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desiredmalfoy · 3 years

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Your Sweater

Character: Pansy Parkinson

Theme: Angst; one-sided pinning

T/W: Self-hate, body image issues please be careful when reading if this triggers you. Please let me know if there is another trigger I forgot to mention.

Note: Takes place during sixth year. No Voldemort in this universe. Just for the purpose of this story, Remus is the permeant DADA professor (no curse).

This deals with a lot of heavy stuff that has to deal with self-hate. This idea came to me randomly one morning and I just wrote and came out with this.

Song Inspiration: Heather by Conan Gray

It would be no surprise to anyone that Pansy Parkinson had a crush on Draco Malloy. Unfortunately for her, her younger self had made it painfully obvious to everyone that Draco was her crush. But as they grew older, she toned down her public affection for the boy. Opting that it was better for her public image to not be seen as the girl obsessed with Draco Malloy. Going as far as to joke with her friends that she’s glad her silly crush on Draco was over. If only they knew that her crush for him only grown and that it took all her strength to keep it hidden.

Pansy Parkinson no longer wanted to be seen as pathetic. Pathetic for chasing a boy who was never going to love you.

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater.

It was freezing and Pansy had stupidly forgotten her sweater in her dorm room. She forgot to grab it as she rushed out the door. She was in a rush to get to the Care of Magical Creatures class that was held outside by Hagrid. Normally she wouldn’t care about being late to such a pathetic class but she had received an owl from her parents. They had told her that they had been informed by her constant tardiness to this particular class. Her mother made it clear that no Parkinson should ever be displaying such behavior. And now she’s stuck outside running the risk of freezing to death.

She shivered as she attempted to keep herself warm with just her robe. It wasn’t bloody helping at all.

She hadn’t noticed that Draco was watching her as she slightly bounced in place to attempt to keep warm.

“Here”, Draco mumbled to her as he handed her his sweater. “Your shivering is distracting.”

“Thanks, Malfoy”, Pansy said with a slight eye roll. She took the warm sweater from his hands and tried to put it on as quickly as possible. “I’m surprised you want to hear anything Hagrid has to say.”

“I don’t”, Draco stated with an eye roll.

It didn’t matter why he had given her his sweater. All that mattered to Pansy is that now his entire scent engulfed her. She longed for the moment he felt the same way she did.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty

Pug face

She hated that nickname with a burning passion. No one dared to say it directly to her face. They were scared of what the young girl would do to them if they did. But Pansy heard as students uttered that idiotic name when she passed by. The first time she ever heard someone call her that was Potter and his little followers. These words stung her a bit but she quickly morphed her face back into a stoic expression. She acted as though she hadn’t just heard a bunch of Gryffindor's insult her about looks. Ever since that first encounter with it, it became more prominent in her head that quite a few people called her that.

That horrid name is what had her in such a bad mood currently. It wasn’t helping that Draco was now walking towards their regular spot with you.

You. The girl that magnified Pansy’s insecurities to a maximum. The girl who made Pansy realize every imperfection she had. The girl who had basically stolen her best friend.

The girl that was now wearing his sweater instead of Pansy.

The girl who had soft green eyes with specks of brown, contrasted Pansy’s boring brown eyes. She hated that everyone thought everything about you was better compared to her. Because if it wasn’t the truth, Draco would be by her side and not yours.

You were the girl that had long beautiful brown hair that reached your waist. Hair that shined under the light and looked so soft to the touch. Your hair flowed with each of your delicate movements. While Pansy had the same brown hair but hers was short and plain. It was nothing special. It was cruel how the universe had gifted you both with brown hair yet it had cursed Pansy with plainness. While it gifted you the beauty that anyone would envy.

And that envy was eating her up inside.

Kinda wish she were dead

Pansy wished you had stayed in the shadows of (y/house). She had wished you had stayed a nobody to everyone. Just like you had previously before you waltzed into Draco’s life in sixth year and unfortunately Pansy’s life as well. But fate had cruelly paired Draco with you for DADA. Well... Professor Lupin had paired you with him. She loathes Lupin for deciding to ever pair you up with Draco. While she got stuck working with the git Goyle.

She felt the anger boil within her as she saw Draco attempting to walk you through the wand movements of a simple defense spell. You were probably just pretending not to know so you could get close to him.

Angered burned in her chest when she attempted to make fun of your pathetic excuse of magic use during DADA. Draco actually had the audacity to sneer at her for making fun of the pathetic girl.

“Leave her alone Parkinson. She’s never done anything to you.”

Funny how the boy who never had a problem with making fun of anyone suddenly saw wrong in her actions.

Those words burned in her brain as she saw your friendship with Draco begin to bloom. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

That friendship eventually blossomed into a relationship.

She wished you would just disappear. Disappear from her life and most importantly Draco’s.

Holding your hand. Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder.

“Why are we waiting again”, Pansy asked annoyed that they hadn’t left yet for their trip to Hogsmeade.

“We’re not even late”, Draco scoffed at her. “You can all leave and I’ll wait here.”

“Wait for what”, Pansy asked him again. Annoyed at the fact that she had once again been left out of something.

“Are you really that dense Parkinson”, Blaise rolled his eyes at her. “He’s waiting for the (y/n).”

“Yeah it’s not like he hasn’t been fawning over her for the past weeks”, Goyle laughed.

“Well, my life doesn’t revolve around Malfoy’s love life. So how would I know?” Of course he’d be waiting for her.

“Hi sorry I’m late”, (y/n) said as she ran running down the hall toward the group of Slytherins. “ I couldn’t find my favorite sweater.”

“Hi everyone”, she said sickingly sweetly as she waved to the group. They boys returned her greeting with a small wave. Pansy simply rolled her eyes.

“I would’ve let you borrow mine”, Draco said as he grabbed her hand. This caused a frown to form on Pansy’s lips. Could you be any more annoying?

“Let’s go already. I’m getting cold just standing around.”

“You’re so impatient Parkinson,” Blaise said with an eye roll. “Next time bring a better coat.”

Draco was no longer paying attention to her. His full attention was on you.

But you like her better, wish I were HER.

Pansy sat down at the table waiting for her date to return with their drinks. She had stupidly hoped Draco would gain some sense and ask her to the End of the Year Ball. But she was extremely naïve to even expect that much. She knew he was still dating (y/n) but deep down she wished he would’ve asked her.

She didn’t understand why Draco failed to pay attention to her. She was everything his parents wanted for him. A pure-blood that came from a good family with money. She was his perfect match.

But even she knew that Draco’s parents adored (y/n). Her mother had written her letting her know that Narcissa did nothing more then brag and fawn over your relationship with Draco. Her mother had rudely written “Maybe if you tried to be better Draco would actually notice you. Maybe if you were prettier.”

She watched from the edge of the great hall to the center of the dance floor where you had your arms placed around Draco’s neck. He stared deeply into your eyes, intoxicated by you.

She just wished that was her. She wished she was his whole world.

Important: I know I described brown eyes in a negative light (because it’s supposed to be self-hating). Just know that brown eyes are beautiful! I have brown eyes too. Please love your brown eyes and don’t look down on them. I know that generally, people tend to look down on their brown eyes so that’s why I wanted to write this little note at the end.

Note: Pansy is one of my favorite character and I absolutely adore her.

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 20: Cʜᴀᴏs Iɴ Cᴀᴍᴘ

Masterlist

Episode: Day Trip

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Twenty

Although it was crowded and the atmosphere was still tense from the storm, I was pleased to return to a solid structure for the night. Octavia and I bundled up some supplies in a corner and after some persuasion, she agreed to stop obsessively guarding the grounder and to actually try to get some sleep. It was hard for either of us to relax, especially when I saw Bellamy head up the ladder for his turn watching our prisoner as Octavia dozed on my shoulder. I was starting to feel the strain of worrying about the Blake siblings; any time I was busy with one of them I could almost guarantee that the other was getting into trouble. I barely managed a few brief cat naps throughout the night despite my exhaustion. Instead, I was one of the first up and about in camp working on repairs in the morning.

In my time here I’d already become quite efficient at sewing and so I was quickly assigned to repairing the damaged tents. I had a brief cheeky visit from Jasper and Monty on their way back from their successful foraging adventure to offer me some nuts that they’d found. I declined the food, feeling too stressed to eat and I promised to join them for a proper meal later on. I settled into a quiet corner near the edge of camp to work and enjoyed the peace of the alone time. After spending time on the Ark living isolated in a cell, I realised that it was a challenge for me to adjust to the constant presence of so many people. I keep my mind from wandering over what trouble Bellamy and Octavia could have gotten into by now and instead reassured myself that both of them tend to make a big enough scene for me to notice. I spent a couple of relaxing hours sewing and watching the bustling activity of the camp as people woke and were assigned to various tasks. We’d managed to assemble a food line with people organising portions into neatly packed rations so that we could keep track of our supply levels.

I noticed several people heading over to the area where we’d been keeping prisoners and I watched their activity with interest. I assessed that they carried enough supplies to indicate that repairs needed to be done to the makeshift cells we’d created and I wondered where they would put the two attackers whilst they rebuilt. I continued sewing as I waited anxiously for someone to escort the two men past, but no such movement happened. After a while, more assistants arrived with shovels and two large sheets filled with a human shape were carried past me to the gate. I overheard the people who hauled them out discussing how glad they were that the storm had only killed the rapists of camp and I was relieved to hear that no one else had been hurt. I was conflicted on whether it was appropriate to feel no sadness at the death of two members of our camp, as I knew in my gut that I would have argued against killing them for their crimes. I decided to allow myself to feel relieved that the decision on what to do with them had been taken out of our hands and I tried not to feel guilty about it. Once I’d accumulated a pile of repairs, I made my way back into the fray and took them to add to the pile of fixed items that were waiting to be set back up in camp. As I organised the pile, Clarke approached me with a nervous manner and I struggled not to roll my eyes.

“Hey Indigo, I couldn’t find you earlier. I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet but we’ve got video contact up and running with the Ark. They’re sending all the families in for a chat so if you’ve got anyone to contact-”

“Nope, my only family is down here.” I cut her off abruptly, not wanting to engage in personal conversation. I was honestly still frustrated with her for getting swept up in the torture last night, but I was too exhausted to confront her for her part in it right now. “Anyway, I’ll go back to the orphan corner. The Ark’s quite good at creating us, I’m sure it’ll be crowded in no time.” I spat coldly as I stormed away from her.

I returned to my sewing and tried not to be bitter as I watched people being called to the tent one by one for time with their families. I struggled not to picture my mother and when I failed, I imagined what she would look like now. My mind filled with images of her, the warm tone of her short auburn hair, her fair skin always a fawn white coated in hundreds of tiny amber freckles. It was one of the most beautiful, fascinating things about her to me, the little sporadic pattern on her skin that sadly never passed to me. I remembered the blue lagoon of her eyes, glistening with a multitude of hypnotising shades and if you paid enough attention, a miniscule ring of hazel right around the pupil. I saw them every time I looked in the mirror and it was still haunting for me even years later. It was only worsened by the fact that my eyes never sparkled like hers had in her happier years, in the memories of her that I cherished most desperately. Instead, mine were dulled and depthless, the same way hers looked after years of pain and suffering endured at the hands of the guard who destroyed both of our lives. The eyes that I inherited from my mother were a constant reminder of the state that she had been in the last time I ever saw her and I suspected it was a large cause of the self loathing I felt whenever I dared to look into a mirror. I was relieved to be pulled from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps nearby and I glanced up to see Clarke and Bellamy making their way out of camp. I casually approached them, trying not to show my concern and Bellamy seemed relieved as he saw me.

“Hey, you heading out?” I asked with an interested look as I noticed the supplies they both carried.

“Yeah, the Ark mentioned some supplies nearby so we’re going to scout it out.” Clarke replied, whilst Bellamy watched me with a tense air about him that seemed to come from nowhere.

“Oh, well that’s promising. You sure you’re okay with just the two of you? I can back you up if needed?” I offered earnestly, but as Clarke opened her mouth to answer Bellamy abruptly cut her off.

“No I need you here.” He spoke firmly and I stared at him in confusion. He glanced over to Clarke reluctantly, then took my arm and walked me slightly further from her, lowering his voice. “Look, I appreciate you coming after me last night and I’ve been thinking about what you said. I will try to trust Octavia more, you have my word on that. But for now, I trust you. Can you keep an eye on her for me?” His expression was deeply serious, more so than the situation warranted and I felt like there was something more to his request that he wasn’t sharing with me.

“Of course I can.” I answered, considering him suspiciously. “Is there something else going on Bellamy?” I asked in a vain attempt to encourage him to be honest with me.

“No, I just…” He trailed off unconvincingly and I raised a brow at him. “I’m on edge with that grounder in camp. I’m trying to trust her not to do anything stupid, but if I’m honest, I’m expecting it. Just...tell me that you’ll keep her safe for me?” His eyes were strangely intense and he still gripped me tightly as he spoke.

“You know that I will.” I breathed with a confused tone, feeling nerves settling in my stomach as I assessed him. “So you just make sure that you come back safe, deal?” I replied, compelled to reassure myself that he would be coming back as I embraced the feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t answer me, turning to walk away without even a nod of acknowledgement. I grabbed his arm firmly to stop him from leaving. “Bellamy, I mean it. Be careful out there, please?” I added, my words quickly fading from assertive to pleading. He nodded reluctantly but it did nothing to relieve my fear. I watched him and Clarke make their way out of camp with a knot in my stomach and I had to force myself to return to the dropship instead of staying there to wait for their return.

As I entered the ship and searched around for Octavia, I wasn’t at all surprised to find her anxiously waiting on the second floor, under the hatch where the grounder was being held. I was walking toward her when Connor pushed past to bang on the hatch and yell up.

“Hey Miller, Roma’s parents are waiting for you on the radio.” He called before turning on his heel to walk straight out without waiting to see if he had been heard.

My stomach lurched at the mention of her name but I tried to concentrate on the task at hand. From Connor’s words, it sounded like they were about to leave the grounder unguarded and I could already feel Octavia desperately staring at me. I diverted my path to avoid looking suspicious and fiddled with some supplies in an attempt to look busy. Fortunately Octavia understood my strange move and she quickly did the same on the other side of the space as we tried to look casual whilst Miller made his way down the ladder and stomped outside. Octavia immediately dashed to the ladder and I ran over to meet her.

“Hey, Bellamy’s out of camp so I’ll try to keep the goons out of your hair. I’ll give you as long as I can but please don’t do anything reckless. I know you trust him and I’m on your side that this whole thing is wrong but you still need to be careful. Don’t let your guard down. Now go.” I rambled in a hurry, before practically pushing her up the ladder to speed her up. I knew in my gut that Bellamy would be furious with me if he knew what I’d just done, but our methods of protecting Octavia were different and I found that allowing her to make her own decisions and mistakes was working well for me so far. She was growing, which she needed to do in an environment like this and I maintained her trust. In my mind, it was most important that she always continued to trust me with her problems so that I could help when she got herself into trouble, instead of sneaking around behind my back like she did with Bellamy. I waited nervously on the spot whilst Octavia was upstairs and I expected to run into trouble at any moment. It wasn’t long at all until it came. Miller approached the ladder with a furious expression and I steeled myself for a conflict.

“Miller, how were Roma’s parents? I can’t imagine that as an easy conversation to have. If it helps I can speak to them? I was with her when…” I trailed off, unsure of what else to say. I wasn’t even sure if what I’d offered would be of any help at all, and felt guilty for even trying to use it as a distraction.

“No Indigo, that wouldn’t help at all. Now get out of my way, I need to get back to guarding the piece of shit whose friends are killing us.” He spat, pushing past me. I jumped back in front of him to try to block him and he looked up at the hatch in frustration. “Oh goddammit, Octavia is up there again isn’t she? Will you two ever give it a fucking rest with getting in the way?” He growled and I shifted awkwardly. I was disappointed that I hadn’t been able to think of a better distraction and instead had to resort to reasoning with him.

“Come on Miller, she’s not doing any harm and Bellamy isn’t even here. She’s just treating him like a human being.” I answered in an attempt to diffuse the situation and I already felt in my gut that I was wasting my time as he viewed me with disgust.

“What about our people, the ones they killed? You think they treated them like fucking human beings?” He spat as he continued to try to get to the ladder, but I remained in front of him to block it.

“We don’t even know if he had anything to do with that. We don’t know anything about Earth, we didn’t even expect there to be people here! We can’t hold one man responsible.” I argued, trying to reason with him despite his growing anger. I couldn’t tell which of us would lose our temper first as he looked down on me and I felt my stomach turning in frustration.

“Get out of my fucking way Sloan! Bellamy isn’t here to shield you today, don’t fucking test me!” He growled, attempting to pull me out from the ladder but instead I instinctively pushed him away from me and held my ground.

In an explosion of anger he swung at me; his fist collided with my jaw and caused me to stumble back. True to my assurance to Bellamy that I could protect myself, I rammed into Miller, tackling him at his waist and splayed him out on the floor. I pulled my arm back to punch him but before I could complete the movement I was interrupted by frantic yelling as Jasper stumbled into the space.

“Octavia! Indigo! Octavia!” His tone of blind panic caused me to let go of Miller and instead of continuing my assault, I jumped to my feet. As I did this, the hatch opened and Octavia frantically started climbing down.

“Jasper, what’s wrong?” I asked worriedly and as his gaze fell on me, he rushed over to my side. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see that Miller was back on his feet and that he was in the process of reaching up to violently pull Octavia from the ladder. I felt my temper combust inside my chest and I turned on my heel, throwing all of my weight behind the punch that met his face like a bulldozer. Miller collapsed onto the ground unconscious and I shook my hand with a grimace.

“Fuck, Indigo, that was extreme!” Octavia breathed as she viewed me with a hint of amusement and I shrugged back. “Jasper, are you alright?” She asked as she gently placed a comforting hand on him in concern.

“I...I think I’m going crazy.” He spat as he reached out with a desperate grip on her shoulders. “Or the grounders are here, or I’m going crazy!” His voice was frantic and terrified and I raised my brows in surprise. Octavia gently released herself from his grip and she began to lead him to the entrance to the dropship.

“Okay, just slow down.” She breathed, encouraging him to match her relaxed pace. “Just tell me what you saw.” As they reached the entrance and gained a view of the camp, Jasper seemed to hyperfixate on one point with wide, horrified eyes. I approached them, standing at his other side from Octavia and I watched him closely.

“Him!” He whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed to an empty spot. Although it was obvious to us that he was pointing at nothing, the conviction in which he stared out and pointed insistently caused me to become concerned.

“Jasper, there’s no one there.” Octavia replied firmly as she tried to take control of the situation.

“He’s right there!” Jasper yelled wildly back, finally losing control of his panic and I jumped at the sudden change in his demeanor. “We have to run, we have to run, why isn’t anyone doing anything-” He grabbed Octavia and tried to pull her but she dug her heels into the ground in resistance. I grabbed his arm to keep him with us and he stared at me in shock.

“Jasper! Are you on something?” Octavia asked and was unable to keep the annoyance from her tone any longer.

“Stay calm with him Tavi. He might be having a trauma flashback.” I spoke softly and slowly, as Jasper watched me with an expression that showed that he wasn’t really seeing me. He turned back to face Octavia with a slightly calmer manner, but instead I could sense a hint of slurring in his words.

“I love you.” He stated, causing us both to raise our brows in surprise. “And I just want you to know that we’re all gonna die soon, okay? I love you.” He rushed his words but also tried to cram food into his mouth at the same time. Octavia grabbed his hand midway to his mouth and revealed the nuts that he and Monty had offered me earlier.

“Is this all you’ve eaten today?” She questioned, fixing him with a serious expression as I watched with a feeling of dread as I recognised them.

“It is but who the hell cares now?” He breathed, waving his arms around in a dramatic fashion and I had to stifle a snigger at his out of character behaviour.

“You’re totally bombed.” She sighed, glancing over at me for assistance and I looked back at her with concern as I shook off my amusement.

“Him and Monty offered those to me this morning when they found them.” I clarified as I met her eyes and she looked back at me with relief. “How many other people in camp did they give them to?” I asked, glancing around with a knot in my gut and her eyes widened as she realised the implications.

“I don’t know but we need to find out, fast. For now we need to deal with him before he causes a panic.” Octavia whispered, indicating to Jasper who was now hyperventilating and causing quite a scene. She stepped outside by just a few steps and I had to grip his arm to keep him from following her. She picked up a fallen branch and returned just inside the ship to hand it to him purposefully. “Here buddy, take this.” She breathed and I sensed a hint of sarcasm in her voice despite her best efforts to conceal it.

“It’s a stick?” He questioned as he took it and stared at her in bewilderment.

“No, this is an anti grounder stick.” She argued in a forced tone and I struggled not to snort at her prosperous plan. “So as long as you hold this and you sit right here, grounders won't be able to see you. See?” She spoke softly and encouraged him to take a seat inside the dropship.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll just stay right here.” Jasper nodded, settling into his seat and accepting her lie far easier than I’d anticipated. Octavia looked at me and rolled her eyes, and I had to stifle a giggle. I was sympathetic for Jasper; he’d been through so much since we got here that I thought he was doing incredibly well to still even be functioning.

“I’m gonna do the rounds of camp and just check no one else is freaking out.” I stated as I glanced out at the seemingly calm space anxiously and Octavia nodded in agreement.

“Good idea. You take one side, I’ll take the other and we’ll meet back here.” She answered and I smiled at her responsibility.

I stuck my head into multiple tents and everyone on my side seemed to still be their normal selves. From what I could tell, people were still efficiently working on their duties. After checking most of my side, I decided to find Monty and I hoped that he’d be in a better state than Jasper had gotten himself into. When I entered their tent, I found Monty laid flat out in a pile of sleeping bags and staring up at the ceiling of the tent with a fascinated expression.

“Hey Monty, are you good in here?” I asked gently as I stepped properly into the space and surveyed him. He turned to face me with a dosy smile and widely dilated eyes.

“Hey, it’s the pretty girl!” He answered cheerfully and I chuckled under my breath at his strange demeanour.

“So, I’ve just been chatting with Jasper and he was telling me about the nuts you found in the forest this morning.” I approached slowly and sat beside him. I was careful not to startle him after Jasper’s earlier panicky behaviour and worried that I could inadvertently spiral him into a similar state.

“Oh the nuts! Yeah, they’re super good, they’re so tasty, I think they might be the best thing I’ve eaten since I got here.” He raved, smiling widely at me. “You should make sure you get some.” He added and I knew that baiting him would be easier than I had anticipated.

“You know, I really want to try them, they sound amazing. But everyone liked them so much that no one will share with me.” I said coyly, and his face fell into a profoundly sad expression as he considered my words. I struggled not to snigger at his dramatic reactions.

“What?! That’s so greedy! I’ll share with you pretty girl.” He smiled, pulling a small supply of the nuts from his pocket and handing them to me without any resistance. “It’s not much, but those are all I have left.” He admitted and I was warmed by his kindness.

“Thanks Monty, you’re the best.” I replied, forcing a wide smile back at him in an attempt to not be suspicious. The effects of the nuts seemed to be different on Monty, maybe because he hadn’t endured quite as much trauma as Jasper, or maybe he was usually a chilled, happy drunk. I reflected on what he’d been arrested for, and decided I wouldn’t be surprised if the latter was the case.

“Oh you’re welcome Indie! I’ll always share with you. You’re nice, and cool, and pretty. So pretty. Did you know that? Bellamy doesn’t deserve you.” He rambled quickly in a slurred fashion.I struggled not to laugh now, wrinkling up my nose as I smiled at him.

“Well it’s a good thing that Bellamy doesn’t have me then, isn’t it.” I replied earnestly as I appreciated his kind words, even if they were caused by blatant intoxication. “You know what Monty, you’ve done so well today gathering these delicious treats that I think you’ve earned a break. Why don’t you take a nap?” I suggested encouragingly as I got to my feet.

“Yeah, a nap sounds great. I love naps.” He smiled as he shuffled himself into a comfortable position and quickly dozed off. I smiled at his peaceful form resting in a self hugging pose before I crept out of the tent. I made my way back to the dropship and found Octavia waiting for me.

“Hey, just so you know Miller’s back up and being a dick as usual.” She groaned in annoyance and I rolled my eyes. “He went straight back up there to guard Lincoln-I mean the grounder.” She added before dropping her gaze to her feet.

“Please tell me you haven’t named him? He’s not a puppy and no you can’t keep him.” I stated firmly, with only a small hint of playfulness. I hoped for a laugh but instead she stared back at me in an awkward manner.

“No, that’s his name. He told me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper to divulge this information and I froze to the spot in shock.

“You said he didn’t speak English?” I asked in a hiss as I felt unnerved by this revelation.

“I didn’t think he could, but turns out he can.” She replied casually and I got the impression that she didn’t understand the gravity of this discovery. I stared back at her in horror, as I remembered how much of the conversation between Bellamy and I had been in front of the prisoner. I desperately struggled to think whether I had said anything that could endanger Bellamy if it were to get out and felt my heart hammering as I considered it.

“Jesus, Octavia, did you tell him anything?” I grilled her with more aggression than intended and she seemed to be confused as she stared back at me.

“No, of course not, he didn’t want to know anything. I just told him I was sorry about what happened.” She explained and I could tell that she was insulted in the way that she spoke. “How was your side of camp anyway? Any more freak outs?” She asked in a crude attempt at changing the topic. I sighed but allowed her to guide me, as the nuts situation was a more pressing issue.

“No, everyone’s pretty normal, except for Monty who’s totally baked. But I took what he has left so at least he’ll start coming down.” I answered in a matter of fact manner. “Your side?” I questioned nervously.

“No weirdness at all, maybe Jasper and Monty just ate too many?” She thought aloud and I shrugged back at her. I was hopeful that she was right, as I couldn’t imagine the chaos we’d be met with if these had made their way around camp. “Raven and Finn haven’t come out of their little love den so they should be fine.” She added with a hint of bitterness and I fixed her with a scrutinising look.

“Did you check them?” I asked, eying her suspiciously. She avoided my gaze, shifting awkwardly and I sighed deeply in disappointment. I understood why she didn’t want to be around Raven, but I trusted her to be more mature considering the circumstances. “Fine, I’ll deal with Raven. Don’t do anything whilst I’m gone.” I added as I stepped away from her. She cleared her throat and I paused to turn to face her again. “Unless...you already did something?” I asked hesitantly. She looked incredibly guilty now and was barely even facing my direction any longer. “Octavia, what did you do?” I hissed in annoyance. I knew her too well for her act to fool me and I could tell from her face that there was something she was trying to hide.

“Nothing!” She exclaimed defensively. I raised a brow at her and she quickly crumbled. “Nothing undeserved.” She added with a coy smile and I felt my stomach lurch at her wording. “I may have had a part in ensuring that Miller got his rations.” She smiled and I groaned loudly as I understood that she had drugged him with the nuts. “Look, I’m just saying, if the guards were too high to keep an eye on him then it would be easy for him to just accidentally escape.” She explained her logic and I stared at her in disbelief.

“I just...what?” I stuttered weakly as I processed her words. “I know I agreed with you that he should never have been brought here, or tortured, and I have absolutely no intention of allowing anyone to execute him, but we can’t seriously be talking about letting him go?! That’s a huge risk Octavia, you don’t know him, what are you going to do if he comes back with an army?” I ranted as I felt the nerves brewing in my stomach. As I was in the middle of glaring at her, I realised that she was looking over my shoulder and I turned to see a commotion growing in the camp. It seemed that the effect of the nuts had simply taken a while to kick in as people were now starting to behave strangely all over the camp. “Shit, we’ve got bigger problems right now, I can’t talk to you about this just yet. I know you have drama with Raven and I get it, but Finn is injured and still very early in his recovery, so I need to make sure he’s not high as a kite and busting open his stitches because you dumped your responsibilities over a grudge. Stay here, and don’t do anything reckless whilst I deal with this, and we’ll talk about it when I get back.” I spoke quickly, allowing my tone to convey my stress before I rushed to Raven and Finn’s tent.

It was a struggle to even make it through the chaos of the camp. I was stopped several times by random people in varying states of confusion and panic. I struggled to part from each of them as I worried over reaching the person who I felt was most vulnerable. When the tent finally came into view, I could hear raised voices from inside. I quickened my pace to deal with the conflict and saw Monty stumbling out of the residence.

“Monty, what are you doing? I thought you were having a nap?” I asked frustratedly as I caught sight of him. I couldn’t believe that the one person I thought I’d dealt with was already back out and causing trouble. He turned to face me with an overly cheesy smile and I scrutinised him with an unimpressed manner.

“Oh hey Indie! Well I was trying to have a nap but the tides kept interrupting me so I need to find the moon so that I can change the tide.” He explained in a manner that was so articulate that it was almost believable. I stifled a laugh as I assessed that even whilst drunk Monty was trying to solve problems and studying things in his scientific mind. I smiled at him fondly as I formed a plan to get him out of the way without having to scold him.

“Oh, the moon?” I replied in a fascinated tone. “You know I just saw it heading into your tent, but if you go in there you’ll have to close your eyes so you don’t get blinded by it. So maybe lie down with your eyes closed whilst you talk to it.” I made up whatever I could think of on the spot and waited anxiously to see if Monty believed me. Although he was intoxicated, I doubted that he had become any less intelligent and I worried that he would see through me.

“You’re a genius!” He smiled eagerly and I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding. He gave me an exaggerated high five before running excitedly in the direction of his tent. Raven stepped out of her tent, pulling on her jacket and looked around.

“What the hell is going on?” She asked as she surveyed the chaos that surrounded us with confusion.

“Monty and Jasper found some nuts earlier that seem to be hallucinogens. Everyone's losing their shit.” I explained, watching closely for any strange behaviour from her. “Did either of you eat any?” I asked to confirm that she wasn’t going to fool me as the rest of camp had.

“No, thank god.” She breathed, widening her eyes as someone ran past bare chested and waving their shirt in the air like a flag. “I was with Finn so didn’t collect any rations.” She replied, rubbing her head in a stressed manner. “Does the pressure ever stop here?” She groaned as she met my eyes with an exhausted face. I was surprised to find that her tone was the same as it had been before she brutally tortured the grounder and then tried to fight me.

“No, welcome to Earth, the bullshit is constant.” I spoke coldly, no longer able to bond with her as I had over Finn’s unconscious state. I couldn’t pretend that last night hadn’t happened and I didn’t have the time to deal with the aftermath just yet. “Now, we’ve got around 90 dellusional teenagers to keep alive, so we’re gonna need every set of hands we can get.” I requested and Raven sighed deeply, sticking her head back into the tent.

“Scratch that, get out here.” She spoke into the tent before straightening back up.

“Thank you. If you could start gathering any stragglers at the edge of the camp and bring them back in that would be great. Octavia and I will gather the ones near the dropship.” I instructed and Raven immediately nodded in agreement.

As I approached the dropship I witnessed Octavia creeping back in with supplies bundled in her arms. I broke into a jog to catch her up and I could tell that she hadn’t spotted me nearing her. I cleared my throat just before I fell into step beside her and she jumped in response.

“What are you doing?” I spoke firmly and she turned to face me like a deer caught in headlights. I studied the items that she was carrying and easily identified some clothes and rations. I surveyed her with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. I’d barely been gone for ten minutes and I couldn’t believe that she’d made such a dramatic decision in that time. “I said we’d talk about this. Are you really sneaking around to do this behind my back?” I asked with a hurt tone as I met her eyes. For a moment, she looked genuinely remorseful, but she quickly flipped to defensive behaviour.

“Oh right, of course.” She breathed, squinting at me with annoyance. “You say we’ll talk about it and you expect me to just sit and wait whilst our best chance of getting him out of here is passing us by?! We’re not going to have a better opportunity than this, ever!” She spat and I was surprised to find her pressuring me at such an impossible time.

“Yes, it’s our best chance to free him, but how do we know that freeing him is the right thing?” I asked and she rolled her eyes. I dropped to a scolding tone to try encourage her to realise the seriousness of the conversation and I felt more like I was parenting a bratty child than discussing something with my best friend. “It’s a risk Octavia, what will we do if he comes back with an army of grounders? Will you still feel so justified in your decision when they are killing us in front of you?” I pressed back, in an effort to make her understand the gravity of the decision we needed to make.

“That’s not going to happen! He saved my life!” She argued and I half expected her to stomp her feet as she spoke in an indignant tone.

“Don’t be fucking naive! You don’t know him!” I yelled back as I lost my temper with her ridiculous behaviour. “He may have saved you, but then he chained you to a wall like a fucking pet.” I jabbed and I saw the flicker of offence crossing her face.

“If I’m wrong and he has an army of grounders, they are going to come looking for him! If we let him go, maybe he’ll show us mercy in return.” She suggested and I scoffed at her. “You need to ask yourself this: when Bellamy comes back and we have to make a decision about what to do, how are you going to feel watching him get executed, knowing that you could have saved his life?” She reasoned and I paced around in an attempt to manage the stress that she was piling on me. I knew that we had little time to make a decision one way or another, but I couldn’t judge which option was the most sensible. After all of my time preaching about survival skills and being tactical, I didn't know the answer. “Indigo, sometimes you have to take a chance and have faith in people. I have faith in Lincoln, I can feel in my gut that this is the right thing to do. Now I’m just asking you to trust me.” I stared at her in uncertainty, and my recent words to Bellamy repeated in my mind, much to my frustration. If there was one thing I never wanted to be, it was a hypocrite.

“Fine, fine!” I spat as I snapped under the stress. “But this is on you, this is your choice. Don’t make me regret this!” I added as I jabbed a finger at her and she nodded back thankfully. “You get him out, I’ll keep the few sober people distracted.” I instructed as I tried to form a plan within the limited time constraints. “Come and find me when he’s gone.” I sighed, furious at her for putting me in this position.

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dweemeister · 5 years

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Joker (2019)

On March 30, 1981, John Hinckley Jr. shot and nearly killed United States President Ronald Reagan, wounded a police officer and Secret Service agent, and permanently disabled Press Secretary James Brady (whose death in 2014 was ruled a homicide from the gunshot wound thirty-three years prior). Found not guilty due to insanity, Hinckley obsessed over Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976) while planning his actions. Like Taxi Driver’s protagonist Travis Bickle, Hinckley plotted to assassinate a famous politician. Besotted with Jodie Foster (who starred in Taxi Driver) and disappointed by not attracting her attention after stalking her, Hinckley planned the assassination attempt to impress the actress.

Hinckley and Taxi Driver were both on my mind when watching Todd Phillips’ Joker. Not only do they share thematic connective tissue and similar color palettes, but both films have been plagued by discourse about whether they will inspire someone to commit horrific violence – I respect Taxi Driver as one of the best films released in the 1970s, but it is not something I could rewatch easily. Filmmakers, indeed, should have a sense of social responsibility in their creations. Joker, as a character study first and foremost, paints its politics in broad strokes – preferring to submerge, as character studies should, the audience into the mindset of its protagonist. Joker invites the audience to empathize with a tortured soul who, failed by the state and refusing to hold himself responsible for his worst actions, consciously moves beyond redemption. That point, where the Joker is beyond redemption, is found where Batman fans know him best: murdering only to see if that murder is funny. Whether he reaches that point within the bounds of this film is up for debate.

It is 1981 in Gotham City. The city belches with urban malaise. A garbage collectors’ strike roils the city; socioeconomic inequality is rife; “Super Rats” plague the streets; the municipal services are overwhelmed. Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) is a clown-for-hire living and caring for his aging mother, Penny (Frances Conroy). Money is sparse and one of the few joys Arthur and Penny have is Murray Franklin’s (Robert De Niro in a role not far removed from his turn in 1983′s The King of Comedy) primetime talk show. Arthur suffers from random paroxysms of laughter (a real-life affliction known as emotional incontinence, among other names) that, at the very least, invites disdainful looks from strangers who then avoid him. Arthur is seeking help for his depression and other unspoken problems, but Gotham’s social services are soon defunded by the city government and various other events force him to his breaking point.

Also featured in this film are Arthur’s hallway neighbor Sophie (Zazie Beetz) and cameos from Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen), a young Bruce Wayne (Dante Pereira-Olson), and Alfred Pennyworth (Douglas Hodge).

The film does not glorify any of its hideous violence, but those who are not critical consumers of media will interpret this film how they will. Nevertheless, Joker is less on the side of its protagonist than the likes of Alex DeLarge in A Clockwork Orange (1971) and will likely result in a similar reverence once this film has exited theaters. Within the film’s confines, there is nothing surprising about any of its violence; how the violence happens is shocking in its immediacy and realistic ferocity. It is contextualized as being the inevitable result of a sociopolitical system that cares not for the downtrodden, the mentally ill – to reiterate, Phillips is painting with broad political strokes. Arthur, who keeps on seeking professional help and ways to quell his silent rage, is attempting to stay his destructive behaviors long after his first homicide (as the film does not glorify violence, it also does not target those with mental illness; it directs its ire towards those without sympathy for the mentally ill). Those efforts are stymied by factors beyond his control – an almost-plot twist to shock even ardent Batman fans, the idolization of an unnamed clown who has executed three members or accomplices of Gotham’s elite.

It is here that Joker separates itself from the social cynicism and post-Vietnam War disillusionment and of Taxi Driver; it is here that Philipps’ film becomes just as much a reflection of the era it was released in and the nation of its origin as Scarface (1932 original with Paul Muni), Bonnie and Clyde (1967), and The Dark Knight (2008) once did. Those films respectively capitalized on fears of Italian and Irish mafias making urban centers their criminal playgrounds, countercultural diehards claiming free-wheeling Jazz Age outlaws as their own, and a vast surveillance state crafted to declare war on terrorism. For Joker, the societal diagnosis by Phillips and co-writer Scott Silver (2010′s The Fighter) is double-sided, damning those with and without power. The film decries individuals and groups who deify charismatic or compelling figures claiming their actions and/or rhetoric to be indicative of the common person’s interests. These revered figures incorporate grievance into their persona, weaponizing the language of victimhood not only to bring attention and (justifiably or unjustifiably) force change on a problem, but to absolve themselves of their personal sins. They are, dare it be written, populists. Beware those who invoke “the people” to vindicate their crusades.

Arthur Fleck, as an underemployed clown, does not ask for the attention of the masses. He wishes, “to bring laughter and joy to the world,” yet finds fulfillment in making a handful of children’s hospital patients smile. During Arthur’s first appearance as Joker, he assumes the accidental and public mantle that has set Gotham aflame – legitimizing the homicides he has committed and the public’s brutalization of authority figures by playing victim. He is consumed in self-pity; his words become a simplistic screed. Notice how appealing his words are, how rapidly rhetorical animosity precludes political violence. In Joker’s darkest sequence, the protagonist will destroy the last remnants of Arthur Fleck and become the popular icon of violent upheaval rarely seen in any of his depictions in DC Comics. This is Joker at its most dangerous, if only because of how violence – whether in oppression or in resistance – is as integral to the United States as political compromise.

We hear these beats of populism elsewhere, too, mixed with capitalist can-do. It is present in Thomas Wayne’s television appearance announcing his candidacy for Mayor of Gotham City – “I alone can fix it,” this man of wealth implies. This is a departure from otherwise sympathetic depictions of Bruce Wayne’s father over the decades in Batman comic books. As a plot development, it (along with the “almost-plot twist”) seems unnecessary if only to ground Joker in the Batman mythos. Contrast this to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, where ill-intentioned, humorless capitalists operating within the military-industrial complex are repelled by the wisecracking “good” capitalists within that same system (see: Tony Stark). Murray Franklin, as a talk show host, concocts a scheme to bolster his ratings by humiliating someone in a worse life station – no background checks needed, let alone any semblance of attempting to understand his subject. Thus, Gotham is subject to personality- and grievance-based politics wrung through the corporate avarice of Network (1976). Joker may not have to space to critique capitalism in its entirety – it is a character study, after all – but the entire apple barrel seems spoiled here.

The least controversial element of Joker is Joaquin Phoenix’s magnificent lead performance. Phoenix has made a living playing men whose lives contend with inner turmoil and unsympathetic worlds. His work in The Master (2012) remains has career-defining role, but as Arthur Fleck and as Joker – through the pained laughter spells, his bodily contortions with his ribcage jutting from his frame, and a brooding nature tempered by an initial gentleness – this will be the role that crosses artistic and popular boundaries that segregate filmmaking. Phoenix may now be defined by this role, as Cesar Romero (a solid contract actor for 20th Century Fox despite being typecast as a Latin lover) and the late Heath Ledger (whose work in The Dark Knight overshadows the rest of his filmography) have been.

Director Todd Phillips, best known for The Hangover series, does an excellent job making Gotham City a character. So often consigned to be the faceless and unfortunate city wracked by domestic terrorism from curiously-named villains, never in a film has Gotham seemed like a place with its own history and haunts. The scenes on mass transit alone sell the city. Phillips’ indulgence for slow-motion (with cinematographer Lawrence Sher’s fawning camerawork) during dance sequences and almost constant dollying can be irritating. One montage between Arthur Fleck and Sophie – specifically, when he enters her apartment, confirming how unreliable a narrator he is – displays a lack of trust in the audience to make their own inferences.

Icelandic cellist and composer Hildur Guðnadóttir has crafted a score for her second film for a major American studio. Guðnadóttir’s career has been defined by an unpleasant mix of bass strings, percussion, and synth, droning repetitively, lacking the emotional catharsis that the films she has worked on are striving for. Her work on Joker is an improvement, but this is as difficult a listen as Joker is to watch. The score is almost entirely texture, not melody – melody is for those older films with sugary sentiment and Hollywood endings that do not reflect life’s ugliness, we are increasingly told. Outside of those with an ear for experimental classical music or instrumental music that groans amelodic passages rather than combining lyrical voices, this music has almost no life outside of the movie. Finally, Guðnadóttir’s style fits the film she has scored for.

As a psychological character piece, the only way that Joker could have secured a wide theatrical release in 2019 would be to tie it to bankable comic book lore. Even as Phillips pitched the idea, Joker faced stiff resistance from Warner Bros. executives – including former chairman Kevin Tsujihara and Greg Silverman – who still had the 2012 massacre in Aurora, Colorado on their minds (that tragedy took place during a screening of The Dark Knight Rises). Warner Bros. noting how poorly Zack Snyder’s vision of DC Comics adaptations was faring, needed to extricate itself from Snyder’s adolescent approach.

In the months before Joker’s release and even within the film, Warner Bros. has embraced its past. Of all of Hollywood’s major studios, Warners always seems to be the most conscious and celebratory of its history*. During the 1930s, Warner Bros. became known for the darker content of its films (its rivals MGM, Paramount, and Fox preferred spectacle, maximizing production values, and prestige pictures). The studio became the spiritual home of the gangster film and hardboiled dramas that pushed the boundaries of violence in American cinema – but not for the sake of depicting violence. Even in their musicals (a genre stereotyped as pure escapism), Warner Bros. layered progressive social commentary amid economic depression. Joker – though its own commentary could be more focused and succinct – inherits the legacy of The Public Enemy (1931), I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932), Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), and its numerous Warner Bros. ancestors.

How curious that a drama with origins from superhero comic books has been little praised for not following the assembly line production methods of numerous films from similar source material. Cinephiles fret, correctly, that movie theaters are becoming a home to superheroes/villains and explicitly-for-children animated features to the exclusion of everything else. The mid-budget character piece is endangered; certain genres have vanished from theater marquees. Joker, to some consternation, has it both ways. It is an excellent, arguably irresponsible, work to be seen with wary eyes.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

* Okay, okay you classic film buffs who have already recognized Joker’s references. Modern Times (1936) and Shall We Dance (1937) are from United Artists and RKO, respectively. But both films have long been part of Warners’ library by acquisition.

#Joker #Todd Phillips #Joaquin Phoenix #Robert De Niro #Zazie Beetz #Frances Conroy #Brett Cullen #Douglas Hodge #Dante Pereira Olson #Glenn Fleshler #Scott Silver #Lawrence Sher #Hildur Gudnadottir #My Movie Odyssey

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hollowedrpg · 5 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, ROSE! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Emmeline Vance. Not only was your application entirely true to their character, but you made them your own and even threw in a few surprises for me. Emmeline being there when their mother was taken is a great addition, and I think explains a bit about who they are now. I also loved how you explored their empathy, which as you said, may not be a trait others would use to describe them, but nevertheless is completely present in who they are.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: rose

age: 21

preferred pronouns: she/her and they/them are both good!

timezone: est

activity: I’m currently only working part time over the summer so I’ll be around pretty often- I’ll definitely be around to lurk on the dash/chat at some point every day, and will do replies as soon as I can, likely within 1-2 days depending on how many threads I have going etc

how do you feel about your character dying?: ouch. But, in all seriousness, death is a grim reality of war, and Emmeline is certainly prepared to die if it means taking some death eaters down with them. Also I’m always down for some angst

anything else?: nope nope, just a congratulations on running what looks like a really lovely rp and a thanks for reading this :)

character details.

full name: Emmeline Vance

date of birth: 25th August, 1956

former hogwarts house: Slytherin

sexuality: pansexual, but with a slight preference for women

gender/pronouns: Non-binary, they/them. Emmeline’s relationship with gender is a long and complicated one. They are their parent’s first and only child, and considering the pressure of their high social status to continue the family line and name, Em being, in the eyes of their parents, a baby girl, tempered the joy of their child’s arrival. They reassured themselves that there were other Vances out there, and little Emmeline would in time be married off and at the very least perpetuate their good, pure, blood. The lingering sense that they had somehow failed their parents straight out of the womb complicated Em’s relationship with gender from a young age, but when they eventually began openly identifying as non-binary it was a decision made solely and decisively for themself.

Em never really felt particularly like a girl, but they also weren’t sure what else they could be, sheltered as they were as a child- not from horror and darkness but from anything challenging the status quo. They didn’t discover that they could be something other than a girl or a boy until part way through Hogwarts, and didn’t start introducing themself with a mention of their pronouns until the day that they packed the best of nineteen years into a single suitcase and marched into the Ministry of Magic and got themself a job. In a way they were seeking control through the change, asserting a part of themself that their father had never known and therefore leaving him in the past.

face claim change: I’m very happy with Jessica Henwick!

more.

i. personality

Paranoid: Em has been looking over their shoulder since their mother was kidnapped when they were a child, and has been looking over their shoulder in their own home since it sunk in that their father might value some things over them and their safety. Em has been weaving a net of protective charms around wherever they happen to be sleeping since they were seventeen, and the shield has only grown in complexity over time. When they followed the Order to Godric’s Hollow, Em sought out a small and defensible cottage with no immediate neighbors. Flanked by crumbling and abandoned houses, Em feels safer alone, especially at night. Emmeline’s paranoia is rooted in trauma, and in many ways is practical- they live in a world at war, after all, and there are plenty of people out there who would like to kill them, but it is also a definite weakness of theirs. It drives them to seclude themself, which doesn’t do much to inspire confidence in the rest of the Order, and has meant that they’ve never really managed to have a notable romantic relationship with another person. The idea of trusting someone else enough to let them behind their very literal shields seems incomprehensible, and yet Em sometimes finds themself almost longing for companionship. But they’ve been lonely for a very, very long time. It’s just the way life is.

Obsessive: Whether it’s their current project in dismantling a particularly nasty curse or their quest for vengeance, Emmeline throws themself into their work with everything they have. It’s what made them the best cursebreaker in the Ministry, what brought the Order before them, what keeps them sane. Em never stops. They have scrolls of parchment with lists of every object they can remember their father ever cursing, with every bit of information they can remember about the curse scrawled below in small, tight letters. The list is crowned by their father’s most beautifully monstrous curse, and Em will not rest until they eradicate them all. As it stands, too few have a line through them. When they read, they read something useful, something that might connect two dots somewhere, and everything else they do is earnestly purposeful. Idleness is dangerous. Of course, their obsessiveness also means that they have trouble letting anything go, pursuing problems with a dogged tenacity even if the argument is over and done with, or the curse is already broken.

Intelligent: It was their brain that allowed Emmeline to carve out a place for themself in relative safety eventually, their intellect and ability which allowed them to escape from the world of the death eaters. They are a phenomenal cursebreaker, and have accumulated a vast understanding of magical theory and runes as a result. Em is a well of knowledge, all of which they’ve offered unselfishly to the Order. They much prefer when their help draws from their knowledge as opposed to their memories, but they’ll recount either if it might further the cause. Their intelligence spans beyond just the academic, however. Em is witty, with a quick sort of gallows humor that comes accompanied by a quiet smile.

Empathetic: Hardly anyone would list empathy as one of Emmeline Vance’s obvious character traits. They were quiet, and clever, oddly reserved, a little bit blunt, bitter. They were fierce and bold and decisive, ready to defend their ideas with rapid fire arguments and explanations, delivered in a tone that practically dared to be disagreed with. No one would think to call Emmeline Vance empathetic because there was danger in showing anyone anything soft, and if Em knew anything it was how to protect themself. And yet, Em had never quite had the hardness it seemed everyone else in their pureblood circles possessed, that willingness to let atrocities happen, or participate in them personally, just to advance their power. Em listened at the door as Voldemort talked to their father, and all they could think of was the people behind the hissed mudbloods and muggles, the blood behind the sneer in squibs. Their doubt in Voldemort’s cause grew from empathy, and that remained the core of their resistance even after the empathy was joined by pain and a burning drive for vengeance. Emmeline is a deeply empathetic person, but that’s not anything anyone else needs to know.

ii. the story so far

Emmeline was seven when their mother was kidnapped. Just young enough that no one had told them anything, just old enough that they remembered everything. It was common knowledge by the time they went to Hogwarts, already steely-eyed at eleven, that Emmeline Vance’s mother had been gruesomely murdered because their father hadn’t paid her ransom, but very few knew that Em had been there when it happened. They’d been out walking in a park, quiet and secluded, and Em had chased a group of pixies that had flown off with their stuffed hippogriff. They reemerged from a shrub, disheveled but victorious, just in time to see the curse hit their mother’s back and the men whisk her away with the sickening pop of side-along apparition. And that was the last time they saw their mother.

When the people started to come, knocking on the door and fawning over Em with pitying politeness before pulling out a wicked looking knife, or a jewel encrusted bracelet, Emmeline had dutifully let them in, and smiled at their compliments, and watched with rapt attention as their father twisted the objects’ essences into something dark and malignant and clever. They never saw the repercussions of their father’s creations, only the mastery and intellect that went into the birth of the things, benign on the worktable. As much as Em hates to think of their father still out there somewhere drawing breath, they never learned so much in so short a time as in those years before Hogwarts. And they never expected, then, that they were learning exactly how to pluck apart the intricate tangle of those same curses while watching their father braid them into being.

And then they’d gone to Hogwarts, and their destiny was drawn out before them in permanent ink, clear as anything. They were sorted into Slytherin, and they were clever and good at their classes, and they accidentally killed a plant in herbology but shone in ancient runes. And behind all the routine of Hogwarts, were everything was meant to be tinted by optimism and hope, truths Emmeline knew intimately waited, oozing a darkness so black it was almost red.

They were dragged out of their bed at seventeen, woken by hands and heavy breathing and Emmeline had struggled and screamed, thrashing uselessly as the lingering effects of deep sleep battled with a fierce rush of adrenaline. Em still dreams of that night, sometimes, waking up nauseated by terror. Mercifully, their dreams rarely make it all the way to their father’s desk. It’s worse when the night conjures up the way their father had looked down with hollow eyes before dripping fire down their arm.

Hogwarts had lost it’s luster after that summer. Emmeline had spent the remaining month at their father’s home sleepless and harried by seemingly random experiments on the mark that stood starkly on their forearm, twisting something in their heart whenever they caught a glimpse of it. They had taken it quietly, spending hours being poked and prodded, or consumed by pain when Voldemort deigned to check in on his prototype and pressed his finger into the pictorial curse. There had been no other choice. They were barely of age, they had nowhere to go.

Those, it turned out, were some of Emmeline’s darkest days, and nothing was more demoralizing than realizing that there was no safe place for them to run. Nearly everyone they knew was, if not explicitly aligned with Voldemort, then something of an implicit supporter, and anyone else they could plead for help from (with low chances of success, marked as they were) would gain a target on their backs too. Their only escape would be by their own hands, and their only respite could be through their own power. The Ministry, when Em eventually found themself there armed with a suitcase, their wand, and a life full of curses, was a means to an end.

Freedom was perhaps too strong a word, but Voldemort never came knocking, and their father didn’t send any owls. Em waited for them anyway, and threw themself into their work with everything they had, finding a sort of catharsis in breaking curses while somewhere out there their father was making them. The pay allowed them to scrape by, and Em wasn’t happy, but then again they didn’t think that happy was something they could be, anymore.

By the time Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody asked for their first favor, Em had carved out a space for themself in the Ministry’s curse breaking department, but the running was taking it’s toll. The knowing was eating at them. They were gone, had slipped out from under Voldemort’s thumb, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some other unlucky kid wrapped up in things too big for them. Em had escaped, but there were still terrible men out there capable of doing terrible things, damn the consequences. Emmeline was no hero, but fuck men who thought that the world was theirs to ruin, everyone else just game pieces, experiments, and target practice. When Shacklebolt and Moody’s favors grew into an invitation into something bigger, Em had felt some open wound within them close, two puzzle pieces locking together. The Order might need Em’s skills, but Em needs the Order just as much.

Was it any wonder, then, that they threw themself into their work for the Order with a sort of abandon that would be called reckless were they not so analytical? Em was among the first in the Order’s ranks, but four years on, they’re still haunted by their past. Darkness clings, lurking while they dismantle a curse by thinking of how their father would build it, bubbling up when they let a curse fly and feel sickeningly pleased by the way the robed bodies hit the floor.

iii. present day

Slotting the detritus of their life into place in the smallest cottage left standing in the bit of Godric’s Hollow the Order had carved out as their new home had taken a pitiful ten minutes. Em had resolutely focused on the efficiency created by the limiting of their belongings rather than the faint hint of regret that they had so little to show for their twenty-six hard fought years. Living out of a suitcase had served them well in that earth-shattering year (though they’d all been earth-shattering to varying degrees for too long now), what felt like decades ago, and it would, they had told themself, serve them well now. They didn’t need the luxuries that had been left behind in the scrambling chaos of the aftermath of 1981. There had been books they’d accumulated once they’d stopped hopping from flat to shitty flat every month like clockwork, criss-crossing the area in and around London, covering their tracks as if they couldn’t be cornered and offed somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry any time they went into work. Books, and records, and stupid nick-nacks. Gone now, abandoned as they downsized back to one suitcase almost on reflex. They’d fled once, now they were just retracing their steps.

Em can’t fault the Order for running. It would be hypocritical, if nothing else, but also with their ranks depleted and those who remain rocked by shock and grief, to do anything but hide for the time being could very well end in yet another blood bath. But at the same time, Em itches to be back on the front lines, capitalizing on the fact that Voldemort’s side suffered losses too. Sitting on their hands is all well and good, but Em isn’t convinced they’ll be able to lick their wounds for much longer.

Chittock’s broadcast would’ve left them with a smug smile, a silent told you so, if it weren’t for the fact that Em was well aware there were plenty who would hear the warning that not everyone was to be trusted and look at them, a pureblood and a Slytherin with a mark on their arm, damning them to darkness. The war is inescapable, as far as Em is concerned. At least it is for them. They’ll keep fighting until they die or there’s no more fighting to be done.

#hp rp #lsrpg #marauders rp #rp #hp roleplay #accepted

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caszino-blog · 5 years

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hostage

words: 3816

inspired by billie eilish - hostage

read it on ffn

i wanna be alone

alone with you, does that make sense?

i wanna steal your soul

and hide you in my treasure chest

Draco doesn't know what he's doing when he sits down next to a distraught Hermione Granger, her painful sobs echoing through the hallway and tugging at his heart. She's surrounded by a pile of canary-yellow feathers and Draco only has a moment to wonder why, before she whips around to look at him.

It's always so fascinating to watch Granger process situations. It's like he can hear the wheels turning in her brain and the thousand different expressions that cross her face are more attractive than Draco cares to admit. She always thinks before she acts—unlike the other two idiots who tag along with her. Sometimes, he wonders how Granger didn't end up in Ravenclaw, but then he remembers her penchant for plunging headfirst into dangerous situations and her weird need to help the downtrodden, and he doesn't doubt the Sorting Hat's decision at all.

A few minutes pass in silence before she speaks. "What are you doing here?" Her voice quavers a bit and he can tell that she's trying to sound strong. It isn't working, but Draco does not comment about it.

He shrugs because he actually doesn't know what he's doing there. He was heading back to the dungeons after an unsuccessful attempt to fix the cabinet and he'd taken a winding route downstairs, not particularly eager to face Pansy and her simpering attentions. He needed time, to clear his head of the bitter resentment and anger which had defined the past few months of his life.

He was ambling down the hidden staircase near the Gryffindor tower when he'd heard her crying. His feet dragged him to her and something about the way she sat, defeated and broken, had convinced him to sit next to her, against his better judgement.

"Spit it out, Malfoy. I know you're dying to make a comment about the poor little Mudblood," She says venomously and Draco flinches at the way she calls herself a Mudblood—the fact that she thinks that he considers her a Mudblood.

Don't you, though? A voice asks in his head and he pushes it away.

"Not really, Granger. I'm far too tired to come up with anything remotely insulting right now." Besides, I don't want to see you cry because of me.

"Huh, that's a first," she snorts and Draco silently agrees, wondering what's wrong with him. The last time he remembers interacting with her, he'd taunted her mercilessly. Why should it be any different now?

They sit, side by side, studying the night sky from the arched windows. The silence is not stifling or dreadful, like the chill of Malfoy Manor. It's almost comforting. It's like fragile glass and Draco feels like anything he says will shatter it.

Granger, of course, feels the need to talk. "You're disappearing every night, apparently. Harry noticed you know. He's convinced you're up to… something, I guess. Merlin, he's almost obsessed with you at this point," she rolls her eyes and he suppresses a snicker. "Where do you go?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Granger," Draco smirks and she huffs. Then, abruptly, "Why were you crying?"

She glares at him and he cocks an eyebrow. "You can't expect me to answer your questions when you don't answer mine." Her voice is snooty and he's reminded of the self-righteous eleven-year-old she was and how her demeanour used to annoy him.

They lapse into silence again, both of them unwilling to cross the impasse they've reached. It's almost childish, really, but Draco will not give her the satisfaction of being answered.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Granger sighs and pushes an unruly curl away from her eyes. "Ron. He… he snogged Lavender Brown in the common room today. Everyone was watching. And pitying me, I'm sure." She sniffles a bit, and a frisson of panic shoots through him—what is he supposed to do if she cries again? "It's just… I always thought we'd end up together, you know? I do everything for him—hell, I Confunded bloody McLaggen so that he could be on the team… and he doesn't see me, waiting for him. He never sees me." Her voice is watery and he knows she's trying hard to keep it together. Draco wants to reach a hand out to her but no, he can't because they're different, they're supposed to be on opposite sides and touching her will only start a shitstorm Draco does not want to be a part of.

Draco sneers a bit and says, "Personally, I don't really know what you see in Weasel. He has so little to brag about himself that he goes around blustering about Potter's achievements—pathetic, really. I'm shocked that you think he's worth crying over. But then again, you did have a fucked up sense of pity." His words are not really a comfort, he knows, but it's not poison, either.

She snorts and repeats fucked up sense of pity, shaking her head. He smirks a little, watching her as she carefully runs her hands over the denim of her pants as if she's contemplating something.

Her eyes are deep pools of brown as she looks at him and asks, " D-did you take the Mark from him? Are you a Death Eater?"

Her words trickle down his back like a drop of cold water and Draco stiffens. He stands up and snarls, like a cornered animal, "N-no! Where did you get that idea? Potter? You can tell him to mind his own fucking business." He immediately regrets his words, knowing that his defensive tone will confirm Granger's suspicions.

"You are, aren't you?" Her voice is coloured with horror and he wants to look away as her face morphs to pity, but he can't. "Malfoy…"

"Don't, Granger… just…" his voice breaks and he clenches his fists. He carefully schools his features into a familiar mask of disdain and says, "Don't make assumptions about something you have no idea about, Mudblood. Don't assume anything about me."

And with that he stalks down the stairs towards the dungeons, feeling oddly lonely as his hands shake and the tears threaten to blur his vision.

i don't know what to do

do with your kiss on my neck

i don't know what feels true

but this feels right, so stay a sec

you feel right, so stay a sec

She drops her bag across from him, and he barely looks up from his book on Vanishing principles as she huffs. Her curly hair is wilder than usual and her eyes are burning with fury as she slams her potions book down on the table. Realisation hits Draco and suddenly, he knows why she's all worked up.

"Still peeved about Potter's little bezoar stunt?" He questions, a slight smirk on his face. He looks up from the book—he's so fucking done, trying to fix that cabinet—and his smirk widens as he looks at her slight frown transform into a full scowl.

Teasing her feels familiar now. He knows exactly how to push her buttons without going too far and she's too gullible to his taunts which makes it all the more enjoyable.

He wonders when it became familiar, when she became familiar. That one night on the stairs went on to become a chance encounter in the library, to an unspoken agreement to meet every day in the little Astronomy corner, full of old leather-bound books. It became their little haven of escape—from the reality of his task and the horrors of his nightmares, from her heartbreak and constant worrying.

He wonders how she can stand him, knowing that he's a monster and he asked her about it, one day, in a moment of absolute self-loathing. She simply replied that she doesn't want to make the mistake of judging him for what he has been forced to become and bile rose in his throat because he knew he didn't deserve her kindness.

"I don't understand how he does it! I mean, it's a stupid book—how can it be right all the fucking time? I spent so much time on that antidote and he just shows that stupid little goat stone and Slughorn's all over him! I-it's not fucking fair," she seethes. Draco raises an eyebrow at her words—he's never heard her swear.

"Now you know how I feel," Draco says, shrugging. Hermione looks up, comprehension dawning on her face. He knows she understands—Potter's had it all so easy. He's broken more school rules than all of the Slytherins combined and he's still favoured over everyone else. He should've died, several times over, but he always made it out unscathed.

It must be nice, he thinks bitterly, to be lucky.

"Yeah, well," she sighs. "I need to find a way to get him away from that book before he learns something much worse than the uses of a bezoar from that horrid book. I-it has dark spells, Malfoy. Horrible curses—I've seen it. I don't want him to get into trouble—he has so much on his plate already."

Draco almost snorts at that. So much on his plate, his arse. Like avoiding Slughorn's fawning and getting cosy in the Headmaster's office every other day is so taxing. How about plotting the murder of said Headmaster when your mother's life is at stake?

He is snapped out of his thoughts by Hermione pulling his book from his hands. He holds his book firmly, not willing to let her see it, to allow her an opportunity to ask questions he certainly does not want to answer. "What are you reading?" She asks curiously and he's about to make up an excuse for why he's reading about Vanishing, of all things, when his left arm starts burning with the intensity of an inferno.

He bends over in agony, clutching his arm and he can vaguely hear Hermione's voice asking him if everything is alright. The pain is decapacitating, terrifying. The Mark burns his nerves and he feels like tearing it off his skin—he just wants out, to escape from the pain and guilt, to escape his dreadful task. But there is no going back. There is no going back from the Dark Lord's ranks or he will suffer a fate worse than death.

His mother will suffer a fate worse than death. And she does not deserve it.

That is the only thing keeping him from running away.

He will fight. If only to keep Narcissa Malfoy safe, he will fight.

He feels cold fingers pushing up his sleeve and he protests weakly, scrambling to keep his jumper in place. She does not listen to him and the dark ink of the serpent and skull burns more as she touches it. He hisses and she recoils, hesitantly cradling his arm.

"What have they done to you, Draco?" She whispers and suddenly it's all too much.

He does not deserve her strength, her compassion, but he basks in it. He cannot be redeemed, he knows that much. But the warmth of her eyes as she looks at him, the single tear on her cheek for his pain makes him believe that he can be forgiven and he gives in to his overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss her.

The pain fades as she gasps and responds to him, her soft lips matching the fervour of his own. His thumb grazes her left cheek, wiping the tear away and her hands slip through his hair and the world narrows down to her and there's nothing left of him but her. He cannot string together a coherent thought as the scent of cinnamon and smoke fills his nose and his fingers get entangled in the labyrinth of her hair. She pulls him closer until there's no space between them and Draco thinks that he can forget everything right there in her arms.

He regains his sanity a moment later, when she pulls away to rest her forehead against his, a defeated sigh escaping her swollen lips—like she is accepting the fact that there is no going back from… this, whatever it is. Draco knows the feeling.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, pressing a warm kiss to his skin as his hands gently trail down her back. He feels like crying again, for her, for them, for whatever they've gotten themselves into now, because it can only end in tragedy.

He does not know what to do.

But everything in the world feels right again, with her warm body curled up in his arms, his back against the stone wall of the library and so, Draco stays.

gold on your fingertips

fingertips against my cheek

gold leaf across your lips

kiss me until i can't speak

His back slams against the door of the Room of Requirement and Draco growls, kissing Hermione with bruising passion as she pulls him towards the couch in the middle of the room. Their hands are desperate, pulling robes off shoulders and unbuttoning shirts. He knows he doesn't have much time left with her, that being with her after these stolen moments is almost impossible. She must know too, because her hands possess the same urgency as his own.

They fall into a graceless pile on the couch and Draco shivers as Hermione presses her perpetually cold fingers to his cheek, tracing a path to his newly acquired scar, courtesy of Potter himself. He runs his fingers over her curves, watching as her eyes flutter with pleasure and her lips part. He feels a sense of affection bubble within his chest and wonders whether he should voice his feelings. Whether she'll reciprocate his words or throw them away with disdain.

"I knew I should've taken that book away from him," she mumbles, her eyes on the angry red surrounding the pale white of the scarred flesh and Draco kisses her softly, trying to tell her it isn't her fault—she is blameless for everything that's happened, even if she insists otherwise. "Look at what he did to you. I-I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Draco whispers, twining a curl of her dark hair in his pale fingers. Sometimes, he's fascinated by the poetry of it all—they are complete opposites in every way. Hermione is a painting of rich colour, deep brown and olive tones against gold and red, while he is a pale sketch of silvers and greys and greens. She is everything good and pure while he's stuck in the greys, unable to escape the clutches of the dark.

"No, Draco—" she begins, but Draco pulls her closer. He bites her lower lip, muttering, "Shut up and kiss me."

And she does.

When they return from their high, his fingers map a constellation between the freckles on her collarbone and he says, "I just want you to know that I'm… sorry. For everything. I was terrible to you and I understand if you don't forgive me—" he holds up a hand when she begins to speak. He has to get this out. He needs to get this out. "—But I was acting on years of prejudice and unreasonable hatred that my father had taught me, but I was wrong. Merlin, I was so wrong—everything's so fucked up. And… and I feel so sorry that I made you cry, that day I called you a… a Mudblood." She kisses him and he sighs, "I wish things were different but I hope you know that I won't… I haven't thought of you—"

"I know, Draco. Trust me, I do. And I forgive you." She wraps her arms around him and he relaxes. "You deserve forgiveness. You're not evil, Draco—I know you think that. You're not. You're good and brave and I love you." Her last words are a whisper and she stiffens.

But Draco does not let her dwell on her insecurity, as he embraces her tightly, whispering that he loves her over and over again. She forgave him. She loves him.

And perhaps, she will save him, too.

gold's fake and real love hurts

and nothing hurts when i'm alone

when you're with me and we're alone

The last time he sees her is before he goes to the Room of Requirement to open the Vanishing Cabinet for Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters. His hands shake and his heart thunders, but as he approaches her in their little library corner, he feels at peace.

Her eyes are sad, understanding and he sometimes hates how compassionate she can be. If she wasn't, then perhaps he wouldn't be so in love with her that he can't bear the thought of leaving her after tonight.

But he knows, in his heart, that he would not have it any other way.

"Don't cry, my love," he says, quietly, brushing a few tears with the tips of his fingers. He hates seeing her cry—perhaps it's because the first time he saw her cry was when he was the cause.

She laughs a little, rubbing her tears away furiously. "You've never called me that before, you know. I kind of like it."

He smiles a little, holding her hand. "If we both make it out of this war alive… I'll call you my love, every minute of every day." If you even want me around, that is.

They haven't discussed the future, mostly because it's so uncertain and painful, and Draco curses himself for blurting out those words. He's almost about to apologise, but her smile suddenly brightens as she says, "I'll hold you to that, you know."

He smirks at her, stealing a kiss from her lips. "I know."

And then, he kisses her for the last time, buries his nose in her cinnamon-scented hair and walks away without a second glance, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as her quiet sobs reach his ears.

it's not like me to be so mean

you're all i wanted

just let me hold you

hold you, like a hostage

When she finally wakes up, relief comes crashing down like a flood and he almost buckles under the feeling. Her eyes are disoriented and bloodshot, her voice cracked but it's his Hermione, who says, in a questioning tone, "Draco?"

"How the fuck did you get caught, Granger?" His anger wells up, and suddenly, all he wants to do is scream at her because she told him that she would be safe. Told him that she'd be careful, but here she was, half-dead, and tortured by his crazy aunt, of all people. His heart burns with fear and fury and he's almost blinded by it until he sees her flinch at his expression.

"I-I.." she trails off into sobs and his heart breaks. He approaches her cautiously, hatred for himself replacing the fury. She nestles into his arms, and she feels so light and weak against him that he's afraid she'll shatter if he touches her. Her tears soak through the dress shirt that he hasn't bothered to change out of, and he rocks back and forth, his own tears hidden in her mahogany curls.

They stay like that, his arms trapping her within their safety and her head against his heart, until Fleur comes up to inform him that dinner will be ready soon and her face lights up with joy when she sees that Hermione is awake. "I shall tell 'Arry and Ron zat you are awake, yes? Zey will be pleased to see you."

Hermione just nods and Fleur offers the both of them a parting smile before shutting the door again.

Suddenly, Hermione stiffens and asks, "Did you tell Harry and Ron… about us?"

"I thought you did," Draco says, confusion etched in his gaunt features. "Harry wasn't too surprised when I Apparated here with you."

"Oh, no, he figured it out, last year, he had the Marauder's Map you see—it shows the location of every person in Hogwarts," she says, by way of explanation. Draco rolls his eyes—just what Potter had needed, more help to break the rules. "He told me he knew, when we were on the run. But Ron didn't know. He took it well, I suppose, considering that you're still in one piece."

"Oh, if you mean 'tried to hex me six ways to Sunday' by 'well enough', then yes, he did take it well. But… he was okay with it after a while, I think. Because I took a Cruciatus for you—Harry told him. He hasn't bothered me since we came here, so I don't know." Draco shrugs, running his thumb over the bandage on Hermione's left arm, where Bellatrix sliced a deep, straight line with her cursed knife. Draco is thankful that he'd fought back before she could proceed—he has a feeling that Bellatrix wanted to do much worse than carve a single line in Hermione's skin.

"You took a Crucio for me?" Hermione asks, her eyes looking larger than usual in her thin face. In the moonlight, she almost looks like a child, innocent and sweet.

"I had to. I-I couldn't just stand by and watch that madwoman torture you, Hermione. I'd had enough. The things I saw there…" Draco shudders at the haunting memories, remembering the Muggles he tortured, the sick pleasure on Voldemort's face as he watched countless people die on one of his pointless revels. He remembers the pain of suffering from the Cruciatus at the Carrows' hand, because he'd refused to torture a first-year—a child. He remembers the fear on his mother's face as the Snatchers dragged the three disfigured prisoners and Bellatrix smiled maliciously at the defeated girl in front of her—and he somehow knew that it might be the last time he ever saw her, because he would die to protect Hermione from his aunt's wand.

"It's alright, you know, it's alright," she whispers, a bloodless hand coming to rest against his cheek and he shudders, holding her tight as she soothes him by repeating her words, over and over again. He does not cry—he doesn't think he can, he is too broken for it—but he can feel himself healing as her sweet whispers ghost against his skin.

They whisper their love against each other's lips as they desperately try to forget the last few days—last few months, really. He remembers a conversation they once had in the darkness of a secluded Hogwarts hallway, when he told her that she held him prisoner in her heart because he didn't see any way he could escape from her, from them, without hurting himself.

Her eyes flutter with sleep and she yawns. He kisses her forehead. "Sleep, my love."

He watches as her lips stretch into a drowsy smile and Draco thinks that if he really is her prisoner, he is glad because he's never felt freer than he has in her arms.

#dramione #draco malfoy #draco imagine #draco x hermione #hermione granger #hermione #draco #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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seeksstaronmewni · 4 years

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Samurai Jack Season 5 in Review: EPISODE XCII

Here is my absolute favorite Samurai Jack episode, because it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning of the end.

I was on the hype train for the return of @cartoonnetwork’s Samurai Jack after I saw the Season 5 trailer on February 8th, 2017 A.D. (I made a recent post to celebrate it) One reason was that I became obsessed about The Powerpuff Girls during the nostalgically incorrect Season 7 (the first “reboot” season) due to a liking for the Season 5-6 designs and animation, a part of the "Cartoon Cartoons” I grew up watching... and I was right to expect former PPG creatives on it! This post highlights the events of the episode and why it’s one of the best Samurai Jack episodes ever--and how much I binged on it at first! You can check the episode out here (Season 5 reran Sunday mornings at 3:30A on Adult Swim), and soon on HBO Max. Also, if you’re on Twitter, check the links to my tweets in the underlined text! They’re old tweets and need some love!

If you saw not this episode yet, be aware of SPOILERS!

/!\ SAMURAI JACK This Program is rated TV-14-V. Intense Violence.

The day of the season’s premiere, March 11th, 2017 A.D., too late found I that [as] was doing a streaming of Season 1-4 (I came in during EPISODE XXXIII’s “Wild Ride”). Following was a Q&A livestream with Genndy Tartakovsky, during which I tried again and again to call, but the line was always busy. Luckily Season 5′s premiere was going to be for free--online--via the stream at 10:40P! I was so there for it! Of course I watched the televised premiere on @adultswim, but the stream first!

While I began ceasing from trying to get Genndy on the PPGs again, all of a sudden...

...it began, and I was totally there for it.

A view of a distant town (not Townsville) appeared. All quiet.

That is until an explosion or 2 set off (and not with the stereotypical H-B/Universal “powah-wahh” explosion sounds either). There goes the giant windmill.

Partially and slowly revealed is that some aliens are on the run from the town...

...from those “beetle bots”. GIANT beetle bots, I might add.

There is this precious little moment where, being surrounded by the giant beetle bots, the mother and daughter visually--not by speech--exchange “I love you!” to each other with hearts in place of “love”. Oh, and there’s a baby too.

As the beetle bots come to a stop, the sound grows quiet. A motorcycle is heard approaching. When the motorcycle is revealed close-up, Tyler Bates’ bass-filled music is sparked: a warrior with a serious, menacing face is riding on these hot wheels...

...and he aims his machine gun out... only to launch a projectile at these familiar foes...

...resulting in the first explosion Jack caused in this glorious 5th season.

He slowly circles around with his gun. Is he a threat to the aliens?

Nope. Just pwning more evil scrap metal.

Once I heard the Looney Tunes-esq “pshhh...” of smoke from his guns, I became more certain that Joel Valentine was back on the show... unlike the PPG “reboot”.

As the Season 5 sneak revealed late in February 2017 shows, the warrior’s motorcycle is packed with punk tires that can scrap these pests up! All of his guns are just as lethal... with all of those cool action shots and poses and all.

The warrior then reveals another weapon: not a sword, exactly, but some manner of pitchfork on one tip and a taser on the other. Graphically, he destroys one beetle bot by twisting the wires inside, and proceeds to scrap the rest until one of them knocks... the mask off?

That warrior is none other than the samurai called...

“...?”

Just another day in the life of the samurai! Shouting a charging yell, Jack continues smashing the wires out of the beetle bots with a front scruff that fits perfectly with the mane... a look that is very appropriate, new and fitting for Jack.

The daughter gives a symbol of either “Is it dead?” or disgust. Because of the emoticons that are a major part of their visual language, I suppose that these aliens should be called... emoji-fawns?

“50 years have passed, but I do not age.”

As the samurai continues onward into the sunset, a new intro is revealed for Jack to explain how much worse things are become. The former intro started with Aku’s prologue before the theme song, but Season 5′s intro is pretty much a prologue. This feels true to the nature of of The Powerpuff Girls’ former intro which also started with a prologue, but PPG Season 7-9 has a shorter, different intro (although the extended version has an updated version of the prologue with most of its original Tom Kenny narration, “DJ Avalanche” score, and few of Joel’s SFX).

Regarding Jack’s opening statement, creator Genndy Tartakovsky said that 50 years were passed apparently between the events of EPISODE LII, “Jack and the Baby”, and EPISODE XCII. I think, however, that Jack meant that 50 year passed since he ended up in the future in EPISODE II, “The Samurai Called Jack”. There could be more seasons of this show to explore more adventures of Jack, regardless of the time that passed; if anything, turn those comic books into episodes!

Anyway, for some reason, the rip in time Aku created to send Jack into the future caused Jack’s body to supposedly not grow old, though I believe that, slowly, he still aged to a point. Aku’s still the bad guy (with a new voice, but I talk about this in XCIII’s post), and hope seems lost unless Jack can return to the past.

The intro ends with a slow reveal of the shows title, burning red in the dark, sporting an epic, exciting, modernly cinematic feel to the show. What follows, of course, is a scene just as cinematic...

A quiet, eerie chant of the name “Aku” subtly fills the dark, fire-lit room. This reveals the worship of a great evil which reminds us of how dangerous and powerful Aku truly is... given that “Jack vs. Aku” is the previous episode where Aku has a speaking role (you know... “EXTRA THICK!”), though he vocalizes in a following episode “Seasons of Death”.

The episode’s opening credits reveal that Bryan Andrews and Genndy Tartakovsky are the main board artists for this season, still directed by Tartakovsky himself with art direction by Scott Wills. Apparently, character design was very crucial to this season, so the main character designer of the season, Craig Kellman, is listed at the beginning on all of these episodes. This’s rare for cartoon shows, but this isn’t much different from old CN shows of the 1990′s like Dexter’s Laboratory crediting the model/character designers on the episode’s opening credits.

“They will succeed where so many others have failed, and we will find favor in your glory.”

Seven daughters?! Is that kind of physical labor even possible?! That explains all of Grey Delisle-Griffin’s screams, but she’s soon back on her feet... to raise her children to serve pure evil.

BTW, it’s a good thing that the baby vocals that Joel used are not the common Sound Ideas Series 6000 cries, since that recording is far more annoying. Anyway, I find the scene very intriguing and exciting because it’s all really dark, and that’s something that “kids” shows often weren’t in the past. It all just feels so epic that it sucks you in; am I right?

Back to Jack: the score revs up quickly in this montage of Jack riding around the country, wherever he is, as if he’s on some epic quest. Is he looking for a time portal or Aku’s place?

It’s Fall at this point and Jack’s in a pretty forest. The lighting is beautiful, cinematic and very realistic in this shot--one of my favorites from this episode. The paintings are still by art director Scott Wills; they’re just digital.

Such scenes as this are long periods of no dialogue, where music and sound can help to set the mood--sometimes, a very peaceful mood...

...until, slowly but surely, Jack’s mind is hauntingly messed up. This’s where Tyler Bates’ music hits on the slow, hardcore, eerie, electronic percussion that subtly drives the intense situation that’s not like what kid’s action shows used to be. This would be frightening to younger children, but the sheer terror of this scene is awesome, and the music is hardcore hot!

Some days later, we go to another sequence that occurs at night, where we focus first on a cute little owl hooting (and not the cliche, classic H-B/Valentino SFX Library owl hoot that many cartoons use, including past episodes of Samurai Jack). This goes to show just how realistic Joel’s sound design can be, and I admire him greatly for that attention to detail.

Jack endured another vision that night, where his father claims that he never came back, though Jack revealed that “Aku destroyed the way home!”

The way? How many time portals or such were there?

“He destroyed everything! Everything is burning!”

Woah. Was it something that Jack ate? It may be that that rat was under-cooked...

Anyway, every time Jack was haunted by the visions, a mysterious figure appeared afterward. Now Jack was motivated to find the village that he previously noticed was under attack. Time for a commercial break... and a breather for us fans of this nostalgic series!

As we return from commercial, we see the progression of the 7 daughters in training. They kind of remind me of Pokey Oaks Kindergarten’s students... but taller.

Training is tough on these little munchkins, though--but Ashi is distracted by a light that comes from the outdoors... to which her mother slowly objects. Her strength endures some real testing over time with her mother’s harsh treatment!

“Are you weak?!”

I mean... I felt like it was almost all over for Ashi at this point.

Luckily for her, “Aku’s fire stirs inside”. The art direction on the following scene is very interesting in terms of lighting: black, white and some red. It helps for the simply-detailed designs to stand out more. Since I saw very little of Sym-Bionic Titan at this point, Ashi’s hairstyle reminded me somewhat of Ilana (who has the same hairstyle and same voice actress, Tara Strong).

Meanwhile, Jack walked through the village to find whoever caused the destruction. He comes to a shady figure in the smoke, revealed to be a hot-shot assassin robot who goes by many names...

“Scaramouch the merciless! The Pied Piper of Ruination! The Crooner of Carnage! The Ambassador of Annihilation! The Eradicator of All, baby!”

The chipper, upbeat, overly positive attitude of “Aku’s most favorite assassin” made him instantly lovable. I loved this tin man from pretty much the very beginning. I immediately tweeted about this guy during the online premiere. I took a little while to know who voiced this guy (kind of sounded like Jimmy Gourd to me for some reason), but it was certainly familiar. Tom Kenny is the groovin’ voice of Scaramouche--another iconic voice from the man who narrated The Powerpuff Girls and voiced the Mayor of Townsville, Spongebob, Bon Bon the Birthday Clown and so many other great voices!

“Wait. Back off, beardsly. Where... is... your sword?”

You were probably wondering about that... so was I.

“You... lost... your sword!”

Well, the coloring on the handle of the sword is reversed in this shot, and it was just brown for the previous shot of the sword, but... yeah. Flashback to an episode that appeared not in Season 4. Destined to become an episode in the next season if CN makes any to explore the pre-Season 5 events.

Jack’s new pitchfork/taser thingy still makes the same “ching” sounds that his sword makes (and not the cliche Hollywood Edge recordings), though.

Anyway, Scaramouch was about to tell Aku the news (Aku apparently forgot about Scaramouch ‘cause he’s all like “Who is this?” First line since “Jack vs. Aku”!) when Jack and Scaramouch dance in a duel of musical magic.

“Ooh, nice choreography, baby!” Scaramouch replied. In a tweet I made of that line, I was thinking of cinematography instead and noted this to art director Scott Wills. I probably meant to note this to board artists Bryan Andrews & Genndy Tartakovsky.

Oh I just LOVE that “fffwwwhOOMP!” sound there on the ease-in. Joel Valentine packs the perfect punch into the sound of an object’s weight with those big whoosh sounds.

More important, perhaps: how can Scaramouch play the flute when he’s just a robot? He hasn’t any lungs or lips... that I know of... though he apparently has teeth and a tongue, and I can hear breath sounds during his lines... and his voice sounds not at all robotic!

Jack can really throw some real weight around as he battles against a monster made by music and of building parts...

“That samurai has gone beaucoup cuckoo!”

...but his haunting visions distract him from his heroic efforts...

...once again seemingly attributed to that shadowy figure. This is a “CinemaScope” ratio for this shot, while the show is in standard widescreen (1.78:1 “matted”/”flat”). Those ratios can change a lot, kind of like IMAX (in movies in IMAX, one often sees certain shots of a 2.39:1 movie turning into 1.78:1 on a large screen, and the ratio goes back and forth). Still, ultimately the show is not in “letterbox” widescreen / “scope” format, like most Cartoon Network DVDs say; perhaps Warner Bros. Home Entertainment says this because Star Wars: The Clone Wars (the Dave Filoni series, only produced for Turner networks) was in 2.39:1; this caught on to some [as] shows like Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal and Tigtone (the logos are 1.78:1, however), but most CN shows are just in 1.78:1.

Anyway, knocked out of his mentally overwhelmed state, Jack was back into the fight, but, even though he sliced the flute in half, Scaramouch was the real “musical magic”. He just goes all “Scatman John” on Jack and can control wherever his sword goes, striking it right at Jack!

This is definitely one of my favorite shots from the episode... a slow-mo shot.

Jack seems to be fighting the sword itself until he comes closer to Scaramouch, who soon pulls another cold blade out...

“Dig that beautiful sound, baby!”

...a split blade whose very tone of ring when clashed against an object can cause the clashed object to explode!

Luckily, Jack has good aim for his sword... so good, that it just blows Scaramouch away.

“Looks like you’re the headliner now; huh?”

Was...

...is...

...and always will be.

Before the end of the episode, we see the last of the 7 daughters’ training. The music here just rocks. Its long, harsh percussion and bass-blowing beats really drive all of the action in this sequence.

This shot has great animation and angles, where Ashi shows an opponent who’s boss as she grabs the 3rd arrow shot and kills her with it.

For more sensitive viewers, first note that this and the following shot are violent/bloody enough to earn the episode its “TV-14-V” rating “for some intense violence” (I’d think that “TV-PG-V” might fit it, since it’s not as strong as it could be). However, CN aired some “TV-14-V” rated movies on their “Action Flicks” block back in early 2009 (i.e. Batman: Gotham Night). That’s right: CN, not [adult swim]! Since, like, 2007 or 2008, they aired a lot of TV-PG rated cartoons like Teletoon’s edgy Total Drama franchise, Regular Show, MAD, Teen Titans Go!, and even The Tom and Jerry Show (though that one seems overrated). I can understand why they often rated certain programs TV-PG-V: even a kick or punch could be a bad influence if a kid was prone to imitating action (The G-rated Garfield’s Pet Force strangely earned this rating too). The point is that CN needs to air Samurai Jack Season 5 on, even if some of the episodes are bloody (only few deserve the TV-14-V rating IMHO). They might be able to cut EPISODE XCII down to a TV-Y7-FV, perhaps.

It’s nice to see that Darrick Bachman from Paul Rudish’s Mickey Mouse still served on this lovely season. He’s the head writer for the 5th season... and the upcoming video game Samurai Jack: Battle Through Time.

As a devote fan of “Cartoon Cartoons”, I personally point the sheet timers out since CN’s traditionally animated shows have lesser animation these days, namely SMIP-animated shows. I mean, that Robert Alvarez and Randy Myers did the “Sheet Timing” on this episode of Samurai Jack (animated by Digital eMation) and animation direction on Seasons 7-9 of The Powerpuff Girls (the “reboot” episodes, animated by SMIP). Compare the action sequences of both shows, and the animation/timing will stand out; unlike Samurai Jack, the 2016-2019 PPG episodes (like SMIP’s work on Infinity Train & Ben 10) usually lack weight in their rather gentle, slow-paced animation. Those PPG episodes animate not at all like The Powerpuff Girls Movie or any PPG episode where Genndy Tartakovsky directed.

Here’re some of the new people on Genndy’s team for Season 5: Susy Campos, Andy Flexner, Jackie Sheng and Dick Grunert. Production Assistants (or, in this case, maybe production coordinators) can turn into major creatives for the story or art of the show, so watch for those names in future CN Studios projects! Team Cartoon Network Studios rules!

This season’s prop design is in the hands of @heydusty, who also contributed effects design and some character design / design clean-up. Dustin D’Arnault and others are new talent that live up to the work of Genndy Tartakovsky! The late and great Chris Reccardi returned, starting off with some prop designs as well. The design clean-up artists were also new to the team; these people clean the character, props and effects designs up after the respective designers did their designs, so they’re just as much designers as the designers listed. These “Clean Up” people are not to be confused for animation clean-up, however.

Next up are the background artists: “Layout Keys”/background designer Lou Romano (The Powerpuff Girls, Cats Don’t Dance, Ratatouille) and art director/Background Painter Scott Wills (The Ren & Stimpy Show, Quest for Camelot) bring the beautiful, colorful locations to life. Leticia Lacy, a former Spümcø member like Wills and Reccardi (and many other Cartoon Network Studios creatives), returned as a color stylist, who chooses the specific colors for the character, props and effects designed.

The voice credits are a bit lacking, since lesser characters are only listed as “ADDITIONAL VOICES”, compared to Seasons 1-4. This happened on Seasons 7-9 of The Powerpuff Girls too; i.e. Ms. Keane play supportive or minor roles in an episode, but Jennifer Hale is just credited as “ADDITIONAL VOICES”, though Keane is an important character to that series. Tara Strong is uncredited for voicing young Ashi since she only vocalizes--no lines. Greg Baldwin is in place of Mako as Mako passed away years before Season 5′s dialogue was recorded. Ultimately, though, Jack and his parents are still their respective voices, and it certainly is Phil LaMarr’s best.

Unlike Seasons 1-4, Genndy Tartakovsky himself served as the voice director; previously Colette Sunderman handled the voice direction. Aku may no longer be voiced by Mako, but Genndy was able to direct Greg Baldwin’s “Aku” voice himself. Robert Serda still served for engineering the dialogue recording equipment at CN Studios.

The score composers score with their super awesome hardcore score. Tyler Bates composed music for Genndy’s Sym-Bionic Titan (I can’t believe that I never watched that show when it aired). Joanne Higginbottom co-composes with Tyler on Primal. Dieter Hartman also contributed score on Samurai Jack Season 5. For this episode, no score mixer is listed. Music Editors are uncredited in this season.

The animation company on most episodes of Season 5 is Digital eMation, which looks much smoother than the designs in the digital animation of Rough Draft Studios (lines looks slightly blobby on close-ups). The animation directors credited on the series are generally the overseas animation directors; in Season 5 they’re listed on the end credits since they relate to the animation studio.

Regarding post-production, I was very happy to see Joel Valentine credited for “Sound Editing” (He used to prefer being credited by the name of his company “TWENTY FIRST CENTURY ENTERTAINMENT, INC.” AKA 21st CENTURY SOUND DESIGN CORP.). I was afraid that it would be like Dexter’s Laboratory Seasons 3-4 (or 5-6) and The Powerpuff Girls Seasons 7-9, where mixing studio Hacienda Post/Sabre Media would do the sound design, but luckily Joel was on it. This time, former Supervising Re-Recording Mixer Timothy J. Borquez, CAS is just a Re-Recording Mixer with Alex Borquez (former Hacienda mixer Eric Freeman moved to mixing and editing sound at Disney Television Animation in 2014); both Tim & Alex were Supervising Sound Editors and mixers on PPG’s reboot era. Also credited for the final mix is Taylor Pierce, then a Mix Assistant. Currently, Genndy’s shows credit Hacienda Post’s facility, Sabre Media Studios, Inc., as the “Audio Mixing Facility”, rather than referring to Hacienda/Sabre as Post-Production Sound Services (Joel Valentine/21st Century Entertainment is just as much a sound service, NOT just editing!). I’m not sure if any other editors are involved at Sabre/Hacienda, but someone was recording and performing foley for this show, and, due to time, they get no credit, which is a crime in my opinion since that brings the show to aural life. Paul Douglas remains as the Supervising Editor and Jim Hearn as the Dialogue Editor for CN.

The Cartoon Network Studios logo for this season was visually simple, as it was just the face reveal scene show inside the logo (CN tends to use episode clips more often than animatics these days). Joel Valentine fit the sound effects to this well, though, with the sounds of a sword (not the ones Joel tends to use) and an anime-like accent. As for the “reboot” PPG episodes, they just did something weird... (couldn’t they show, like, the Hanna-Barbera swirling star inside the CN Studios logo instead?! at least for nostalgia?)

The Williams Street logo ([adult swim]’s production company), complete with the Mark VII jingle, follows since it was produced for that often junky block of CN...

...but, on the digital copy prints, the 2016 Cartoon Network ID follows! Nostalgically, though, I prefer the 1999 “Cartoon Cartoons” ripple ID, which Samurai Jack and even PPG Seasons 7-8 used to show. I mind the 2016 ID on the PPG “reboot” episodes, but I mind it not on Samurai Jack because it proves that, while considered “Adult Swim”, the amazing Season 5 still remains a part of the “new new new new” era of Cartoon Network.

Any viewer of Samurai Jack could start with this episode as Jack’s adventures are just beetle bots here and Scaramouch there, occurring over few days. The other side of the episode, the youth of Ashi, occurs over probably years; this only sets the main events of Season 5 into action with the next episode.

As for me, I did all that I could with the streaming marathon of EPISODE XCII. It went on from, like, 10:48P or something until, like, 7:30A that morning. I couldn’t help but observe the episode again and again and again... I binged on it. I update the credits on IMDb. I tweet much about this episode and its team. By the end of over 8 hours of the episode’s stream, I felt that this was an appropriate response:

Before the end of this post, here’re reasons why EPISODE XCII is one of the best Samurai Jack episodes ever:

This “Cartoon Cartoon” returned after 12 years, 14 months and 5 days. According to Genndy’s forward on the Season 4 DVD, “The big question as we neared the end of production was, ‘Should we end the story and send Jack home?’ At the time, I felt that the proper way to end it would be to do a full-length movie - and still do. Hopefully, that movie is somewhere in the near future...” CN Asia-Pacific did this “Sayonara Samurai Jack” marathon for Season 4, but they were hasty, since the return came a dozen of years later, and Season 4 wasn’t the true end of the story. I feel the same about Disney Channel calling Star vs. the Forces of Evil Season 4′s finale “Cleaved!” the “series finale”, and both Daron Nefcy and fans look forward to more episodes in the future.

The nostalgic design and animation of Genndy’s Cartoon Network Studios team was something that the then-current Powerpuff Girls episodes were certainly lacking.

The action is just as intense and detailed as ever, with the right amount and style of music too. Perhaps even more wicked than before, though I miss “DJ Avalanche” James L. Venable, who wasn’t on it because he was busy with Clarence. Paul Rudish wasn’t on this season either, probably due to his hilarious vision of Mickey Mouse of course. Still, the stakes are high and handled well.

The precious moments of our little emoji-fawn family and the haunting fears of Samurai Jack are draaamaaa

The wonderful Scaramouch is our comic relief for the episode. Thanks, Tom Kenny!

“WATCH OUT!” There’s that classic closing to most of the episodes, just like we remembered it. The credits look just as simple as they looked before, too.

Next Episode’s Review

Tweet version here.

Tweet version as a shoutout to Tom Kenny & Greg Baldwin here.

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3one3 · 6 years

Text

The Sequel - 889

Eden Hazard Can Really Hurt You

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Do you know why Eden is asking Schü if you’re back with Lex?”

“Does anyone know why Eden does things?”

“Well did you mention her, or see her or something?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. You sound like a paranoid and untrusting girlfriend right now. Why?”

“I’m not. It’s just weird. Why would he ask him about it out of the blue?”

“I don’t know. Ask Eden.”

“K”

“Why do you care why he asked if I’m telling you it’s not true?”

“I don’t.”

“Sure.”

“Are you seeing someone else, other than Lex?”

“No. You don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do, but I’ve told you so many times that you can do whatever you want, so...It wouldn’t be like you were doing something wrong.”

“And I’ve told you I don’t want anyone else.”

“Ok. I’m sorry. It was just weird.”

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” André asked his forlorn looking wife after he let the dogs out. She looked all distant and vaguely upset again on the couch, like earlier in the barn. He lifted up her blanket to get back under it.

“Nothing. Can you just- Can you ask Eden why he was asking you about Juan and Lex?” Christina grimaced. “I know you don’t wanna hear that I’m now obsessing over that, but I have to be honest, and-“

“It’s okay.” He inhaled deeply through his nose, which made a rather loud sound. “We can talk about anything. Always. He didn’t really ask me about him and Lex. He asked me if I recognized some girl Juan talked to at a club last night, and then mentioned that he thought he was back with Lex before.”

“Oh.” Christina’s face fell, and she looked even more forlorn than before. I don’t know who I’m more disappointed in right now. Juan might be hiding something, maybe, and this one could have told me this bit of information that he knows I am definitely interested in.

“Okay, before you get all upset with everyone, consider the source,” the footballer warned encouragingly. He put his arm around her head and kissed her temple with the side of his mouth. “Eden never knows what he’s talking about, and guys talk to girls in nightclubs. It just happens. Especially when you’re the only single guy there. Girls come up to you and they’re all sweet, or seductive, or fawning for you. You can’t get upset because Juan conversed with a woman, and you can’t be mad at me for not telling you that Juan did something you can’t get upset about.”

“But-“

“But it hurts you when someone who says you’re special so much as acknowledges the existence of another woman- got it.” André nodded and squeezed her head tighter. This is a bizarre thing. I’m here consoling her like her gay best friend, because she’s brokenhearted over another guy. How did our lives get like this?

“I just- I need to go make a phone call...”

“Yeah. Of course. Tell him I said hi.”

Christina gave him an apologetic peck on the cheek as soon as she was released from the headlock, and then hurried down the hall to the study as fast as her ouchy ankle would take her. She dialed Juan as soon as her butt hit the window seat cushion.

“Yeees?” the Spaniard sighed over the line, clearly having expected her call.

“Don’t get mad at me. I’m not doubting you. I just need an explanation.”

“I can’t explain another person’s ac-“

“Not for Eden. He asked Schü about the girl you were talking to at whatever club you all went to last night. He just mentioned the Lex thing for context, I guess.”

“And you want to know who the girl is.”

“Yes. And if you took her home with you and if she now knows your tongue is as good as your left foot.” Christina cracked jokes when she was nervous. Christina cracked jokes when she thought humor could get her out of trouble. Christina thought her best friend was rightfully going to be furious with her for asking those questions.

“Her name is Jenni, she did not come home with me, and I have no idea how she feels about my tongue. I can tell you I don’t feel good about you losing your mind because you heard I spoke to a girl.” Juan’s response was measured. It was angry, and impatient for sure, but measured. He didn’t lash out, or sigh, or make disgusted sounds. He also didn’t go on to lecture her about what her reaction said about their relationship. He just left it hanging there. She almost couldn’t help herself. She had to dig her hole deeper.

“Did you want her to go home with you? Do you like her?”

“Chris!”

“I’m sorry,” she groaned. Spencer noticed her in the window and was hopping around on the patio on just the other side of the flowerbed under it, trying to get her attention. It wasn’t working. Her mind was fixed on something else, immovably. “I’m jealous. Okay? I’m jealous. I love you and you’re mine and no matter how many times I say you can go fall in love with someone else I obviously don’t want you to do that ever. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible person. I’m the worst. I’m insanely jealous. I’m also so mad at him for not telling me this, and at the same time I feel terrible for letting him see how jealous I am because somebody else talked to a girl. Ugh. I am the worst.”

“Are you drunk?”

“High, I think. I took one of the prescription pain meds for my ankle.”

“Ahhhhhh. That explains it,” the Chelsea man said with an audible smile on the end of his sigh. Christina didn’t know if he was amused by her inability to tolerate serious drugs or by her serious jealousy.

“It still hurts. And I decided to retire Nicky Tater Tots in March. And Dortmund is awful- the team I mean, not the city. Everything sucks and you shouldn’t talk to girls.”

“He told me he wasn’t going to let you take those things anymore.”

“Pharma Schü only dispenses them in extreme circumstances.”

“He shouldn’t give them to you at all.”

“I’m just being silly because I was, like, panicked.” Well this is embarrassing. I tried to cover up the anxiety attack over him flirting with someone and now he thinks I’m under the influence. Great.

“Okay,” Juan yawned.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching television.”

“I showed Lukas the Marvel dog costumes you sent me and he wants Spencer and Lucky to go to the Halloween party with him as Iron Man and Captain America. I had to pay like a gagillion Euros to have them shipped second-day.”

“What is he going to be?”

“I talked him into being a baby dragon. He likes the little wings. I think he thinks it’s actually a dinosaur costume, but whatever.”

“Did you decide which season Daenerys you want to be?”

“Season 7, badass Daenerys with the pointy shoulders and black outfit. I tried to convince Schü to be Jamie Lannister but he wasn’t having it. He’s with the team for Halloween anyway.”

“Did you end up buying the expensive wig?”

“Yes. I’m going to bring it to Doha with me and we’re gonna role-play,” Christina teased, finally feeling like the tension was gone from the conversation. Her friend’s voice was back to normal, without lingering traces of irritation, and she felt less anxious too. They’d been discussing Halloween costumes for a week because he saw a kid on the street in London in really realistic, correct Scuderia Ferrari overalls just like Sebastian and Kimi’s and then went on an Internet hunt to find the suit and suggest it to Christina for Lukas, to go with his battery powered Ferrari. He couldn’t find the exact suit, but he did stumble across the dog costumes, advertised on some pups that looked just like Spencer and Lucky, so he sent those to her just for fun. She wanted Spencer, Lucky, and Lukas to be her three baby dragons, since she was going to be Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. The two-thirds of the family was going to a community party and trick-or-treating thing in Marco’s neighborhood. A bunch of André’s other teammates lived there too.

“I’m never fucking you in a wig.”

“Party pooper.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes. Sorry about before.”

“Goodnight, cariña. Te quiero.”

“Love you too. Byyyyye.”

Christina returned to the couch. André asked her if everything was as it should be. She said it was. He then asked her to let the dogs back in. She did. Then she announced that she was actually going to bed, and he waffled on what to do in response. His first instinct was to talk to Juan and find out what the deal was. She didn’t actually mention what was said about the Jenni girl, or Juan’s conduct, or how she felt about it. In retrospect, asking her if everything was as it “should be” was a foolish question. Christina could have been literally truthful in her answer and theoretically lying. She might have thought the Spaniard should be able to flirt with other girls, or hook up with them, or even begin a relationship, so if he did any of that then it was appropriate for her to answer “yes” even if she were hugely upset about it and didn’t want him to do any of those things. The player wished he’d just asked her how she felt about whatever was discussed on the phone. He thought of following her to bed and just being extra nice to her in case she was upset, or in case she could be indirectly persuaded to explain the situation. He also thought of just giving her space. Her ankle hurt a lot, she had a busy day, the decision to begin planning Nick’s retirement was an immense weight on her, and she’d been running around trying to keep everyone in the family happy despite things like fish deaths, criminally inept football, unwelcome transfer rumors, a brother’s refusal to commit to a visit, and in-laws who wanted to spend more time with their grandson. In the end, he didn’t really choose. He simply stopped trying to decide, and stayed in the living room.

Christina couldn’t sleep. She wanted to text Juan, not about anything specific, just to chat, but she got a “leave me alone” vibe from him on the phone before. Like her, he needed alone time to do nothing too, and he was historically very turned off by her interrogations and distrust, so she didn’t want to dig her hole any deeper with him. She tried browsing Instagram, playing games on her phone, reading, TV, and even masturbating, which she couldn’t get into. Nothing put her to sleep. The rider gave up and texted her husband downstairs to see if he was coming to bed soon. Rather than write her back, he put the house to sleep and went up to talk face to face.

“Were you waiting for me?” he questioned with his typical look of mild confusion. “Was I supposed to come soon?” Christina shook her head on her pillow. It was all he could see of her, but it was evident from the state of all the other pillows and much of the blanket that she hadn’t been sleeping for the hour or so since she said goodnight.

“I can’t sleep,” his girl frowned.

“Juan?”

“Not really.”

“Nick?”

“Not really.”

“Aidan?”

“Okay you’re making it sound like I’m having relationships with a lot of dudes, boyfriend.”

“One is a horse and one is your brother!” André laughed a little, reassured that he didn’t mess up or miss a cue in not initially following her to bed earlier. He ambled over to her side of the mattress and sat on the edge to give her a kiss once she turned over. “Why can’t you sleep, Prinzessin?” he asked in his Sweet Husband voice.

“I don’t know. I tried everything. I even tried my fingers but my vagina is like a desert right now.” Christina tried out Poor Wife, but was hit with a pang of guilt the second she successfully beamed misery from her eyes. “Are you upset that I cared if Juan talked to a girl? I was really inconsiderate of how you’d feel about that.”

“No. I expect as much. I don’t think I’d be okay with your relationship with him if you didn’t care enough about him to have that reaction. I mean, it’s not pleasant for me, but it’s not a big deal. Don’t let that keep you up,” the player stressed with brows pinched for emphasis. His hand rubbing her hip over the comforter felt honest. It wasn’t an empty gesture. I’m grateful that we’re back to where I can tell he’s being real with me just from the weight of his palm, she reflected. We used to talk at each other and step on each other and just keep getting it so fucking wrong. It was like we spoke different languages and knew nothing of each other’s body language either. “Is it that situation that’s keeping you up? You can say,” André added encouragingly. He wasn’t so sure of his ability to hear and read her. “I don’t want him to do things that hurt or upset you either, believe it or not.”

“I believe it, actually.” A little grin made her face look a lot less unhappy and plagued to him. “Are you ready for sleepy time or are you just visiting?”

“Depends. Are you inviting me into the bed to hydrate your desert vagina or-“

“No I just think I have a better chance of falling asleep on you than by myself.”

“Can I brush my teeth and everything or is this an emergency?”

“You may,” Christina nodded. He’s so sweet. Sometimes he gives me those awkward I-wish-he-could-be-my-dad feels I don’t know how to address. Sometimes he takes care of me and he has the loving, dad-like quality in his voice, and in his face too, even. I guess what you do when a guy gives you dad feels is have a kid with him so that you can see him behave like a dad but you can still sleep with him and stuff. Ugh maybe Juanin is right. I shouldn’t take those painkillers. She reached down to rectify a wedgie situation and then waited for her preferred pillow to use the bathroom, brush his teeth, put his shorts and socks away, plug in his phone, fill his water glass, and fluff his regular pillows, which she’d repurposed for herself during her struggles to get to dreamland. He got under the covers and immediately reached over to hug and squeeze her before he was going to get comfortable and prepared to host her in a snuggling capacity.

“You want talking, or just rubbing and petting? Or spoon?”

“Your legs are so hairy,” the filling in his arm and leg taco observed. The outside of his thigh was the only place for her right hand when she found herself squished in the middle of all of his limbs.

“Are they ever not? That part, at least.”

“In the summer when I make you wax.”

“What do you want to have dreams about tonight, pretty girl?” he inquired with his mouth and nose in her freshly shampooed mane. It smelled like lemon. His desire to help her get to sleep, and indeed to have nice dreams when she arrived there, was grounded in a certain relief and satisfaction in the transparency in what unfolded throughout the night. He knew he had to have felt a certain amount of security to be able to say anything at all to her about Juan and Alexis, and then to explain the full context. Not so long in the past, he would have avoided it at all costs, because he would have felt threatened by her reaction. Then Christina was comfortable enough to admit that she needed to go clear up the gaps in the story with Juan rather than keep her anxiety to herself, hidden from her husband for safety’s sake. And she was still forthcoming with the communication after the call, and she was sympathetic to how he could feel about it. The whole episode demonstrated, in André’s view, a comprehensive improvement in the levels of trust and understanding in their marriage.

The fundamentals of the situation were still tough to take- his wife was still in love with another man too, and enough so that she was very upset by literally the rumor of his sharing a conversation with another woman- but that was easier to digest when she wasn’t also lying about it, trying to hide it, pretending, or deflecting, or letting it destroy everything for her and for them. There was a lot less drama surrounding the core issue. André couldn’t do anything about the core issue. He couldn’t make his wife un-love his former teammate. His choice on that was to accept it or walk away. He always felt he could do something about all the nonsense that ruined everything in their relationship though, and it finally felt as if he’d accomplished that, or they’d accomplished it together. Christina’s relationship with Juan was no longer rat poison for her relationship with him. He was finally just getting the benefits of letting her have the arrangement with the Spaniard that she wanted. He got a happier, less stressed, more emotionally fit girl to enjoy sharing his life with, and though he was sure she could be that way without Juan, he was also sure she didn’t believe that, and that it was foolish to keep trying to make her believe it. It felt very, very good to let go of that need to make her believe, and to duly reap the rewards.

“Exotic macaroni and cheese.”

“Exotic?”

“Like smoked Gouda, or a blend of many cheeses...”

“You want to dream about cheese?” the player asked skeptically as he released his strange wife to find a position that offered more long-term comfort.

“Or bread. Bread and cheese. Baguettes and Camembert. With wine, or coffee, even, in a Paris cafe. The kind the locals go to, not tourists. My makeup should be really pretty and effortless- very French- and you should have your sleeves rolled up, and a lovely scarf. And we kiss between every bite of divine bread and cheese, or bread and delicious French butter, and you flirt with your eyes the whole time, and it makes me blush and laugh a lot.” Christina was safely tucked under her favorite gangly arm by the time she was done setting the scene for her dream, and her cheek was resting comfortably on her footballer’s chest. He started thinking about kidnapping her for an overnight in Paris to celebrate his birthday. It was on Monday, and his girl was leaving for Doha on Tuesday. Bayern Munich was due at Signal Iduna Park on Saturday in the early evening. They could use the charter jet to fly after the match and still get to Paris in time for late dessert, spend the night, enjoy the day there together, and come back Sunday evening.

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