.

Three days in, a messenger came from the summer castle.Bastian had fallen from a cliff and broken his neck. He had been discovered byCecilie.

The kingdom donned mourning. Filbert resolved to act.

+

Bastian’s duties were heavy, and they were now Filbert’s.There was no time now to worry about Cecilie, not when he knew that the kingdomof Jaroc was extremely displeased with them, and the treaty with Pela-Pela wason shaky ground, and there was unrest in the city, and the border with Veronewas teeming with bandits, and the grain stores had gone bad with mold. On topof that, the spymaster claimed that there was a plan to assassinate the kingand his heir.

“Isn’t there always?” Filbert asked tiredly.

“A new plan,” the spymaster insisted. “To kill His Majestyand Prince Alexander Amery from the inside. Plant a mole.”

Filbert straightened in his chair instantly. “Do you knowanything else about this plan?”

“Not yet,” said the spymaster. “But I can find out, yes?”

“Yes. It is most important,” Filbert said firmly.

+

There were additional guards set around the king’sbedchambers. Alexander was forbidden from inviting anyone into his bed, unlesshe wished to wait until the spymaster interrogated them. The food tasternervously insisted on bringing on his assistant for the king’s every snack.

The kingdom could hardly bear the expenses. They werealready paying for extra patrols on the border, paying extra for every shipmentfrom Jaroc now, paying extra for grain from Pela-Pela. But bear the expensethey must.

Months later, when the extra guards had been retired and thespymaster was sure the assassins had fled the kingdom, the king decided to goon a hunting trip. He insisted that both his eldest sons come with him. Filbertinsisted that he was busy, and Bastian had always stayed behind, and besides,perhaps it would be wiser not to return to the hunting lodge this winter…

It was always, always worse to be right, Filbert decided,when the king’s corpse, peppered with arrows, was returned to the castle.

+

The coronation was a tiny thing. The royal procession waslikewise dull, and shorter than any in the history of the kingdom. All otherfestivities were cancelled, and Alexander was kept under lock and key. Noexcursions to the city, no parties, no women. The castle gates were closed andbarred. The guards were ordered to trust no one.

The people of the kingdom were worried. The people of thecity were terrified. The court was panicking.

Filbert had no time for them. Alexander was even less of aking than their father had been, and like Bastian before him, he had a kingdomto run.

+

It was late at night, and most of the castle was asleep.Filbert’s lamp had run out of oil, and instead of retiring for the night, heelected to work by candlelight. The grain shipments were being waylaid, and ahidden border garrison had been viciously attacked. Sleep was for people withless worries.

When the candle nearest the door flickered and went out,Filbert didn’t think much of it. By the time it had occurred to him to considerlighting it again, there was a knife at his throat.

“I thought you operated by morediscreet measures,” Filbert said to his inkwell.

“I did consider poisoning you,”said the dulcet tones of Princess Cecilie, “but the maids say that you hardlyeat, and I haven't much arsenic left.”

“That's too bad. I suspect Iwould have preferred death by poison.”

“Probably.”

Filbert cleared his throat.Carefully. “And what happens if I scream?”

Cecilie hummed, considering.“Then I escape through the secret passage behind the tapestry.”

“Good eye.”

“Castle plans.”

“Ah. Why not Alexander?”

“Don't be stupid. Your brotherwill run this kingdom into the ground all by himself. He's making my jobeasier.”

“Tell me about it.” Filbertwaved a hand at the paper littering his desktop. “Do you know how much thefamily spends on silks alone? I could feed the kingdom for a year if Elena gaveme her jewelry money.”

“I know. Really, I'm doing you afavor. You'd end up with your head on a spike sooner or later anyway, with theway the kingdom is going. At least I'm fast.”

“I suppose. Are you working forVerone? Or Hevriel? I can't imagine any of the coastal kingdoms pulling thisstunt. They're too busy infighting.”

“Wouldn't you like to know,”Cecilie said. “Look, I'm tired of this. It's been a long year, and I promisedHer Majesty I'd be done with you all a month ago.”

“Wait!” Filbert blurted. “I havean offer for you.”

Cecilie sighed. “This is gettingtiresome.”

“Listen,” Filbert said.

+

The next day Alexander was dead,apparently by his own hand, and Cecilie, next in line for the throne, wascrowned as Queen Cecilie Camellia, first of her name. Hers was a very long,prosperous reign, marked by a trade treaty with Pela-Pela, lower taxes, a moreaustere court, and the sudden death of all who opposed her.

Funny, that.

[thewilderose]

Having somewhere you can call your own should, in my opinion, be a basic human right. Everyone deserves somewhere to come back to, to call home, to decompress. Of course, if you’re someone who is an introvert like me, this goes without saying.

For me, it is not only important that I have my own space, but also that space should ideally be tidy (shoutout to Marie Kondo for making the importance of tidying mainstream) and personal. You can tell so much about someone from their bedroom. This is the secret for me. A space that feels like me, is more likely to be one in which I feel like I can retreat.

I recently left university and came back home. When I returned, my room didn’t feel like me at all. It was lifeless, filled with junk and generally somewhere I didn’t care to be. This is because I had changed, and therefore my space needed a little reviving too. Below is how I created space for myself. 

PART ONE: GET RID OF

The title here speaks for itself. We all accumulate stuff. We are only human. We buy things we think we need and then they lie at the bottom of a shelf for months. You’ve heard it before but, honestly: Take a whole day if you can and go through everything. ASK yourself: Do I use this regularly? Is it important to me?  Am I clinging to this item for no real reason? Throw away anything you can. This is the art of creating space. Endings create space in our lives so that beginnings take shape. For example, I threw away my desk that I didn’t need any longer and was taking up space. This leads us into the next part.

 PART 2: RE-ARRANGE

I believe that our external environments affect our mental state and vice versa. For 2 years my room looked the same: I didn’t change the furniture around once. (I acknowledge this is sometimes difficult, my own room is very small and there is a limited number of ways I can practically fit furniture). Life can get very busy very fast, and we often get caught up in our internal world. A simple thing like moving your bed alongside your window forces you to see things from a different perspective. You have a different view when you wake up, your life looks different. I think simply re-arranging our environments can flip a mental switch and make change / growth more accessible in a way that’s a lot EASIER than trying to do so in the same, old, stagnated environment.

 PART 3: ADD

Now, the fun part. You’ve cleared everything that no longer serves you. You’ve changed the room’s layout, and in turn its feel. Now you get to decide what you want more of. You’ve made space, what gets to fill it? I find that after spending so much time getting rid of things, I’m choosier when it comes to this part, and I like it that way. The things that fill your space should bring value to your life, they should be practical, (as a bare minimum), and hopefully, your favourite things will be a fusion of both.

I began with light. I know this is something which has a lot of baring on my mood. I love natural light, so I moved my bed beside my window. When I wake up I immediately pull the curtains open and let light spill in. Secondly, I bought a bigger lamp, with an orangey/pink hue. These are my favourite colours, so in the evenings they make my room an especially cosy place to be.

Next, I knew plants were a necessity. I couldn’t really keep plants alive in my university room, because there was little light available and honestly, I just didn’t take care of them very well. However, my room at home has much more light, so a bought a few little friends: Two succulents and a little Helix ivy plant to take care of. Plants instantly make a space feel more home-y. Maybe it’s something to do with the feeling of having living things around me, even indoors.

Lastly, I added my personal touches, things that are special to me. I added some posters and repositioned my old favourites. I hung up my own artwork. I bought a vase for flowers. I put my crystals in little bowls. I added a rug. I bought a few new candles.

 What new things you add will be up to you, it’s entirely personal. It doesn’t have to be expensive. I bought new things for my room, but only things I knew I needed. I also got given the rug and most of my time was spent reviving the old. I would also like to add a gentle reminder that you don’t have to do this all in a week. Likely you will find things that you would like to add along the way, or you’ll come across something amazing and save up for it. It’s a process. Enjoy every part: even the in between parts. (especially the in between parts).

I hope you enjoyed my thoughts on this topic. I would like to emphasise the power we all have to create. Changing your living space around is likely not something a lot of people would see as overtly creative. But it literally is. You are creating something new, something that wasn’t there before, a new reality for yourself. Creativity is painting and drawing and writing, yes. But creativity is also movement, conversation, thought. Creativity can be an every-day-kind-of-thing, NOT an only-for-artists-and-serious-people kind of thing. I hope this post gives you a little taster of what’s to come x

[torestoreamends]

A celebratory fic snippet

So last night I hit 1000 followers, which is a bit wild, and I honestly have no idea what you’re all doing here, but thanks! 

I’ve been thinking for a while about what to do for the occasion. I’m not very good at prompts and I don’t have a fic prepared, but, I thought I might tell you all a bit about my WIP, which I’ve been keeping quiet about.

I haven’t posted much fic recently, but that’s because I’ve been rewriting roughly 45,000 words of this beast. I’ve been working on this thing since August, I really love it, and I’m so excited to finally share it with you all. Sadly, at ten chapters in, it’s only about half done. But now I’m concentrating on it full time I hope things will speed up.

It’s currently called Moramortia (fondly known as Sick Scorpius), and it’s set during Albus and Scorpius’s seventh year at Hogwarts. 

Scorpius isn’t on the Hogwarts Express at the start of seventh year, and Albus discovers that he’s become very ill over the summer. Determined to find out what’s wrong with him and how to make him better, Albus starts doing some research, and discovers Moramortia, a fatal illness with just one cure. Together, Albus and Scorpius (with some help from Rose) set out on an adventure to find the ingredients to make the potion that will hopefully save Scorpius’s life… 

I hope this fic will have something for everyone. Scorbus fluff, Scorose friendship, Malfoy and Potter family feels, plenty of angst. Drama, adventure, and visits to everywhere from Godric’s Hollow, to Malfoy Manor, to the Chamber of Secrets. 

Under the cut is a little taster of the first 1500 words.

*

Scorpius isn’t on the Hogwarts Express at the start of seventh year. This would be alarming in itself, but coupled with the fact Albus has heard nothing from him in weeks, it’s downright terrifying. 

Albus waits in their usual compartment for half an hour, pacing up and down between the seats. He sticks his head out of the window to try and peer across the smoky platform towards the barrier, but he doesn’t see anything. There’s no sign of him in the corridor either, no flash of white-blond hair among the jostling crowd. It’s weird because Scorpius is usually so eager to get to school. He’s the first one on the train every year. Albus would have expected him to buzzing with excitement for their final year, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. 

When the train sets off and he still hasn’t appeared, Albus goes in search of Rose. If Scorpius is anywhere he’ll be with her, or maybe with the other Prefects.

He squeezes his way down the crowded corridors and finally finds her at the opposite end of the train, telling off a couple of fifth year Hufflepuffs for littering in their compartment. When she spots Albus coming she gives them a final stern look and promises to report them to Professor Sprout if she finds any more mess. Then she slams the compartment door shut and turns to Albus.

“Where’s Scorpius?” She asks. “He wasn’t in the Prefects’ carriage but he should have been, since he’s Head Boy. Is he hiding down the other end of the train with you?" 

Albus stares at her. "You mean… you haven’t seen him?" 

She shakes her head. "No, of course not.” She swishes her robes round herself and stands up tall. “I would have expected him to be more responsible. You’ll have to go back and tell him that he has duties, and if he continues to shirk them I will-”

“I haven’t seen him either,” Albus says.

Rose freezes. “Excuse me?" 

"None of his stuff is in our usual carriage. I didn’t spot him on the platform. I thought he’d be up here with you, but…” he swallows. “Do you think he missed the train? Have you heard from him at all?" 

She shakes her head, frowning. "I haven’t had anything from him. Not a letter all summer. But I thought he’d have written to you…" 

Albus looks over his shoulder, checking the crowded corridor for any sign of a tall, skinny, flailing figure. There’s nothing. "Not for weeks.” He looks back at Rose. “I went on holiday with Mum and Dad and Lily, and when we got back he just stopped writing to me…" 

Rose folds her arms and gives him a look. "Did you two have another fight?" 

Albus shrugs, feeling completely lost. "If we did it wasn’t one I knew about. Anyway, Scorpius doesn’t stop writing when we fight. He writes even more, whole essays about how much he hates me. It’s like his brain won’t shut up." 

Rose unfolds her arms with a desperate flourish. "Well… Maybe he’s on holiday!”

Albus sighs. “It’s the first day of school, Rose. It’s the first day of seventh year. Of course he’s not on holiday." 

"Just a suggestion,” she says, a note of defensiveness in her voice. She looks out of the window, staring over the passing houses, like she’s hoping to find the answer written in the sky. “Maybe he’s ill,” she says.

Albus snorts. “He’d have to be pretty ill not to come to school. He loves it here. I think even if he was dying he’d find a way to drag himself here." 

Rose adjusts her Head Girl badge and frowns off into space. "What about his dad? Maybe something’s wrong with his dad. Has your dad mentioned anything? He’s friends with Draco.”

Albus shakes his head. “Nothing…”

“Well, maybe you should write to him and check." 

Albus nods thoughtfully. "That’s a good idea… maybe I’ll go and do that now. I’ll see if he’s in any of the compartments on the way. You never know, he might have had a sugar crash and fallen asleep in one of them or something.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rose says. “Anyway, I’m going to go and yell at those third years who nearly set their compartment on fire earlier. I mean really, letting off fireworks on a train. How stupid do you have to be?” She sets off, then stops dead and looks back at Albus. “Do you want me to come and find you later? I can help with the letter if you want." 

"I think I’m capable of writing my own letter,” Albus snaps. He hadn’t intended to sound so short tempered, but he can’t help it. 

Rose holds her hands up. “Just offering. You don’t have to get all touchy about it." 

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I’m not touchy. Just worried." 

Rose puts a hand on his shoulder. "I’m sure he’s okay." 

Albus meets her eyes. "I really hope so.”

He sends his letter out that afternoon, then spends a lonely night stuck at the end of the Slytherin table without his best friend. The Sorting feels dull, and the Feast is tasteless since there’s no Scorpius to enjoy them with. It’s like all the life and colour has been sucked out of the world. 

The worst part of the evening comes when he goes up to the dormitory and has to try and sleep beside Scorpius’s empty bed. He tosses and turns all night, wondering and worrying, and getting very little sleep. It’s a relief to get up and go to breakfast next morning. 

Thankfully, his dad’s reply comes while he’s sitting there picking at his bacon. He nearly knocks over his goblet of pumpkin juice in his eagerness to untie the letter. Wiggles, the family snowy owl, hoots indignantly at him, and he strokes her head and feeds her a bit of toast crust to make up for his over-excitement. Once he’s freed the letter from her leg he glances up at Rose and waves her over. She glances around then dashes across the hall to sit in Scorpius’s empty seat.

“You know we’re not supposed to switch tables at meals,” she hisses, ducking her head and looking up at the staff table to see if she’s been spotted. “We’re setting a bad example to the kids.”

“Whatever,” Albus says. “We’re seventh years. The rules don’t apply to us anymore.”

“That’s not even a little bit-” She breaks off at Albus’s look and tuts. “Fine. Show me this letter." 

Albus shoves the cornflake bowl and toast rack out of the way and smooths the letter out on the table between them. 

Albus,

Glad to hear the train ride was okay. I know Professor McGonagall was a bit worried about all those high winds around the border. 

I agree it seems a little odd Scorpius wasn’t there, and no, I haven’t heard from Draco in a few weeks, not since we got back from France. I’ll keep an eye out for him at work and if I hear anything I’ll write. Hopefully they’ll turn up soon! 

Good luck with the term. I’m sure you’ll be excellent. Are you planning to take the advanced Apparition lessons if they’re offered? It’ll give you a great head start for Auror training. I wish I’d had chance to take them. 

Constant vigilance, and keep in touch (at least let us know you’re alive this term, your mum was really worried last year when you didn’t write).

Love,

Dad 

"So Draco’s missing too?” Albus says, glancing across the table at Rose. 

She sighs and folds her arms, leaning on the tabletop. “Now you’re going to worry more, aren’t you?" 

Albus stares down at the letter again. "Of course I am. What if someone’s kidnapped them? What if… What if Delphi or someone broke out of Azkaban and kidnapped them?”

Rose tuts. “Do you have to be so dramatic? They’re probably fine, Albus. And no one’s broken out of Azkaban in years.”

“But what if-”

Rose shakes her head and taps a finger on the table. “Speculating is just going to make you even more crazy. Let’s just assume everything’s fine for now-”

“Which it isn’t-”

“And then,” Rose continues forcefully, “we can reassess when we get more information in the future. Okay?”

Albus looks at her, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Okay." 

He doesn’t feel like assuming everything is fine. He feels like his whole world has been turned upside down. He’s only been at Hogwarts once before without Scorpius and it had been hell then, too. The sooner Scorpius comes back, the better. 

"Good,” Rose says. She reaches out for the toast rack and pushes it toward Albus. “Now stop stressing and eat something. It’s our first day of seventh year classes! We have to be on top form." 

Albus picks up a piece of toast and takes a bite of it. "I’m not sure I’ve got a top form,” he says, through his dry mouthful of crumbs.

Rose rolls her eyes at him. 

[nogodsnomasters138-blog]

C.O.C.: Punk Tours and Hardcore History

Editor’s note: Back in 2012, I was lucky enough to schedule a phone interview with C.O.C.’s Woody Weatherman. The band had reformed as a trio and were on a tour where they played the entirety of the “Animosity” album. I was trying to help publicize the tour’s Birmingham, Ala., stop (the promoter did a horrible job), so I ended up getting this interview on the blog section of al.com. The publicizing part didn’t work, but the interview turned out decent. Included are some photos posted by opening band Zoroaster that were taken at the Birmingham date of the tour.

North Carolina’s Corrosion of Conformity … C.O.C. for short … reformed as a trio a few years back. After a tour where they performed the entire crossover classic “Animosity,” the group recorded, and will soon release, a new self-titled album. Phillip Lawless had the opportunity to speak with guitarist Woody Weatherman about the new album, the band’s reformation and C.O.C.’s upcoming tours…

Phillip Lawless: I know the new self-titled album is about to come out. I wanted to ask how the recording sessions went for the album. Woody Weatherman: Basically, it was definitely one of the easiest trips to the studio that we’ve ever done. I mean we pretty much had our shit together. So we, you know, kind of been playing the songs live for a while … well, most of them, not all of them. Working out the kinks and all that stuff. And by the time we got in the studio, man, it just rolled right on, man. We just … the way we do it in the studio is like Mike and I just kind of get in the room with Reed, get the drums all miced up, have some amps off in another room, slap the headsets on, and we just kind of play like we’re playing live. Let Reed do his thing, man. And that’s basically how we get the drum tracks going. Then we just start stacking stuff up. This time around, man, it really went smooth. No worries. PL: You said you guys were playing some of the new songs live. How did these songs come together? Did different members bring them in, or did you jam and write together? WW: A lot of both. Probably 80 percent of it, everybody just showed up and had three or four songs in their head that they wanted to contribute. Some of them were sort of partial songs. Here’s a for instance. I showed up, I had a tune that I wanted to do, but it only had a couple parts. And so I played the parts for Mike, you know, five minutes later he had some other stuff and we just threw it together and started making songs that way, you know. If you can’t come up with the whole thing, you just kind of get together and … we’ve all worked together for so long that we can make stuff like that happen pretty easy. PL: C.O.C.’s new era is kind of the old era, I guess. What led to you guys getting back together as a three piece and moving on without Pepper Keenan? WW: A kind of funny part of the story is Pepper was kind of the catalyst for getting us all back together because he had been out on the road with DOWN for a while and sort of noticed that there was some interest in having CORROSION come over and do some festivals in Europe. And so he sort of hit us all up, because Mike and Reed and I live pretty close to each other. We started jamming in anticipation of that, and that really never materialized, you know, due to a few factors. But we just kept on jamming, and the next thing you know we were writing music and playing shows and having a good time. And we just kept on rolling with the ball. PL: Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the only member that’s been on every C.O.C. album. WW: That’s what they tell me. PL: Was there a secret to that, or was it just carrying on to carry on? WW: I guess I just was the only one that just kept on hanging around, you know. I mean, with that being said, man, it’s just awesome to have Reed back in the fold. Especially, you know, after him being gone for like really a whole decade, man, he wasn’t in the band. And that’s really been the catalyst for making all this stuff work, having him back and it just makes the stuff flow so easy, you know, having the three original guys. It’s been a lot of fun.

PL: You guys were revisiting the second album, and a little bit of the first, is there anything you remember about recording those early albums? Any cool memories from the early days? WW: Those things, especially like, yeah you’re talking going all the way back to like “Eye for an Eye” or something like that, I mean we had no idea what going to the studio was. We didn’t, you know, we had no clue. We just were writing these punk rock songs having a good time and wound up, you know, with microphones in front of our amps and trying to capture it. But, you know, we would record that whole damn album like in a day. We’d just set up and just start burning through songs, you know. We had really no clue on what it took to capture, you know, stuff on tape and, you know, that you’re supposed to take a little bit of time or whatever. But, you know, you live and learn. Of course by the time we got around to doing “Animosity,” we did half, side two of that record in Raleigh, NC. We rode out to Los Angeles to do side one. And that was kind of our first foray into a real studio and whatnot. I guess the learning process started then. You know man, it was all good times, you can’t complain. PL: As young kids, was C.O.C. on any crazy punk tours? Were there any older bands you played with that were noteworthy or interesting? WW: Oh man, yeah dozens. You know, we were kids ourselves when we first hit the road. I mean, we were playing dives, we were just trading off gigs with, you know, punk rock bands in other towns. It would be like, “Man, well you put us up and let us play your town and we’ll do the same for you if you come our way.” And that was how we kind of traded out and got to tour back then. Because there was like this whole network, and even if you were an unknown band just starting out, I mean you could travel around this sort of hardcore, you know, punk rock network. And that’s the way we did it, man. And just from a very early stage, like whenever we did that “Eye for an Eye” record back in 84 or whatever, we pretty much hit the road right off the bat. I think we did a couple runs that summer, went out west. Yeah, that was just the way that we sort made a name for ourselves was just hitting the road.

PL: Recently, C.O.C. was playing a different style of music, and now you’ve came back playing the whole “Animosity” album. Did you have to work on your speed metal chops again or was it like riding a bike?

WW: It was kind of like riding a bike. But I tell you, some of those tunes, like and the stuff on “Technocracy” and stuff, they’re pretty challenging. I mean there’s a … they’re fast and there’s some crazy changes and lots of parts, you know, stuffed in there. I tell you, it was definitely fun relearning some of them. There were a few that we had played live through the years, thrown in sets at different times, but doing the whole, it’s kind of challenging. Because, yeah, they’re a little faster than some of the stuff we’ve been playing, you know, on the last few records. But man, they’re … that stuff is a blast to play live. We’re having a great time doing it. I mean this upcoming tour we’re keeping a lot of that stuff in the set, and doing a lot of, of course a lot of the new record. And even some, you know we’ve got a couple things off like “Deliverance,” you know, stuff like that we’re tossing in there for fun. So we’ve got a pretty wide variety happening on this tour coming up.

PL: Are you guys still doing a song off “Blind”? It seems like I heard you were playing “Vote with a Bullet.” WW: Yeah, sometimes we do a little taster of that, you know, just for fun. PL: Was the “Blind” lineup revamp the band’s decision, or did the record label have something to do with taking the band in that direction? WW: Nah, no record label stuff. I mean that was just us, you know, doing our thing. There were things at the time and the place, and that was what felt right at the time, you know, throwing that lineup together. And we had a … we made a good record and had fun on the road. It kind of fell apart, that particular lineup, whenever it came time to start working on the “Deliverance” album. It didn’t really work out that way. But we made the changes and made it happen like we always do. PL: Now, 30 years later, being on the road, how has it changed? Is it a different routine, or does it have a lot in common with the early days? WW: Hey, we’re still in a van, playing some of the same venues as a matter of fact. There’s still a few venues that are still hanging there, you know, year after year. But, I mean, it’s kind of the same thing, you know. Obviously we used to do crazier stuff when we were younger. We would do, I mean, crazy drives. We would just kind of kill ourselves and not really know it just cause we didn’t care. You know, kids just get out there, “Ah, it’s only 15 hours to the next show. We’ll leave after we play and we’ll get there in time to play.”  We used to do a lot of that kind of stuff. You know, we try to take it a little easier on ourselves, driving distances and all that kind of stuff these days. Other than that, man, you know we’re still out there doing it, having fun. So it’s kind of the same thing. PL: You’re touring with a good number of up-and-coming younger bands. Have any of those bands that have caught your eye? Anybody that you’re impressed with? WW: Ah man, there always is. Well, this tour coming up I’m really excited about. We’ve got the TORCHE guys; VALIENT THORR, who are another Carolina act, so we’re real stoked about that; and A STORM OF LIGHT, who I’m really excited to see live. I mean we always try to … if it’s our tour, we try to throw something together that’s, you know, pretty cohesive, but not exactly the same thing. Like we don’t want to go out where every band is the same thing over and over. You know, we try to get a little diversity in there, a little variety without it going too far off the deep end. And I think this tour is going to be fun. We’ve got a bunch of other dates that we haven’t announced yet. We’re going to be heading out west and, you know, up into Canada and stuff. So we’ve had a lot of people going, “Man, you never come to Canada anymore!” So we’re getting ready to. PL: No offense, but the vocals with this lineup have improved tremendously. Was that something you all worked on, or have you all just had more time to mature as vocalists? WW: Well, you know, Mike of course really brought his A-game to the album. And he did a great job. And Reed sings three songs on the record too, you know. Thankfully, I didn’t sing much. They don’t want me to sing. I just stick to the six strings they allow me to twang on. But yeah man, Mike really stepped up to the plate. He did a great job, and so did Reed. I mean those guys, you know they worked on their stuff and worked on their lyrics and, you know, spent some time on it.