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dornish-queen · 3 years

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GQ MEXICO - PEDRO PASCAL 2021

It seems that Pedro Pascal is in all possible universes. Here and there. In the past, in the present, and in galaxies far, far away. Today, the actor is considered the great entertainment reference and one of those in charge of saving a franchise that seemed lost. Enough reasons to talk exclusively about discipline, gastronomy, creeds and how he traumatized his father in 30 seconds.

The RAE defines 'creed' as the set of ideas, principles or convictions of a person or a group. For example, by creed, one can leave his country and be in exile. It happens that one can leave the loved one behind. Or simply live in another reality. And also one can put on a helmet to pretend never to take it off again. If that is the path to follow, the creed says that it must be done with the profession of faith and without stopping to look. Turning the pages of the script for The Mandalorian , the Disney + series that revived passion and nostalgia for the Star Wars franchise , Pedro Pascal came across this definition in every dialogue and moment, and reflection carved his way.

More than two decades have passed since the Chilean-American, Pedro Pascal, began his acting career and today, named as the great reference of 2020 , he misses the theater and it still hurts him not to have the discipline to exercise and maintain a diet sana while acknowledging the irony of having the best year of her career in the midst of one of the worst in recent history. But even in physical solitude, the man who carried the best-selling Christmas baby rescues many positive things and shares his vision of the universes he has traveled through, his passion for distant galaxies and how to traumatize your family with a simple scene of TV. In an interview, the Mandalorian of Latinamerica.

IMDB named you the 2020 benchmark in entertainment, a year in which the world took refuge in fiction. How was living your best time locked up and what do you rescue on a human level from it?

The strength of family relationships and friendship. For them, we endure this physical loneliness. I do find it ironic that in 2020 I received projects so well received by the public, although they were carried out before the pandemic and their impact was during it, and that year I was isolated and alone. But I must emphasize that this loneliness is a privilege when many people had to continue working, surviving and maintaining the functioning of the world. We only had to be alone, but they more than that and you must value it too.

Among the activities you have missed, how much do you miss the theater?

Much indeed. It's something that I miss the most and being with people without being afraid. See a play and return to those experiences of being with people doing and living things in common. That is what I need most, in addition to my loved ones.

Disney fully entered streaming and its strong letter has your face, what do you think of the discussion of platforms against movie theaters?

There are incredible things in streaming and many people develop great projects that they did not have access to before. The diversity of voices is gaining ground and it is important to recognize that opportunities grow exponentially and boundaries change. It is incredible the availability that we have to very well made content and how creative people can share their work in different ways. But I also want to be honest: limiting the experience of watching content only on our gadgets or at home is a mistake that affects the stories we can tell. You have to achieve a mix of opportunities and challenges.

You jump between the fictional universes that mark the last decades until you reach the universe of universes. What is your first Star Wars memory and how do you summarize the essence of this legendary story?

For me, Star Wars is nostalgia itself. It is one of the primary things in my memory, of my childhood. I came to the United States with my Chilean family when I was less than two years old and one of my first memories is going to the movies with my dad to see the saga ; it becomes one of those romantic childhood things that opens your mind, so imagine how special it is to participate in this project. I think the creators of The Mandalorian perfectly understand this nostalgia and that power, and they managed to count on that element as a great ally for the world of Star Wars and I couldn't be happier to be part of it. (From which we expect the third season The Mandalorian)

The Mandalorian exploits the power and nuances of your voice, did you have that letter on your resume?

I didn't know I could do it, but I resorted to my theater preparation, which was very physical on all levels and feelings. There are elements that have to do with and that are essential to create a role, and they teach you that the voice is something primary, something you have to start with and you cannot hide. Now I have learned much more about the importance of that, and how to use it economically. The body also has to do with that, because something very subtle communicates something. In The Mandalorian , I had a great time figuring out how to do it, they gave me the opportunity to develop it in different ways. The opportunity to be very intense at it.

What happens to the ego when someone works under a suit and a mask?

In the conversations about the project, before doing it, we were communicated the idea and the concept of the entire season , so I clearly understood what it was. I wanted it to be the most powerful version of what they were trying to accomplish, so there was no point in involving my ego, you know? It was already very clear what the project meant, so I knew about the character , the piece that it represented for him and the opportunity that it was for me, so I was only focused on executing in a better way the part that touched me in everything this. In the theater, I worked several times under a mask and it helped me develop the experience.

It seems that The Mandalorian has a very theatrical base ...

Exactly, and thanks to the physical experience of working in theater, doing a play a few times a week, discovering how your body and your voice communicate , being part of a whole image, and how you will tell that story visually, I achieved this character. I never imagined that it would be something I would have to use on such an important Star Wars project .

On the list of entertainment greats, there are names like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, do you think John Favreau should be added to the list?

I think your name is already included. Without a doubt, it is in that category and it is incredible. His vision fascinates me. I remember an episode in the second season , and I had some boots and I walked so much in the snow, it stuck to them. He figured it out, so he talked to the art department about the kind of boots you need when you're out in the snow. They approached me and gave me new ones that fulfilled the idea I was looking for. He noticed it in an instant. It is such a wonderful detail and it is repeated to scale in every session with him. He thinks of absolutely everything and his vision of the use of technology is admirable. He is someone who makes you feel motivated and always sees how to achieve the goal.

One of the reflections in the series is on how and under what circumstances a man can break his creed and way of life. What makes you break with your beliefs?

I think that you must follow your heart so as not to regret anything; Although sometimes it brings pain or conflict, deep down when you look back, everything is worth it because it was what you heard in your heart. I am very afraid to deny that feeling or not to attend to it. I am 45 years old now and I cannot believe I have a finer philosophy. Make it more disciplined. It's ridiculous, but I'm trying to accept that I am and it's all I can say, "follow your heart." Although, you know, I'm not on a good diet yet, I still have trouble sleeping or exercising.

Still good at Chilean empanadas?

Yes, I couldn't stop. And also how good that I do not live in Mexico City because I would only spend it eating. I could move my whole life to defe just to eat.

I want to deviate and ask you, with whom did you see the chapter of your death in Game of Thrones and what traumas did you cause in your family?

For me, no trauma. I separate myself well from the characters , although I fully understand that if I were a Game of Thrones audience and loved that character, it would make an incredible impression on me. Thank you that it was not. I had to interpret it and there was a model of my head to be crushed that way with the tubes and the fake blood, you know? Me lying there, with pieces of my meat, it was funny in the end. But not for my family. For them there is nothing funny but traumatic. My dad's voice changed completely when we saw the episode, he turned around and said: “I didn't like it, Pedro . No, Pedro , not this ”.

The media found similarities between your villain in Wonder Woman: 1984 and Donald Trump. When playing a character with characteristics like this, do you humanize him or do you understand him?

The project had nothing to do with the former president. They always told me that my character in Wonder Woman: 1984 was emotionally messy, and I took that and took that as far as possible. Instead of creating it with images or certain inspirations from life, it was more to work with what was on the page. Personally, what made sense to me is the size of the story that is being told and there is always more, and we all want more. Creatively, if this makes sense, that meant "blowing her out of the park." Connect a hit with the character and be committed to telling his story faithfully, in a way that was true to me. So all the exterior elements found their way.

What a way to start 2021 with the theme of the Capitol ... How do you perceive that moment?

I am not a politician and it is not that I do not have an opinion about this type of event; however, it is not necessary to state the obvious. My opinion would be very simple compared to that of a person who studied this, who knows how to act in these kinds of scenarios; I believe that I am next to the majority who experienced this, which is the logical result of what we have experienced during these years and we are all horrified . It was distressing to see this violence.

If you had the monolith in your hands, what would your wish be?

My wish would be… it's impossible, really (laughs). I think it is to be together again, with less fear and that people have the opportunity to connect.

What is your position on the reality that Chile has experienced in recent years and how has the relationship with your country been since exile?

It is something that I am developing and I continue to do in my life, trying to understand that it is my home. To be in Chile is to be at home, but my life has been very nomadic, living different things and having many influences; so it is strange, I do not feel with the title of a complete Chilean identity nor with an American one.

Neither here nor there?

In a sense, but I'm also completely both. My parents are Chilean , my brothers were born there before my parents traveled, and I came back sometimes because my family is very large; in fact, my parents came back. It has always been there, it continues to develop, and it will be a part of me. I don't know if it answers your question, but it has a lot to do with who I am.

What is your relationship with Latin American cinema? Are you interested?

Much, it has invaded me in life like American cinema. The movies that I carry in my heart, seeing something like Y tu mama was also something that changed me; I also love the work that comes out of Chile , and the only thing I can say is that it is a cinema that needs more access and projects.

Today you have a comedy with Nicolas Cage on the door, can you tell us something?

It's my first shot at comedy , as a complete story within the genre. Speaking of American influences , in the 80s I saw all the films where Nicolas Cage appeared , he came into my life and it's great to be his partner after seeing all his performances.

How is the relationship you have with the comedy genre?

I love it, I have done a lot of comedy in the theater, what happens is that in film and television issues , I was always part of drama castings . And in the cinema, you go where the doors open; Although I identify with one or the other, I think that being an actor , one goes and does what one has to do. Comedy is something unique, it is very challenging because it must be very real to be funny, you cannot hide or use normal tricks. I was very excited to have this challenge in front of a camera.

Finally, Pedro, after going through so many fictional worlds, literally, what do you dream about when you sleep?

I dream that my bathroom is dirty, that I haven't done my math homework, that the oven is on and all that stuff. Sure, there are times when I close my eyes and see myself in all these projects , although my conscience is with the anxieties of the day that you can imagine.

Without a doubt, Pedro Pascal is a particular type .

English Tranlation: Google Translate

SOURCE: GQ MEXICO

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #gq mexico #Articles

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fallin-4-ya · 3 years

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but beautiful

But Beautiful

cedric diggory x malfoy!reader

summary: life wasn’t particularly easy being the older sister of draco malfoy, but a certain boy from hufflepuff had the power to make all her troubles melt away.

warnings: slight house shaming, brief mention of disappointed parents & i think that's it! non-voldy au! (gif is not mine, credit to owner)

words: 1.6k

part i, part ii, part iii

‘And you have to believe me when I tell you that no one could ever be as beautiful as you are at this very moment, because I could never want anyone more than I want you right now.’ -Mariella Muffarotto

There was something to be said about being a Malfoy, something y/n could not understand. With an uncommonly kind heart and an unprejudiced view on life, she saw the wizarding world as nothing but beautiful.

September 1st, 1989

Y/n walked nervously onto platform nine and three quarters with her mother, Narcissa, on one side and her father, Lucius, on the other. She looked up with pleading eyes at her parents, almost as if asking if she had to go. Her mother put her hand on her shoulder, ‘My dear, not to worry. You’ll make so many friends before you know it.’

‘Yes, y/n, your mother is right. But, don't go making friends with the wrong sort.’ Her father said with half a grin and half disgust. She shook her head, acknowledging his words. Y/n hugged her parents goodbye and headed up to the train, walking through to see most of the compartments as full. Almost at the end of the train she spotted a compartment that had two very similar looking boys who seemed nice enough. But what she didn't know is that once she opened that door, she would become best friends with two future trouble makers at Hogwarts. So, opening the door hesitantly she peeked inside

‘Hi, um, is this one full?’ Y/n stared at the two tall identical, redhead boys looking up at her.

‘Not at all.’ Said the one closest to the compartment door. ‘I’m Fred, by the way. Fred Weasley! And this is my brother George.’ He pointed to the by next to him, who smiled and sent her a wave.

‘Thanks.’ She sat down across the two. They gave her a quizzical look as she stared down at her hands, twiddling with her thumbs. The nervous energy was definitely kicking in and her mind fumbled into a much of anxiety. Her thoughts, though, were interrupted who she assumed to be Fred.

‘And you are?’

‘Oh! I’m y/n, y/n Malfoy.’ said the girl, smiling awkwardly at the two of them. ‘Sorry, guess I’m a bit nervous.’

Fred chuckled, ‘Well, not to worry y/n. This is our first year too, and with any luck will be sorted into Gryffindor.’ He smiled proudly, elbowing George.

‘Yeah, the whole lot of our family is Gryffindor. Sure, it will be the same for us.’ George pipped up. ‘What house are you hoping for?’

Y/n thought timidly to herself before answering the simple, yet complicated question. ‘Well, if I hope to live another day, then Slytherin. But I’d be happy in any house. Whatever the hat thinks is right for me.’

‘And why’s that, y/n?’ Fred asked.

‘My whole family is Slytherin. You know the type of purebloods who believe in all of the superiority nonsense. The Malfoys have been part of Slytherin house for centuries, so I guess I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment.’ She shrugged.

‘Oh.’ Whispered George knowingly, sending his brother a look. ‘Don’t get too caught up in it, y/n. We know tons of witches and wizards who were in your shoes and they all are just fine. Regardless of what house they got sorted into!’ He cooed reassuringly.

‘Anyways, Hogwarts isn’t about houses and schoolwork and nonsense like that. It’s about having fun.’ Fred said with a smirk, giving y/n a wink.

‘Good thing for both of you, I love nothing more than a bit of fun.’

The train arrived to the Hogsmeade station even more quickly than expected, or perhaps it was because Fred, George and y/n were having too much fun to realize the time passing by. The entered the Great Hall in awe because y/n’s mother and father had never told her how magnificent it really was. Her, the twins and the rest of the first-year students anxiously made their way up to the front of the room, passing older students as they went along. There stood Professor McGonagall, with a list of names and a big, old hat. She began reading off names:

‘Diggory, Cedric!’

‘Jordan, Lee!’

‘Johnson, Angelina!’

Then what seemed like a hundred names Professor McGonagall bellowed out, ‘Malfoy, Y/n!’

Y/n walked up to the wooden stool with shaky hands. Of course, she had wanted to be put in Slytherin to make her family proud, but a part of her felt like she just didn’t belong. Professor McGonagall placed the sorting hat on her head gently and took a step back.

‘Hm, another Malfoy,’ the sorting hat started. ‘Much potential. Talented, no doubt. A want to please and make others happy. Courage and loyalty, but where to put you?’ Better be, Hufflepuff.’

Y/n heart dropped to the floor, yet soared at the same time. She could not comprehend the emotion she was feelings, lying somewhere between overjoyed and worried. However, a smile was plastered onto her face as she made her way to sit down at the table adorned in yellow and black.

Y/n took a set across a boy with light brown hair who had been sorted into Hufflepuff not five minutes before she did. He grinned at her. Y/n looked into gray eyes, holding warmth and promise. He extended his hand to meet hers, ‘Hi! I’m Cedric Diggory!’

Y/n took his hand and shook it, ‘I’m y/n Malfoy!’

The boy who she now knew as Cedric smiled at her, with rosy cheeks. ‘I can tell were going to be great friends!’

And great friends they did become.

The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months. Months became seasons and seasons blossomed to years. Y/n’s friendship with both the Weasley twins and Cedric Diggory were planted into little trees in which her love for Hogwarts sprouted. Two years had passed since y/n Malfoy was sorted into Hufflepuff, though it would be lying to say she didn’t get quite the earful from her parents about it.

(‘Hufflepuff!’ Lucius spat. ‘A Malfoy, in Hufflepuff. You’re an embarrassment, a disgrace!’

Her little brother giggled in the background at her great misfortune, but y/n could only be mad at one person at a time. ‘It’s not like it’s my fault!’ she hissed back, ‘It’s the bloody hat. If it’s that much of problem why don’t you take it up with the inanimate object!’)

But still, she lived. And most importantly she was happy. Y/n not only had the two most fun-loving pranksters glued to one side of her hip, but she had a kind, sweet, adorable Hufflepuff boy glued to the other. Two years had flown by and y/n’s brother, Draco, finally joined her at school. She wasn’t excited per say, they had hardly enjoyed each other’s company. Draco was his sister’s polar opposite, not to mention the constant teasing she endured from him.

Yet still, y/n accepted fate as a bull was sent into a china cabinet, simply waiting for hell to break loose. She sat at the Hufflepuff table next to Cedric as the group of first years gathered into the Great Hall. One by one, each of the new students walked up to the hat, awaiting to be sorted.

‘Malfoy, Draco!’ Professor McGonagall’s voice roared.

Cedric nudged y/n, ‘Gather that’s your brother.’

‘Yep.’ She answered simply popping the p. ‘What gave it away? The blonde hair or the last name?’ She said with a smirk.

Draco approached the sorting hat with a smug grin smeared on his face. The hat hadn’t been on his head a second before it bellowed out Slytherin.

‘Are you joking? The bloody hat barely touched him!’ y/n nearly shouted. Cedric stifled a laugh, earning him an elbow from y/n. ‘Yeah, Ced. Hysterical that my dumb brother got into my family’s dumb house while I’m sat here looking like a bloody bumblebee.’

This only sent Cedric’s head back, laughing at her. (‘You really think we look like bumblebees, y/n?’) He watched as Draco stuck his tongue out at his older sister, who in return rolled her eyes at him.

After the feast, y/n was approached by Fred and George who practically ran to meet her.

‘So now what?’ Fred said quickly.

Y/n stopped and shrugged her shoulders, ‘Now, Draco become the favorite child.’

‘The favorite child, yeah? Better him than you, I’ll say.’ George said with a hint of sarcasm, making her smile.

‘Reckon you’re right, Georgie. Besides who needs a dumb brother, when I already got the two of you already driving me crazy.’ She said ruffling both of the twin’s hair. ‘Meet you guys in the morning!’ Y/n shouted as she ran back to meet the rest of her house, joining them in the common room.

Y/n walked into a busy common room, all the students catching up with one another after summer holiday. She then spotted Cedric by the velvet sofas, as if he was waiting for her. She couldn’t remember in this moment if his eyes had always been that beautiful or if his cheeks were ever that soft. Perhaps it was the extra inches he grew over the summer or perhaps the way he finally learned how to style his hair. But whatever it was, it did not last long because y/n quickly chased away those thoughts and sat next to her friend.

‘Whatcha up to, Ced?’ y/n questioned taking a seat next him.

‘Can I ask you something, y/n?’ Cedric said suddenly, y/n nodded allowing permission for him to carry on. ‘Why do you and Draco not get along?’

She drew back slightly, Cedric was not one to ask very personal questions. He had a flare for boundaries and always knew exactly where to draw the line, especially when it came to family. She couldn’t help but to feel that he deserved an answer after being such a fierce friend over the past few years.

Y/n swallowed hard, truly thinking about how to answer him. There had been no true animosity towards the siblings, no hate or anything of the sort. They just simply didn’t get along. She sighed, ‘Not sure, guess we’re just oil and water. We’ve never been particularly fond of each other, but I think that’s because we’re both so different. Of course, I love him. But he’s also a bit of a prick, like, all the time.’

Cedric laughed softly at her words, ‘That’s a pretty good reason not to get along with someone.’

He smiled at her. Butterflies erupted from y/n’s tummy, making their way up to her throat. Surely his smile had never been that inviting or warm or beautiful. And before she could stop herself words flowed from her tongue like a waterfall, ‘We’ll always get along, right Ced?’ she said softly.

‘Of course, y/n. You know, as long as I’m not being a prick.’ He smiled and winked at her, leaving her heart more flustered than ever.

(a/n: thank you for reading!, this is part one of three, so let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist! i hope u enjoyed! sending love and positive vibes! xo-mari)

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric x reader #cedric x y/n #Fred and George #Draco Malfoy #malfoy reader #malfoy!reader #fred weasley #george weasley #fred weasley x reader #friends to lovers

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acciomalfoy · 4 years

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What a beautiful wedding (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Summary: While attending Bill and Fleur’s reception, certain secrets are forced to be revealed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I whispered in awe as I watched Fleur, the absolute goddess, walk down the aisle. She was breathtaking, and if she wasn’t about to get married maybe I could’ve convinced her to marry me. Fred nudged me.

“Come on, L/n. Don’t tell me you’re the type to go soft over a wedding.” I ignored him in favour of smiling at Fleur, who beamed back.

Fred was on one side of me with George on the other, and bridesmaids and groomsmen were scattered across in front of the guests, while Fleur eventually reached the front. Charlie hastily pulled out her ring and presented it to Bill, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. I would have been too, with a bride like that.

“Be honest. Do you think I could seduce Fleur and convince her to elope with me?” I whispered, and George coughed to disguise his laughter.

“I think you could do anything.” Fred whispered back, and the vows began.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.” At this point I was seriously beginning to question my sexuality. That was, until I saw the smile on Fred’s face. Then Bill said his vows.

“It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were truly supposed to be together, and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched you. It was like coming home, only to no home I’d ever known. I was just taking your hand to help you out of a carriage and I knew. It was the most pure form of magic that I’ve ever known.” Everyone, every single witch and wizard in attendance cooed, the witches tearing up and the wizards focussing on doing just the opposite.

“You may now kiss the witch.” The officiant said, and Bill did just that. We began cheering and screaming, and there wasn’t a couple quite as beautiful as this one.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed the newlyweds in a seperate carriage, and as I was squished between Ginny and George, I realised that life possibly couldn’t get any better. Ginny kept looking meaningfully between George and I, making me laugh harder and harder each time. She couldn’t have gotten it more wrong.

“I see you flirting.” She whispered in my ear, and I sniggered, patting George on the head.

“I don’t think so, Gin.” She narrowed her eyes and looked pointedly away, and that was just fine by me. Soon enough we reached the reception, Fred falling into step beside me.

“So, my dear Y/n. Were you ever planning on telling me that you want to snog my brothers tonsils out?” I shrieked with laughter, and Fred scowled.

“I’d sooner play tonsil hockey with Malfoy!” I cried out, and George punched my shoulder.

“Bloody tosser.” He mumbled, but his smile afterwards showed me there was no hard feelings.

When we walked into the tent the sheer size of it shocked me; but then again, there were quite a lot of guests coming to reception that weren’t at the ceremony. Shortly everyone had arrived, and after introducing the bride and groom we took out seats. It was almost instantaneous - as soon as everyone was seated small pieces of paper appeared in front of each person. It seemed to be a checklist.

Find someone who’s patronus is an otter.

Find someone who’s painted their fingernails green.

Find someone who’s older than eighty.

Find someone who took more than four minutes to be sorted into their school house.

Find someone who was retrieved in the triwizards tournament.

Convince someone to confess to their soulmate and the spell they created.

I almost dropped the paper when I saw the last one. A soulmate spell? Those were incredibly tricky to cast, let alone invent.

“Fred! What’d you get?” We compared lists, and he laughed at mine.

“Look, one of yours has already been ticked off!” He said, and I got a horrible flashback to the tri-wizards tournament. Lucky Cedric had saved me relatively quickly, since my claustrophobia had already begun to set in.

“I wonder where Ced’s sitting.” I pondered, and George made a face.

“Why? You don’t like him, do you?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“No, not really. He’s fucking gorgeous, you’d have to be blind to not notice that, but I think he’s gay.” I whispered the last part, just in case the older brunette was somewhere behind me.

“I have to say, I agree.” Fred said gravely, and George rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you’re gay, you dickhead.” Fred clutched his heart and I laughed at the twins - they really were the best.

“Anyway, Bill said that each list is charmed to cater to the person. So the answers to your list are the people you have the most in common with. Apparently you can’t leave until you’ve checked everything off AND you’ve checked what you can for other people. Take Hermione, for instance. She’s obviously the only one with an otter, so she can’t leave until she talks to everyone with that challenge.”

“I think I need a drink.” Fred said, and I agreed.

The night didn’t exactly fly by. Those with difficult lists were all too aware of how long it was taking them, and the only challenge I had left was the last one. I was on the verge of tears, and a drunken Fred was too. I didn’t know what challenge he had left, but the issue still remained. We were stuck here. There was maybe twenty people left, and the groom was one of them.

“Don’t fucking talk to me. I’m ready to throttle my lovely wife for the idea.” Bill warned as I approached him, and I groaned.

“Bill, I just want to go to bed! I’m begging you!” Bill only shook his head.

“I have absolutely zero power over it. I think a divorce is on the cards.” I brightened up at that, until I realised I would be stuck at the reception for the rest of life and wouldn’t be able to elope with the bride.

“What’s yours anyway?” I finally asked, and Bill glared at me.

“Watch someone fall in love. I know. Seriously, even if one person falls in love I have to fucking find them just before they do.” I had a good laugh at that. Bill seemed to be in a slightly worse position than I was, even though I was still fucked. I decided to take action, and stood on a chair before clinking a glass.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen. If you or someone you know has invented a soulmate tracker spell then please, I beg you, hit me the fuck up and we can have a talk.” I stepped down and almost stumbled. Maybe I shouldn’t have done those fire-whisky shots. When in Rome, however. Mental note: you absolutely cannot keep up with Charlie Weasley when it comes to alcohol. I made my way over to Bill, who had placed an incredibly drunk Fred into a chair and was patting his head. It would have been nice if it wasn’t just weird.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I said breezily, and Fred grabbed my hand.

“Of course you’re not, sweet cheeks.” Godric Gryffindor, I tried not to blush. I knew he was only saying it because he was drunk, and because he didn’t have a filter, but it still made me smile.

“Control your brother, Bill. Oh! Cedric’s still here!” I let go of Fred’s hand and tried to walk away, but to my dismay Fred yanked me backwards and pulled me onto his lap.

“Look’s like he’s your problem now.” Bill said. “I’ll go see how Cedric’s doing, shall I?” Bill was off without another word, and Fred pulled me even closer.

“Why do you like Cedric so much?” He murmured into my ear, and I involuntarily shivered.

“He’s my best friend, you oaf. Now let me go!” I struggled against his grip, but I just couldn’t escape.

“I thought I was your best friend.” He said, and I gave up trying.

“You are. I can have more than best friend, you realise that right?” Fred shook his head.

“No you can’t. I’m not letting you go until you say I’m your bestest friend ever.” He clutched me tighter than ever, and I tried in vain to get Bill’s attention.

“You’re a child. An actual child, Fred.” When there was no response, I sighed. “Fine. You’re my bestest friend ever.” I said, and Fred cheered, letting go of me. I stood up quickly, and Bill came back with Cedric in tow.

“Look who’s left. How are ya, Fred?” Cedric sat besides Fred, and I leaned on Bill’s shoulder.

“Fucking hell, I might fall asleep standing up.” I murmured, and Bill patted my head in a similar manner to what he had done to Fred.

“I’ll join you. Who do you reckon’s the most likely person to fall in love out of everyone in this room?” Bill asked, and I snorted.

“It’s got to be your grandma, doesn’t it?“ Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes at my laughter.

“Har har. You’re so funny, Y/n. I might just die of laughter.” He said, and I let my gaze wander around the room. I wondered who was going to fall in love tonight.

“Ced! What do you have left?” I asked, and Cedric looked up.

“I’ve got fall in love. I know, and there’s no way it’s with Grandma Weasley, I can tell you that.” He said, and I laughed. A lot. I clutched my stomach as I laughed, and really, it wasn’t even that funny. It was just the thought of Grandma Weasley walking down the aisle to meet Cedric took me out completely. With a soft pop, I watched Cedric and Bill disappear.

“What just happened?” Fred asked slowly, and I wasn’t in the state of mind to know.

“They popped. They’re going to bed now, maybe we should too. We can sleep on the floor.” I sat down on the floor and it was horribly uncomfortable.

“What do you have left?” I asked with a yawn, and Fred sighed heavily.

“I’ve done my challenges.” He said, and I remembered he was the key to someone else’s puzzle.

“That sucks then. Maybe you should try and talk to people and figure out what it is.” I said, and he looked at me sadly.

“I know what it is.” The silence stretched out for a long time.

“Well?” I asked, and he laughed without a trace of humour.

“You really don’t know?” He questioned, and I shook my head.

“Unfortunately my dear, I’m the answer to yours.” I blinked slowly. My crush and best friend of five years had invented a soulmate spell and hadn’t thought to tell me.

“Fred, come on. Just confess to her and we can leave this prison.” I pleaded with him, but the man was being unreasonable.

“Absolutely not. We can live here for the rest of our lives.” Fred smiled award winningly, and I found that I couldn’t smile back.

“At least tell me who she is. Maybe I can try and see if she likes you.” I fiddled with the hem of my dress, and it was hard to look Fred in the eye knowing he belonged to someone else.

“I don’t think so, pretty girl. I don’t think she will be too thrilled to see who she’s mated to.” Fred confessed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Any girl with a heartbeat would kill to be soulmates with you, Fred. Why can’t you see that?”

“Any girl?” He whispered.

“Any girl.” I confirmed. Fred took a deep breath.

“You’re my soulmate.” Fred said eventually, and before I could blink we were standing in the burrow.

I looked at Fred, his brown eyes ever beautiful, and made a split-second decision. I flung myself into his arms, and he caught me with ease.

“You’re a tosser,” I murmured into his ear. “-You should have told me as soon as you knew.” I hugged him tightly, and his grip on me tightened.

“I didn’t know how you’d react.” He confessed, and I pulled my head off his shoulder. Godric, he was beautiful.

“Still.” I leaned in and our lips met, moving in perfect sync. His hair was softer than what I had always thought it would be, and it was perfect.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #george weasley #bill weasley #fleur delacour #ginny weasley

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boxofbadaddiction · 4 years

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The Friends to Lovers Cliché

George Weasley x Reader

This story is inspired from a request of my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Themed Prompt List.

Prompts: 13 and 15

"I'm so happy and not at all Jealous."/"I'm sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you by taking you roughly in the barn."

Warnings: Light Swearing.

Not many things in life had been clear for [Y/N]. She could never understand why her parents fought. Or why Snape despised Gryffindor so much. Above all she couldn't understand why the Weasley Twins had taken so much of a liking to her, not that she was complaining. The Weasleys were the type family she'd always dreamed of being apart of.

There was one thing however she knew for certain. That was, George and her were never meant to be 'just friends'.

The transition was simple. Hell, they practically melted together into the perfect couple. After 4 years of friendship they both just knew they were right for one another.

Today, however, there was one other thing she was sure of. The fact she was positively shitting herself at the prospect of spending this Summer at the Burrow. Yeah, she'd done it plenty of times in the past, but they were different. This time she was wasn't just 'the Twins best friend', she was 'the Girlfriend'. The thought terrified her for reasons she couldn't understand. Evidently, her nerves must have been playing painfully obvious as George noticed and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"Relax, love" he whispered, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck. She'd been bouncing on the balls of her feet, biting her nails, while staring fixedly at the train tracks in front of her. George wasn't sure whether she were willing the Hogwarts Express to speed up...or to slow down.

"You realise you've been to our house before, right?" Fred joked as he watched her amusedly.

"Ah, but that was before", Ginny spoke stepping closer to her family and friends, "before she'd began smooching our precious, little, Georgie all over the school." She pursed her lips, making various kissing noises while she did.

"Oh shove off, you two." George swatted away his pestering siblings as the Train rolled into the station before them.

"They love you, my parents, you know that. I'll be with you the whole time, don't worry." He kissed her cheek and gave her waist a reassuring squeeze before they made their way toward the carriages. She nodded once in response, sighing deeply in uncomfortable anticipation. George, walked beside her, hands intertwined, trying to restrain the giggle that formed in his throat at the look that had appeared on her face.

The train ride went by in the blink of an eye. Much to [Y/N]s displeasure. Walking onto the platform she kept a firm grip on her luggage in one hand, and a firmer grasp on George's hand in her other.

"Love, I know you're nervous, but you're sort of breaking my hand." He chuckled. His words broke the girls intense focus that had set on the pounding of her own heart beat and the crowd of people bustling about the train-line, as she scanned the various faces for the familiar features of Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Quickly shifting her gaze to see the whites of her knuckles and the red tips of Georges fingers she gasped, dropping the hold immediately and apologising.

"It's okay" he laughed, shaking the pins and needles from his hand as he threw his arm over her shoulders. "There's Dad." He nodded, feeling [Y/N] tense under his hold at the words. She whipped her head around so fast she saw spots. Mr Weasleys attention was set directly on the couple, with an endearing smile on his lips. Ducking her head away in an attempt to hide her blushing face the other Weasleys laughed leading the way.

Arthur was greeting Ginny in a tight embrace when George and [Y/N] approached. George saw his chance for a laugh and took it. As Ginny stepped back from her father George nudged his girlfriend forward with his shoulder, watching her fumble forward slightly to stand infront of the man in question. She glared back at him, eyes like daggers.

"[Y/N] DEAR!" Mr Weasley exclaimed in excitement, greeting the pale faced teen, shaking her hand with both of his, "so glad you could join us for the Summer." He was grinning broadly. "Thank you for having me" "No problem at all! Molly and I were thrilled when we heard the news", he let go of her hand. "Hope you've been keeping our boy in line." he looked between her and Fred who promptly shook his head and pointed to his brother next to him - who stood with poorly contained laughter. Arthur turned his attention back to [Y/N] who was blushing a deep red as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, bowing her head. What was she meant to say to that? Control George Weasley? Talk about the impossible.

"Right then." Arthur spoke to the group of redheads, and [Y/N] "if this is everyone we'd best be off. Your mother's got dinner on already, hate to be late."

"Excellent!" Added Ron eagerly as they departed for the Burrow.

Okay so, maybe [Y/N] was a little out of her mind to be so worried about visiting this Summer. Everything was exactly as it had been before. Molly had greeted her with a warm hug and smile which always made her feel at home. Although, this smile was considerably brighter in [Y/N]s opinion. Molly couldn't restrain herself from gushing over the happy new couple whenever she saw them together, even if they were just talking at the dining table. Her compliments prompting countless redcheeks from [Y/N] and more than a few snide comments from George about 'personal space'. But other than that, everything was exactly as it had been.

At the beginning of their second week home the restless teenagers currently occupying the Burrow found themselves bored beyond death. Not that Molly hadn't done all she could to keep them busy with a surplus of chores, of course. Now however they found themselves faced with an entire day free for whatever their desperate little hearts desired. If only they could think of something fun to do. There was always Quidditch...but without Harry due for another few days they were left as an odd number. Rather it was decided that a leisurely stroll into town would hold them over for now.

The day was spent simply browsing through the many stores which lined the small streets. Fred and George were sure to drag everyone to their favourite muggle joke store. Ginny and Ron didn't miss a beat in rushing to their favourite sweet shops. [Y/N] wouldn't have changed it for the world. Between the laughter and joking, and Georges ever present hold on her - he hadn't let go of her even once all day, much to the disgust of Fred, Ron and Ginny, it was perfect.

But as they say; all good things come to an end. At least they did for George.

"[Y/N]?" an unfamiliar voice rang through his ears.

"Oh my goodness...JEREMY?" [Y/N] had replied.

The Weasleys turned to see a, very handsome, boy striding quickly toward their friend with a wide smile.

They exchanged various pieces of small talk, [Y/N] being sure to introduce everyone as they caught up. Jeremy had attended Hogwarts briefly. He was a year older than Fred, George and [Y/N] and had transferred to Ilvermorny when his parents were needed in America for business reasons. Apparently the two were quite close before his final year.

George was torn.

He couldn't help but admire his girlfriend in this moment. How happy she looked. How passionately she spoke about school, and her friends. She was truly glowing.

That being said. George was not so fond of Jeremy.

Of the way he leant himself slightly toward [Y/N] as he spoke. Of the way his lips curled as she got lost on her own stories tangent. How his eyes traced her body whenever he thought she wouldn't notice. Of that look he held toward her. George knew that look. It was the same one he had everytime he saw her.

"They're just friends." He told himself. "She's with you." He repeated the words over and over in his mind seeking comfort in the fact she was his and his alone. That, after their little reunion, she was going home with him.

Still he couldn't help as he stood there, grinding his teeth slightly, but to size him up. No contest. He could take him easy.

A slight tug on his hand brought George from his thoughts. Everyone was saying goodbye. With the sun already set low in the sky the group were pressed to get home. Unwilling to tempt the wrath of Mrs Weasley lest they be late.

"So, [Y/N]" Fred began, making conversation on their walk home, "how'd you get to know Jeremy at school?"

"Oh, ya know through the grape vine. He was a-ah friend of a friend." She seemed nervous. Why did she seem nervous?

"He's not...that Jeremy, is he?" Ginny asked grinning with a knowing look on her face. "The one you-" [Y/N] smacked Ginny hard on the shoulder to stop her talking.

"Oooh, the one you what?" Fred asked wiggling his eyebrows..

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing" George said with a forced smile, tickling her sides.

"We just-UGH! It was a dare. Stupid really. Seven minutes in Heaven or whatever you call it." She tried to play it off. "Can we please talk about anything else." She shrugged with a pleading look.

"Awe, our little [Y/N/N]. Such a sinner!" Fred teased pinching her cheek.

"Lay off." She swat his arm.

The mocking would have continued if it weren't for the call of Mrs Weasley as soon as they entered through the house doors, calling for them to head straight up stairs to clean up for dinner as Percy and Mr Weasley would be home soon. [Y/N] offered to help prepare dinner but Molly insisted she could handle everything. Shooing them upstairs while she did so.

Fred and George were changing in their room with their backs to one another. Abnormally silent. It was making Fred uncomfortable.

"So. [Y/N], huh? Was about time you two made it official." George hummed in response. Fred glanced over his shoulder to watch his brothers reaction as he continued. "I mean, Mum loves her. Wouldn't be surprised if she tries to get her living here before the holidays up." He joked turning to face his brother who hadn't moved, shaking fluff from his favourite green sweater. "No doubt that'd make you happy." Nothing. " unless you're not happy she's here? That or it's just the jealousy" "What?!" George turned his head over his shoulder to stare at his twin, looking insulted by his insinuation. "No. Of course I'm glad she's here!" He threw his jumper over his head. "I'm so happy, and not at all jealous." He grumbled, pulling the ends of his jumper to cover his waist with a little too much attitude for someone who was "so happy".

"Right, cause you always sulk like this when you hear something you don't like. Forgot sorry, that I was talking to Ron." He threw a sock at his brother.

"I'm not sulking." He sulked, rolling his eyes and turning his back to his twin.

"What's the big deal? You've snogged loads of girls before [Y/N], don't see her pouting."

"I know!" George snapped, turning to sit on the foot of his bed with his head bowed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. So they kissed. What's the big deal?" He looked up to Fred, arms wide in question.

"Jealousy, mate. Gets to the best of us" Fred laughed walking to the door past George, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. "You'll get over it. Come on, let's eat."

George stared at the wall for a moment, before rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. "Get a grip." He told himself, following his brother. They stopped by Ginnys room where [Y/N] had agreed to meet them. They could hear the girls voices through the door. Fred was about to knock when...

"He's so cute though!" Came the giggle of their sister. His hand froze centimetres from the door, eyeing his brother curiously. "Like, ridiculously cute!" She squealed causing [Y/N] to laugh. "They're not still talking about that tosser, surely?" George wondered aloud.

"I know he is, Ginny. You forget I used to snog him." She replied. Unknowing to her, [Y/N]s comment had made her eavesdropping boyfriends heart drop. She said it was just one time.

"Why didn't you two date?" Ginny asked.

"What we had was way more fun." Smirk evident on her tone of voice.

"[Y/N]!" Their sister shouted.

George had heard enough. His blood boiling he stormed away. Fred watched as his Twin disappeared from sight followed shortly by the unmistakable open and close of the front door. Fred hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

"I'm kidding. To tell you the truth I was too hung up on your brother at the time."

"Of course." Fred thought, "the one bit he doesn't hear!" He shook his head. Knocking lightly on the door, pushing it open. "Hey" he spoke awkwardly "uh, [Y/N], mind if I have a word?" "But of course, Fredrick." She giggled. Following the boy from the room.

She stood patiently on the landing behind him while he closed the door, she couldn't help but notice the serious expression on his face. One that didn't look like it belonged on the face of Fred Weasley. "This is awkward, but..."

"Don't tell me you've come to confess your undying love for me now, Freddie. I only just got with your brother." She teased, pushing his shoulder playfully. "Ah, not exactly. But this is about him actually. You need to go talk to him." "Why...what's wrong?" Her cheeky smile suddenly fading.

"Well, um, Georgie may have gotten a bit jealous today, of that friend of yours. Aaannd he may have also just heard a snippet of your conversation with our darling sister." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling greatly uncomfortable. "You're joking." Fred grimaced. "But" she laughed exasperated, "George doesn't get jealous!..does he?" "Apparently so. Go see for yourself. He stormed off out the front, he'll be by the pond for sure." Fred gestured down the stairs. "Thanks, Freddie."

[Y/N] was at a loss. What could George possibly have to be jealous about? I mean, yes it was unfortunate timing that he had overheard her joke with Ginny but, other than that, Jeremy and her were just friends! And it's not like George hadn't had his fair share of flings before they got together.

Walking out toward the pond, [Y/N] could just make out the silhouette of her boyfriends body. Standing rigid by the waters edge, hands in his pants pockets. The sky was all but dark now, a mere sliver of orange and cream way on the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky as the stars shone brightly over head. She walked toward him wishing she were wearing warmer clothes as the nights air nipped at her exposed skin.

"Hey, Georgie." She spoke softly, standing just behind him. He turned his head to the side at the sound of her voice, able to see her only just by the corner of his eye. "Hey" he mumbled before looking back to the water.

Taking a deep breath she stepped toward him, shivering slightly. "A little birdie tells me..." her voice was soft and playful as she put her arms out wrapping them around his waist "that you're a little jealous" she nuzzled into him. Eyes gazing up to his profile. George opened his mouth to speak before closing it deciding against whatever retort formed on the tip of his tongue. She tilted her head walking in front of him to hug him once more, her tone now sincere. "I'm sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you by...taking you roughly in the barn." She chuckled against him.

He shook her off him turning away again. [Y/N]s face dropped slightly while the last of her giggles faded. She'd never seen him like this before. Even when they weren't dating.

"Oh, George..." "just don't." He snapped. "You don't have to say anything." "I'm sorry about what you heard. But it-it was just a joke-" "so you didn't sneak around with Jeremy while he was at school?" He interrupted. "Well...yes that happened but" he scoffed.

[Y/N]s temper began to rise at the reaction. "Hey! Wait a minute you can't hold that against me. We weren't together at the time and it's not as if you were an angel before us! Need I remind you of your time spent with Katie. And Alicia. And Felicity. And-" "ALRIGHT!" He turned to face her now, brows furrowed.

His expression softening as he looked at her. "Alright...I'm sorry, I know I don't have any right to get angry. Or any reason to be jealous I just...I don't like to think about you with anyone other than me." He stepped forward, "and after the way he was looking at you today. Looking at you the way I do, and hearing you with Ginny I just-" he cast his eyes over to the House. Not knowing the words to say. "I just need to know that you're mine." He moved into her, placing his hands against her sides and leaning their foreheads together.

They stood there for a moment, eyes closed just feeling each others warmth in the cold night air. [Y/N] was the first to open them again, searching his face which bore a painful expression. As if worried she were going to say she weren't his.

Placing a hand gently on the back of his neck she pulled their lips together. Kissing him tenderly at first before filling it with as much passion and love as she could. Wanting him to feel just how badly she needed him. [Y/N] pulled her lips from his, pushing her forehead against his again as she spoke softly, "I'll always be yours, George."

He leant into her, lips crashing with hers hungrily. Lifting her into his body while she giggled. He placed her back down layering quick, sweet, kisses to her cheek and neck.

"Feel better now?" She teased.

He smiled against her skin. "Absolutely."

Pulling back to whisper in her ear, his grip tightened on her hips, "Now, about that barn idea..." he grinned, biting his lip.

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official-weasley · 3 years

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The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 8, Ch. 10

PART 8: WHERE IT ALL ENDS Chapter 10 - Oblivious Fleur

Charlie

“Will...you...let...go!” I said through my teeth, staring at the Common Welsh Green. The bag, he was clutching with his teeth and I with my hands, was about to rip.

“Stop being so stubborn and release the bag!” I pulled it towards me, but the Dragon wouldn't let go. “You know there's no more meat in it?” I raise an eyebrow at him but he didn't care.

“I will bring you an extra snack before I go if you don't destroy my bag!” I sang at Eero, giving him one final chance. I felt his jaw soften a little bit but he was still holding on to it.

“Eero, love, I don't have time to play with you, you have to understand.” I said softly and knew it was a mistake as he pulled the bag towards himself again, almost making my feet lose contact with the ground.

“I'll be back soon enough, c'mon.” I pleaded and tried hard not to laugh at the playfulness in Eero's posture. He was enjoying this as much as I was.

I loved my job and every single Dragon, big or small, in the Sanctuary. But there was no one as playful and as tamed as Eero and I have to admit that sometimes I visited him just so we could bicker as we did right now. It was my favorite pass time and it reminded me, every time, how lucky I was to work here.

“Charlie!” Eero looked up at the voice and for a split second forgot that he was supposed to take the bag away from me. Me knowing full well who the voice belonged to, I seized the opportunity and snatched it from him.

“Ha! Got you!” I stuck my tongue out at him and moved a few steps backward, just in case he would not be happy about it.

If he could, I knew he would roll his eyes at me but instead he laid on the ground, smoke coming through his nostrils in admittance of his defeat.

“What is it, Andrei?” I turned around and saw him standing by a boulder looking amused.

“It's time. Your Portkey is ready! You'll be late!” He said.

“Bloody hell, is it that time already?” I rolled up my sleeve and looked at my watch. My eyes widened. “I am so late!” Andrei nodded at my realization. Without saying another word I ran down the path, straight to my cottage. I opened the door, grabbed the bag I prepared the previous night, and was on my way to the front gate.

Andrei was waiting for me there, a mocking grin on his face.

“You got your dress robes? Your toothbrush?” He laughed, imitating my mum. “The wedding rings?” I stopped for a second, my face in panic. I opened my bag and stuck my hand into it until I felt the satin box.

“Got the rings!” I said proudly. Nothing mattered more than that.

“Have fun, Charlie!” Andrei half hugged me and opened the gate for me.

—

I got up and dusted my jeans as I landed flat on the ground after touching the Portkey. I stopped for a second, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I felt so nauseous. Never liked to use those things much and I hated apparating even more. And mum still wondered why I didn't come home more often.

I looked to my right and a smile painted my face as I saw the tree where Nova and I used to stargaze under. I looked at the sky, imagining she was looking down upon me, wherever she was, and made my way towards the Burrow.

“Charlie!” I braced myself, knowing full well that Ginny is going to crush me with her hug.

“Hi, Gin!” I hugged her back and looked up, seeing George approach me.

“What happened to your ear?” I couldn't take my eyes off him.

I knew that they transported Harry here last week but for everyone's safety, we didn't correspond much these days if it had nothing to do with the Order.

“I became holey, Charlie.” George was trying hard not to laugh and I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to understand his joke.

“Hol...” I rolled my eyes. “Oh.” I facepalmed myself when he took off the bandage and I saw a hole where his ear use to be.

“Please tell me, he didn't tell his unfunny joke.” Fred showed up and put his hand around my shoulders, us both looking at George now.

“Of course, I did.” George beamed. “He got it before you did!” I started to laugh even though I was shaking my head. I missed them too much not to find their jokes funny.

“There he is!” Bill started towards me. “My best man!” With his arms opened, he pulled me into a hug. “You have the rings, right?” He whispered in my ear and I nodded.

“Ron, Fred, and George bet against Ginny and Hermione that you'll forget.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Haven't they learned already that Ginny is always right?” I laughed.

“Charlie, dear!” Before I could say another word to Bill, my mum put her arms around me and squeezed me so tight that I gave out a little sigh. As she pulled away, the smile that the hug gave me faded from my face when I saw the fury with which she was looking at my hair.

“It is time for you to get a proper haircut!” She roared and pulled me by my sleeve.

“Mum, give it a rest!” I felt like I was 12 again. There was nothing wrong with my hair. “So it got a little out of control, so what?”

“A little?” She said and sat me down on one of the chairs in the kitchen. Fred, George, and Bill were giggling like 14-year-old girls, watching mum pull out her wand and started pointing it at my hair.

“Are you trying to disguise him like Harry, mum?” Fred was wiping the tears of laughter now.

“Another word from you and you'll be next!” She stopped pulling my hair for a second and pointed her wand at Fred. He gulped and took a step backward.

“There's barely anything left!” I shouted as Ginny brought me the mirror. “Mum!”

“At least it looks nice now!” She defended herself.

“Nice?” I shook my head in horror. “Mum, I had more hair on my head when I was born!”

“Oh, don't be silly.” She tried to ruffle it, but there was nothing to ruffle. My hair has never been so short and if I didn't know how to grow it back, I would probably throw a tantrum right now.

“Looking sharp, mate.” Fred and George said together, Bill winking at me.

“I know the spell as well, want to be next?” I hissed at them and they pressed their lips together, trying not to laugh.

“I zink you ztill look 'andsome, Charlie.” I turned around to find Fleur glaring at my 3 brothers, her arms on her chest.

“Thank you, Fleur!” I said, even though I couldn't agree and I couldn't wait for everyone to go to sleep to regrow my hair.

That evening, when most of the house was already asleep, I was sitting in the kitchen with Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Hermione, and mum. Ginny and Hermione were discussing different types of hairdos they are going to try for the wedding tomorrow. Mum was telling Fleur about the tiara aunt Muriel is going to lend her for the wedding and I was explaining to Bill how I got one of my new scars.

It was nice being home. I was worried sick when they were transporting Harry and I knew I wouldn't know how it went without a few days passing by. It was a blow when I heard that Moody was killed and Bill wrote to me how disappointed he was when they couldn't find his body.

On the one hand, I was glad that I was away from everything. I experienced being attacked by the Death Eaters and it didn't matter how long ago it was, it still left a bitter taste in my mouth. Being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse. Seeing so many of my friends die. The Dragons being hurt. Losing Nova...

But on the other hand, I felt like I wasn't doing enough. Recruiting Wizards felt like nothing compared to all the work the Order was doing here. I didn't have an opportunity to take a desk job like Bill. There was nothing desk-job-like about Dragons. I wanted to help, I wanted to be more involved but dad said that I already fought my battle and Bill said that he is certain the time will come when we will have to fight again.

“Charlie!” Fleur's exciting voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at her. She was leaning on her hands on the table, looking at me.

“Yes?” I liked Fleur. I think she was perfect for my older brother but we didn't talk much, at least not without a bunch of people around us, so she startled me when the whole room went quiet and they were waiting for what she was going to say to me.

“You are zo 'andsome!” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Bill iz getting married now, you are next!” She lifted her hand confidently in the air.

My heart started to beat faster. I didn't want to talk about my love life. Not to her, not to anybody.

“'ow come you don't 'ave a girlfriend? You should 'ave found someone by now!” Hermione gasped. All eyes were on Fleur. Nobody dared to look at me. The room was now so quiet that I was sure they could hear my raising heartbeat.

“How dare you!” Mum stood up and started towards Fleur. I extended my arm just in time to stop her.

“You...didn't...tell...her?!” Ginny hit Bill in the arm with every word. I turned to him, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“I didn't...I...” Bill was lost for words. Hermione and mum looked like they were going to burst into tears at any moment.

“What did I zay?” Fleur whispered. Her hand over her mouth, her face puzzled.

“That's enough!” I snapped. “Mum, stop piercing Fleur with your eyes. Ginerva stop hitting your brother!” Ginny stopped, her eyes on me now, her hand still clenched into a fist.

“I'm sorry, Charlie...” Bill started, his voice trembling. “I...I didn't know how to tell her and it was never the right moment and...”

“Bill...” I took a deep breath. “It's okay.” I lifted a hand at him to make him stop talking. I closed my eyes, then looked at Fleur.

“You didn't do anything wrong.” I reassured her. “There was someone. Her name was Nova. She was my schoolmate. We were best friends since our First Year.” I swallowed hard. Years might've past but it didn't mean it was any easier to talk about her. “We started dating in our Sixth Year and she worked with me in the Sanctuary.”

“Oh.” Fleur breathed. Both her hands over her mouth now.

“The Summer after He Who Must Not Be Named came back, Death Eaters tried to steal our Dragons. Between fighting them and trying to save the Creatures, they attacked one Dragon and he breathed fire at us from the pain they've caused him. We were both supposed to die, but she...” Fleur was now shaking her head, tears in her eyes.

“She saved me and the burns were too severe to save her.” I blinked fast a couple of times. I didn't want to cry in front of my mum, otherwise, she would hex Fleur.

“We were engaged. One month away from the wedding.” I said in a barely audible voice.

“Oh, Charlie!” Fleur jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around me. “I am zo zorry! I didn't know!” She cried.

“It's okay. You couldn't have known.” I said softly. I didn't blame her as much as I didn't blame Bill for not telling her. Why would he tell her anything like that? Things like this don't just come up in a conversation and I know how close Bill was to Nova, it probably isn't easy for him to talk about it either.

Mum's look softened as she sent Hermione and Ginny to bed. Fleur gave me one more apologetic look and her and Bill went upstairs as well.

“Charlie.” I looked at my mum. “I am sorry for the way I reacted.”

“Mum, it's okay. Don't mention it.” I smiled faintly.

“It's just...”

“I know. Mum, don't.” I raised my hand to stop her. I already planned on talking to her before I leave back to Romania and I really didn't want to talk about Nova twice. Not to her. It was painful for both of us.

“She is just so...” Mum was looking towards the stairs leading to the floors above, frowning.

“Mum...” Her eyes turned back to me. “I think you shouldn't be so harsh on Fleur. She proved times and times again how much she loves Bill and I don't think it's fair how you're treating her.” Her expression softened, her mouth open at my words.

“I know. I don't know why I am so strict with her. I never was with Nova.” Her voice shook, saying her name. “But then again, Nova was...” She sighed, looking at nothing in particular behind me. “Perhaps it's because of her. I am trying to compare them too much.” She swung her hand.

“Don't. Fleur is great and Bill is happy with her and that's all that matters. She is just as worthy of being in our family as Nova was.” I said gently.

“You're right.” She came closer and cupped my face. “You're just like your father.” She whispered and kissed my cheek. “You both have the biggest loving heart that sees the best in everyone.”

She nodded her head to the stairs, indicating that I should go to sleep as well while wiping a tear off her cheek. I didn't dare say another word and slowly started going upstairs.

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wyslyyzr · 3 years

Text

a vague timeline for things because marvel is fucked all across the board and i need some sense of continuity + solidifiying my past headcanons--this is close to what i had ran with in the past, just typed up again.

1930: max eisenhardt is born in dusseldorf, germany. the eisenhardt family moves shortly thereafter to nuremburg; max has no memories of dusseldorf. this is the place his parents were born as well. reasonably, max considers nuremburg his home town.

1933: ruth eisenhardt is born in nuremberg, germany, max’s younger and final sibling.

1935-1938: max meets magda, the daughter of one of the lady janitors at the school he attended.

1939: the eisenhardts, following an antisemitic outburst that shamed and injured max’s uncle erich, and a violent interaction with jakob’s former general from the first world war where he was beaten and thrown out of his office, and, finally, kristallnacht, move to warsaw in an attempt to escape the anti-jewish tensions.

1940: the warsaw ghetto is built around them.

1940-1942: the very young max turns into a food smuggler in the warsaw ghetto, acquiescing meals for both his family members and other jewish families with other boys. he has his bar mitsvah sometime in this period, despite not being 13, given the direness of the situation.

1942: deportation to the treblinka camps begins. the eisenhardts flee yet again. on their way back to their hideout, they are captured by nazi regiment. the eisenhardts are executed, but jakob saves his son’s life by butting him out of the line of the bullets. regardless, max is knocked unconscious, and brought to a mass grave where he is dumped alongside his family.

1942-1944: max is found alive in the camp, and put to work for his impressively sturdy frame despite the harrow of starvation. in order to avoid being selected for death, max becomes a sonderkommando.

1942-1944: this bit is a bit of influence from the xmcu, but something i’ve always incorporated into my canon regardless; max’s mutant abilities laid nearly dormant due to physical illness contracted from exertion and malnourishment, however, in moments of grief and anger, they were still strong enough to rear up. more than once, he’d injured officers, and killed one on accident out of fear. instead of being executed, josef mengele and doctor sinister took interest in him and conducted various physical experiments. when they could not produce the same effects, he was sent back to the work force.

late 1944: max participates in the sonderkommando rebellion, escaping not only alongside other sonderkommandos, but magda, who had happened to also be interned in the camps. 14 and 15 respectively, they spend the rest of their teens together, and most of their 20s.

1950: anya eisenhardt is born. max marries magda two months into her pregnancy.

1957: the identity of “erik magnus lehnsherr” is created by georg odekirk, however i do not implement the idea that erik posed as rroma to “fit in” with the rroma community since i think its kinda.. bad. he’s accepted as his wife’s husband and a jewish man. max becomes erik to protect himself and his family.

1959: the eisenhardts--now lehnsherrs--move to vinnitsa, a then-soviet region, in order to pursue stable work, as erik became dissatisfied with only scraping by to provide for their daughter. he acquires a construction job in the summer, where he worked for another few months before the next incident.

fall of 1959: erik consciously uses his abilities for the first time, hurling a crowbar at his boss over a pay dispute. when he returns to the inn where he and his family had been staying, he finds it aflame, and anya trapped inside. when he makes an attempt to free her, he is held down by the security his boss had employed, evoked over their dispute, and is forced to watch anya burn to death. finally, in an explosion of 29 years of grief and anger, catalyzed by the loss of his child, erik’s abilities fully emerge. not only does he kill everyone in the immediate vicinity he deems responsible for the event, including anyone who happened to become caught in the detritus and obstructions, he levels more than half of the city. in the ruins and ash, he finds anya’s scorched body and digs a grave with his hands to bury his daughter, where magda in the wake of his destruction approaches him horrified by his actions. he asks her to help him bury their daughter, and in her fear, she proclaims him a monster before fleeing, unknown to either of them, pregnant with the twins. erik is approached by another regiment of soldiers who attempt to shoot him in the head. he turns their guns on them instead, finishes burying and honoring his daughter, and spends some time searching for magda, whom he never finds. after a few days of unsuccessfully looking for his wife, erik packs what little he has left and travels from the leveled vinnitsa to haifa, israel.

1960: erik volunteers at a hospital in haifa that predominantly focused on helping other survivors of the shoah, where he seeks some modicum of treatment himself, and meets none other than charles xavier.

1961: after helping charles rescue gabi, erik realizes he and charles’ views are incompatible, and departs from haifa. he is eventually scouted by both the israeli secret service and a western outfit (likely the CIA) whilst hunting nazi war criminals.

1962: erik hunts nazi war criminals and turns them over to israel for trial. i don’t really feel like going into detail about this one because its a little convoluted but basically erik is “allowed” to turn over certain nazis that are deemed acceptable to turn over to israel by his western control, but when he turns over a nazi that the west does not want him to turn over, agents show up to put an end to his “betrayals”, where he learns the truth of what they were doing and freaks out in a rage and kills them all, where he finally adopts the identity of “magneto”. he moves to brooklyn, new york, in the same year.

1964: erik meets cassandra michaels, who designs his outfit. this is where this timeline gets fucked to hell because i have to work with 60 years of super old dumbass comics that characterize erik as a super hammy archetypical villain when thats not the character he develops into.

this post is going to be SUPER LONG so this is a placeholder for me to edit and continue it later in detail. take these points as general points for the future before i write them out fully.

late 60s is the first instance of asteroid m shit

the 1970s and 80s are the brotherhood heyday before the x-men really exist and they’re the only public figures saving and protecting mutants while also executing violent resistance to mutant oppression.

early o5 era is around 1990-1999

dark phoenix saga around 2000

genosha massacre mid 2000s. the “magneto was right” movement begins around this date as well, and che guevara-type merchandise starts sprouting up.

m day and civil war in 2008-ish, a few years following the genoshan massacre.

utopia around 2011.

avx around 2014.

#and i will do more LATER.#-- JUST LOOK AT ALL THAT WE HAVE MADE. | HEADCANONS.#long post #shoah tw #child death tw

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dreamonhunters · 3 years

Text

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO LET GO

trigger warnings // medical procedures, blood & injury, alcohol mentions

my first @badthingshappenbingo fic!! hurt/comfort georgenap for the masses...you’re welcome

read it here on ao3 !

“You’re getting blood on my carpet,” George complains, but Sapnap doesn’t respond.

By now, this is standard procedure. Sapnap runs until there’s a bullet in his shoulder or a knife in his gut and by dusk he’s on George’s doorstep. There’s one reason for this. George is the man who can piece him back together and let him leave the next day pretending they never spoke. Rinse and repeat. It’s a fucked up little system they have, but it's enough.

(Besides, it’s not like Sapnap trusts anybody else with George’s level of medical proficiency to come within ten feet of him with a needle and thread.)

“‘m not,” Sapnap mutters, and George ignores him.

Crimson liquid runs down his face in rivulets from a jagged gash on his cheek, thin t-shirt clinging to the contours of his body. A fine sheen of sweat coats his skin. Sapnap can try to play it off as nothing all he likes, and George will gaze right through him.

“Come on,” he sighs, inspecting the sorry state of the man before him. Sapnap grumbles something under his breath. Probably cursing his name, knowing Sapnap, because there’s nothing he despises more than being turned into a charity case.

Maybe this is how things would’ve ended for George. Escaped in the nick of time, Dream always tells him, as George wraps thick bandages around his best friend’s bullet wounds. Right before he got in too deep, past the point of no return. You can only run from dead bodies and stolen identities for so long before they return to haunt you. Not like the skeletons in George’s closet don’t keep him up for endless nights, tossing and turning and staring at a ceiling he swears is painted with blood.

When he was eighteen and starting his first year at med school, George hadn’t expected much. A degree, a stable job at some local medical centre, maybe even a nice family to come home to every night. His idle daydreams quickly morph into blood covering his hands and desperately working to stitch up a gaping wound that’s bleeding far too fast.

Maybe those first three years of medical school were his greatest downfall. Too many people know his name now, too many to ever let him disappear off the radar without a word. Instead he lives in purgatory forever, eternally guilty by association.

He doesn’t charge Sapnap. It’s not like the man has much to begin with. Taking money from the guy seems needlessly cruel. Dream pays him enough to get by, even if it means living the shittest downtown apartment money can buy and living on microwaveable meals from the discount aisle.

They don't talk much about their pasts. George will never ask how Sapnap ended up like this, and in turn Sapnap will never tell. There’s no sense in trying to intrude where he isn’t welcome. A silent offer will always stand, of an ear to listen should Sapnap ever want it. He doesn’t. That’s fine.

Blood pools at Sapnap’s feet, seeping into the cream coloured carpet. That’ll be a bastard to clean, George notes idly. One arm loops around Sapnap’s waist, shoulder under his armpit, and George guides him to the bathroom. Bloodstained tiles are far easier to deal with, he decides.

A pained grunt escapes Sapnap as he collapses onto the toilet seat, but not before he’s caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror and examined the damage through narrowed eyes. If he's still conscious at this point, George knows he’ll be fine, and it’s a simple matter of stitching him back together again. They’ve been here a thousand times before.

George moves on autopilot. An extensive medical kit is tucked into the back corner of his bathroom cabinet, an assortment of bottles and jars and boxes hiding it from plain view. George retrieves the plastic box with practised ease, rounded edges pressing into the delicate skin of his palms.

“What happened?” George asks, tiredness flooding his voice. Holds his hand out expectantly to Sapnap, waiting until he can feel the cold metallic bite of a switchblade resting there. The blade cuts through the cheap polyester of Sapnap’s shirt, the bloodied fabric falling to the ground beside him. The man inhales sharply at the sudden coldness, the fine hairs on his arms standing up straight.

“Nothin’,” Sapnap mutters, chocolate-coloured gaze fixed firmly on the tiles. Blood runs into the grout, staining it a murky red-brown.

George waits.

“Just some stupid fuckin’ gang kids.”

“You don’t have to fight everyone you ever meet,” George says matter-of-factly, inspecting the extent of Sapnap’s injuries. The worst of it seems to be a deep laceration in his torso, thank God. Everything else is superficial, by the looks of it.

“I don’t,” the man grumbles, a blatant lie. Otherwise he wouldn't be here bleeding out on George’s bathroom floor every other week. Sometimes George considers having him schedule a regular appointment. “They woulda' killed me.”

Getting into an argument with Sapnap is futile, especially when he’s in such a foul mood. The man packs a solid punch, one that George has been on the receiving end of a good few times over the years. And so the Brit works in silence, wiping away dried blood with a soft cloth soaked in isopropyl alcohol. He’s used to the sting on antiseptics and the occasional hiss escaping whenever George runs over a deeper cut.

“Ow, fuck off,” Sapnap finally snaps, when George presses down a little too hard beside one of his wounds.

“I need to stitch this up,” George continues on, entirely ignoring Sapnap’s complaints. It’s far too deep to simply bandage up and forget about, as much as he's certain Sapnap would love him to.

George rocks back onto his haunches, digging through his medical kit once again. He’s prepared for a damn apocalypse, Sapnap had once commented. That’s probably true, George considers, when he glances down at the heavy box in front of him. It's practically brimming with thick bandages and foil packets of pills. Dream has powerful contacts, ones who can get George all the medical-grade supplies he could ever desire. Of course the man will take advantage of anything he can get his hands on.

It would appear he’s better prepared for an apocalypse where nobody gets seriously injured.

“I don’t have any lidocaine,” George mutters, more to himself than Sapnap. It’s not like he doesn’t know what that means - a whiskey-soaked rag between his teeth to bite down on when the pain gets too much, the burn of alcohol a pitiful distraction from the flaring agony in his side.

Sapnap groans, glaring daggers down at his friend. “You better be fuckin’ joking. How the fuck do you run out of lidocaine?” he snaps. George knows it’s the pain overwhelming his senses, turning him nasty - Sapnap can be quite the sweetheart when he wants to be. After all, nobody is forcing George to help him.

George doesn’t bother trying to respond. No response will be satisfactory, and quite honestly George can sympathise with him. There’s no joy in stitching somebody up while they writhe in agony beneath his hands, biting back their screams with a sodden cloth. Instead he pushes to his feet, brushing off his jeans, and offers Sapnap a weak smile.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, despite how pointless it is. Sapnap grunts unintelligibly in response.

George has never been a heavy drinker, despite the few bottles that line the back of a kitchen cabinet. Only a small collection of cheap spirits, but the lack of any mixers says a lot about their use.

He buys budget vodka, the type that tastes like a toxic cocktail of drain cleaner and nail polish remover. Dream likes it, shockingly. Only when it’s past midnight, after a job gone horrifically wrong, and the pair are sat under the flickering yellow light of his kitchen at an empty dining table. Dream spills his guts between swigs of poison while George nods sympathetically. His friend can drink it straight from the bottle without so much as a wince.

At least it saves on painkillers.

It’s also a natural antiseptic, if you’re desperate enough. George would know. He’s tried every last alternative to traditional medical supplies. The bottle clinks against others as he carefully manoeuvres it out of the cupboard, placing it on the floor beside him. Sapnap won’t want it - says he despises the taste of vodka, reminds him of a childhood he’s spent half his life running from.

A half empty bottle of whiskey stands in the right corner of his cabinet, obscured by the vodka moments ago. A thin layer of dust coats the glass. The honeyed liquid swishes as he pulls it out, the vodka replacing it. Sapnap’s personal preference. At least cheap whiskey doesn’t taste so foul.

He closes the cabinet with a soft click and gets to his feet.

Sapnap hasn’t moved, the blue light from his phone screen washing out his lightly tanned complexion. He stares blankly down at the device, not bothering to acknowledge George’s arrival. The pair don't speak until George snags a cloth from the box and uncaps the whiskey.

“You’re twenty this year,” George states, pouring whiskey on the fabric. It comes out too fast, soaking his hands and dripping all over the tiles.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you wanna get your shit together by then?” he presses, handing Sapnap the dripping cloth. The man chooses not to answer.

George doesn’t press any further, instead busying himself with preparations. A pair of latex gloves cover his hands, fine suturing needles and a small pair of scissors are laid out on a sheet of thin plastic. His fingers are quick and nimble and he handles his tools with a mesmerising ease.

“There’s more to life than this,” George comments after a short silence. Sapnap sits up straight as George approaches, stuffing the rag into his mouth and biting down hard. Metal pierces through skin, Sapnap howls through the fabric, and from there everything becomes a blur.

Throughout his fleeting time at medical school George’s professors had praised him for neat work. Dream pays him for the exact same thing. He loses himself in his work, hyperfocusing on the task at hand until it’s perfect. In those moments the external world simply does not exist and there is nothing but the flutter of his pulse and the uneven breathing of his patient beneath him.

Normally, Sapnap barely makes a sound when George stitches him up. Doesn’t even flinch. Makes George’s work a thousand times easier. There’s always a few colourful curses, of course, but that’s just part of the job.

This time is far different. Sapnap writhes beneath him, making it exceptionally difficult to tug together his raw, bloodstained flesh. George mutters to himself under his breath, reminding himself how to deal with this. It’s fine - he’s had jumpy patients before, and this is no different. Sapnap’s groans are stifled by the rag in his mouth, the alcohol burn offering little distraction from the white hot pain lancing through his torso.

Even though he cleaned the wound hardly twenty minutes ago, fresh blood makes the skin slippery. George’s work is messy, far from his usual standard of neat stitching, barely traceable unless you specifically search for the little metallic thread fusing skin back together. Sapnap is trembling. Tears run down the man’s face, dripping off his chin and onto George’s bloody hands.

Oh, the guilt. It’s not easy being the only medic in the city who didn’t buy their degree from some shady underground dealer in the backroom of a seedy downtown club. He doesn’t even have a degree. No, he has three years of medical training, approximately double what any other “field medic” he's seen around has. And yet he’s nowhere near even half qualified, thrown in over his head to save the lives of teenagers who can’t keep themselves out of trouble longer than a week and men who know nothing but a life of illegal warfare.

He may be helping Sapnap, sure. But the tear tracks that stain his face make it hard to believe that the work he does is any good. All it does is allow Sapnap to go another day. To get himself stabbed in a different place on a different day at a different time, and George is perfectly complicit in pretending he’s some saving grace for broken teens who want to play at being big boys.

George isn’t saving anyone.

Flashes of silver catch in the cool artificial lighting, buried neatly in tanned flesh. George rocks back onto his haunches, examines his work, and nods. His eyes are slightly red, wet with tears that were never his to cry.

“Let me bandage it,” he says quickly, before Sapnap has time to think of a snarky remark. It’s more protection than to stem any bleeding. Tomorrow morning, before the sun has even broken the horizon, Sapnap will be right back on the same streets that leave him a bloodied, broken mess at George’s feet. It’s like some kind of sick addiction.

“You’re so fuckin’ fussy,” Sapnap chides, but there’s no heat in his voice. Just exhaustion, plain and simple, with which George can sympathise. He doesn’t question the puffiness of George’s eyes. Doesn’t intrude where he knows he’s not welcome. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not chancing it,” George replies firmly. He’s already pulling a roll of gauzy bandages from the box, medical tape in his other hand. “You’ll pull them out, or sleep weird, or do something. I know what you’re like. Sapnap.”

Sapnap huffs irritably but he doesn’t argue any further. His back hits the cool tiled wall, and he retrieves his phone from beside him. He swipes his sleeve across his face roughly the moment George looks away. Thinks George won’t notice.

George is simply going through the motions. Shaking fingers wrap flimsy bandages around Sapnap’s torso, microporous tape holding the material in lace. It’s a distraction from his rapidly spiralling thoughts, to busy his hands with work he understands rather than leave himself alone with thoughts he doesn’t want to comprehend.

“Can I stay?” Sapnap asks, as George snips the last of the tape and smoothes it down against tanned skin. The sun is setting outside, orange and pink streaking the sky through the distorted bathroom window. Rarely does Sapnap ask the question - he waits for an invitation he can begrudgingly accept, muttering something about not needing charity handouts. George tends to tune that part out.

It takes George a moment to process the question, and even longer to take in the look in Sapnap’s eyes. It isn’t fear. Sapnap isn’t capable of fear, or so he likes to claim. Maybe something akin to anxiety. He’s seen that look before, reflected back at him in a grimy little mirror. George leans back, mismatched eyes meeting deep brown, and he nods silently. He isn’t quite sure he can form words without his entire life story spilling out, every anxiety and late night terror pouring from his lips and staining the already bloodied tiles. He’s trembling.

George packs his things away without a word, clearly finished. There is nothing more to say, and Sapnap does not push to make meaningless small talk.

Sapnap gets to his feet, a quiet hiss of pain escaping him as he jostles sore injuries. George doesn’t bother to acknowledge the man’s exit. He knows where to go - there’s a spare room at the end of the hallway to the left of George’s own bedroom. It’s one of those rooms that’s rarely ever empty, considering the volume of patients and friends that pass through George’s household on a near daily basis. Drawers are filled with random articles of clothing, varied in size, left by the room’s previous inhabitants and sometimes collected from charity shops by George. He likes to be prepared.

Two hours pass. George moves to the kitchen. Rummages through his freezer for the most appetising pre-packaged meal he owns. Maybe he’ll treat himself to heating it up in the oven, rather than blast it through the microwave for twenty minutes and try to ignore the vaguely plastic taste that ruins the whole idea of lasagna. He does have a guest, after all, and he uses the excuse of a stressful day to validate his feelings.

He doesn’t hear from Sapnap until he’s seated at the dining table, chin resting in one palm. His oven buzzes in the background, dim yellow light barely visible behind the blackened grease baked on to the glass door.

“Hey,” Sapnap’s voice cuts through his reverie, startling George. He jumps, turns, shoots the man an apologetic smile.

“Hey.”

Sapnap is wearing different clothes now - a soft. pale blue t-shirt, two sizes too big, and a pair of sweatpants George doesn’t remember buying. The blood is gone, the cut on his cheek nothing more than a scabby memory, and George can pretend that the outline of bandages beneath the thin fabric is something much more innocent.

“Are you hungry?” George asks, as though he hadn’t had the foresight to cook two meals.

“Yeah, yeah… You sure ya' don’t mind me staying?”

There’s concern in Sapnap’s eyes. His voice holds an unfamiliar weight, a genuineness that George sees far too little of. The pity Sapnap offers him makes George’s stomach twist, nauseatingly bitter and somehow filled with strange gratitude.

“It’s fine,” he answers, tongue thick in his mouth. “It’s carbonara. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah. Thanks, George.”

It will be. Sapnap isn’t picky - he’ll eat just about anything George places in front of him. Hell, it’ll probably be the best meal he eats all week. He takes a seat across from George, leans back in his chair so the front legs swing off the ground, and hums. Always hums the same little tune, one George never recognises.

“You’re twenty this year,” George repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that fact, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replies. “What about it?”

George lets out a soft sigh through his nose, fingers intertwined on the table. “Don't you want out?”

Sapnap frowns. “Uh, whaddya mean? Out?”

“Out of this. Do something with your life.”

It’s what George craves. Release, complete release, from his life of bullet wounds and bloodshed and constantly glancing over his shoulder. A life that slipped through his fingers before he quite realised what was happening, and now it’s nothing more than a fever dream. Maybe he can live vicariously through Sapnap, instead. That would be enough.

“I dunno,” Sapnap replies, the slightest hint of confusion lacing his tone. “Never really thought about it.”

“You should,” George says. There’s an edge to his voice, one of exhaustion and desperation. “While you still have time. I can help you.”

“I dropped outta' high school. Not like I can go anywhere without a diploma,” he points out bitterly.

George shakes his head, pushing away from the table to check on the floor. His chair scrapes harshly against the scratched wooden floor. “I can help you get your equivalency. There are options, Sapnap, and I know people with money.”

Sapnap scoffs, wordlessly. There’s no response to that, clearly, and George pities him. The man thinks there’s nothing more for him, no hope of a normal future. Whatever that means.

“Aren’t you tired?”

This is the most George has ever pushed. He toes a fine line between courtesy and concern, always too apprehensive to risk crossing it. Sapnap doesn’t say anything more than he needs to, and yet George finds himself craving more. To know the man, properly, to understand him.

“Yeah.”

The words are heavy and bitter, like a lead weight on Sapnap’s shoulders. Silently, George understands, but he cannot voice his thoughts. There are no words to describe that kind of burden.

“I can help you,” George repeats, voice hushed. It’s almost reverent, like the words he speaks are sacred and holy. He pleads for his freedom through Sapnap, a redemption that will never be his own. “I know people who can get you out. Please, Sapnap.”

Sapnap is silent. The hum of his oven fills the silence with white noise.

A heavy sigh. “I’ll think about it,” he relents.

They eat in silence. George cannot push Sapnap any further, not without striking a chord within himself that will regurgitate too many painful memories. Sapnap doesn’t have anything to say. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. A little tense, maybe, but hardly unbearable. Sapnap is standing before George has finished rinsing the little plastic containers their food came in.

“I'll think about it,” he repeats. There’s sadness in his eyes.

“Thank you,” George smiles, genuine.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George hears the faint click of a door closing. That’s the last he hears of Sapnap for the rest of the evening.

He doesn’t sleep well that night. George’s mind races, but not with the same anxiety that normally occupies his sleepless nights. No, this is a new worry - how to save Sapnap from getting himself in too deep. There are a thousand different scenarios he can play out on his mind, different faces and voices occupying the early hours of the morning.

Why he’s so invested in the man is an entirely different scenario he can unpack at another time. Or never, if he’s being really honest with himself. He’s simply doing what's right, George tells himself, looking out for another person in a vulnerable position. That is as deep as it runs.

George is lying, and when he finally drifts into a dreamless sleep, his last thought is of himself, at the same age as Sapnap, with blood across his face and a knife in his hands. Waiting for a salvation that never came.

#rayray writes #my writing #mcyt #dream smp #dream team #georgenap #sapnotfound #georgenotfound #sapnap #dream #dreamwastaken

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justforbooks · 3 years

Photo

Why do we read? The wealth of genres available suggests that some of us read for comfort, escapism, knowledge, or to improve ourselves. Whilst these are all perfectly valid reasons, it’s also worth thinking about reading about themes, perspectives, and societies that go beyond our own comfort zones.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, it has been estimated by the proofreading service, Global English Editing, that 35% of the people in the world have read more books than usual this year.

With normality disrupted, is it no wonder we have turned to books more? Books can give us all sorts of benefits, but when thinking about our reading habits during a pandemic, it is worth looking at this from a mental health perspective.

The Benefits of Reading — But Why It Should Also Challenge Us

Reading can force us to be mindful, take us away from the blaring digital world that we have become more reliant on, and force us into the present by talking one page at a time. “Bibliotherapy” is a relatively new form of reading therapy being used in clinics, libraries, and schools to promote recovery in people with mental health difficulties in some places in the world.

With these mental health benefits in mind, it is one explanation for why so many of us have taken to reading during the pandemic. But reading to improve our mental health can also be coupled with challenging and educating ourselves. Reading fiction is one of the best ways to do this. Not only are you benefiting from its natural escapism, but in many cases, fiction forces you to put yourself within the shoes of others.

A central theme with my reading habits in 2020 was choosing books that challenged me. In this respect — the books that follow have forced me to go beyond what’s comfortable — as I have learnt about different issues experienced by characters I wouldn’t necessarily encounter in my daily life.

Each has changed my perspective on a range of issues — highlighting why it’s important to read books that challenge us.

An American Marriage, Tayari Jones

Literary fiction

Celestial and Roy are a newlywed couple — for a brief moment — they indulge in the feeling of being married and the excitement of spending the rest of their lives together. Until one incident changes everything. Roy is wrongly accused of a crime he didn’t commit and is sent to jail for the rape of a woman.

“Much of life is timing and circumstance, I see that now.”

Whilst in jail, Roy desperately tries to keep his new marriage alive, whilst sending Celestial letters and hoping for a better future. But Celestial cannot continue to live her life waiting for theirs to start. In many ways, it is a story about relationships and love but heavily tainted by the blatant racism that lays at the heart of the American criminal justice system and how it has the power to alter lives.

Why Did it Challenge Me?

Reading this as a white woman, made me realise this situation would never happen to me. Reading from the point of view of Roy, a black man, wrongly convicted for a crime he didn’t commit purely on the grounds of his race and circumstance — was a learning experience for me.

I grew up in a considerably white town. Until fairly recently, I knew very little about racism and how it perpetuates the very systems that we typically view as ‘just.’ Therefore, reading about these types of experiences that I wouldn’t usually be exposed to in my life, was essential for me.

“Twelve years is what they gave him. We would be forty-three years old when he was released. I couldn’t even imagine myself at such an age. Roy understood that twelve years was an eternity because he sobbed right there on the defendants’ table. His knees gave way, and he fell into his chair, The judge paused and demanded that Roy bear this news on his feet. He stood again and cried, not like a baby, but in the way that only a grown man can cry, from the bottom of his feet through his torso and finally through his mouth…”

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell

Political fiction

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists was written during the early twentieth century and tells the story of a group of Edwardian workers. Owen, the outspoken socialist, makes it his mission to persuade and educate the rest of the group on the importance of a fairer society. He tries to make them realise the extent of their exploitation and how little it achieves — but he is always fighting an uphill battle.

In many ways, this book could be regarded as a socialist manifesto. But in others, it is far more than that. Through Owen, as readers, we learn that poverty is not about misconceptions such as laziness, but is more often than not, a political choice.

It’s rhetoric surrounding the workplace, and the unskilled versus the skilled worker highlights how we still undervalue certain people in society. Nurses and cleaners make up the groundwork of our society; however, they are still persistently underpaid. Throughout the novel, Owen makes a case for a redistribution of wealth, workplace rights and an overhaul of the capitalist system which in his eyes, is responsible for the vicious cycle of poverty they find themselves in.

“Every man who is not helping to bring about a better state of affairs for the future is helping to perpetuate the present misery and is, therefore, the enemy of his own children.”

Despite being written long ago, it contains an essential insight into the reality of working-class, Edwardian poverty, poor workplace conditions, and poverty workers' experience to keep themselves alive. Of course, it is inherently political, but it also teaches readers about human and societal values. Such as fairness, equality, and decency.

Why Did it Challenge Me?

Despite it being set during a very different time, it made me re-evaluate all the problems within our own society whether that’s the persistent gender pay gap, poor sick pay, or people not being eligible for financial help during the Covid crisis when they’ve had to stay at home during lockdowns.

Above all, the descriptive scenes of the workplace — most notably — one in which a young boy, Bert, who is told off for trying to light a fire to keep himself warm — made me realise how brutal and hard work manual labour jobs in the Edwardian period were — and how little rights they had.

Such A Fun Age

Fiction

Emira is a young black woman, living in Philidelphia and trying to find her feet. She works as a babysitter for a middle-class, white blogger who thinks she’s all clued up on race. Through the perspective of Emira, the novel deals with the casual forms of racism and microaggressions that many of us (particularly white people) may not usually notice in our day to day lives.

“Emira had met several “Mrs. Chamberlains” before. They were all rich and overly nice and particularly lovely to the people that served them. Emira knew that Mrs. Chamberlain wanted a friendship, but she also knew that Mrs. Chamberlain would never display the same efforts of kindness with her friends as she did with Emira: “accidentally” ordering two salads and offering one to Emira, or sending her home with a bag filled with frozen dinners and soups.”

Switching between Emira’s perspective, and Alix’s, the blogger, Such a Fun Age is a poignant, comical and revealing portrayal of the present world and the half-hearted ways in which white people commonly approach the subject of race. Alix thinks she is all clued up on what it’s like to be a black woman, as she has plenty of black friends, and after all, employs a young black woman.

Stephanie Hayes, writing in The Atlantic, sums her character up brilliantly in stating that the novel, “satirizes the white pursuit of wokeness.” Furthermore, this switching between two completely different characters means,

“Alix’s myopia isn’t lost on Emira. Writing from the younger woman’s point of view, Reid renders white people whose eagerness to shed their blinkers results in fumbling attempts to identify with black people — as much to burnish their own images as to genuinely connect with others.”

Why Did It Challenge Me?

It made me realise that some of the ways I used to approach talking about race — were wrong. By reading about Emria’s experience with her boss, Alix, I was exposed to the realities of casual racism. Something, as a white woman, I am have never experienced myself. This is obviously something I will never understand, but after reading this, I feel more aware and educated about it.

Reading this forced me into the perspective of Emira, a character living completely outside my own bubble. It opened my mind up to how the daily lives of others can be so different. Most of all, it forced me to stop and think.

Keep the Aspidistra Flying, George Orwell

Political fiction

This book encapsulates the dilemma that many young, recent graduates like myself, have to deal with. Do you strive to embark on a career that’s safe and stable, or pursue something you love, even if it takes longer and involves many more hurdles along the way? Gordon, the protagonist, has a safe job at an advertising firm; however, he gives this all up to work in a bookshop, for a slither of his previous salary.

After leaping into the unknown, he tries to stand against the capitalist society he feels he is forced into. Deliberately quitting a good job, and living below the poverty line, Gordon thinks he is making a robust, political stand. He tells the reader how he hates money and how this rampant need fuels every part of our society.

However, Gordon eventually realises the errors of his ways — as he learns his actions aren’t realistic because they aren’t encouraging a change to the system.

“The mistake you make, don’t you see, is in thinking one can live in a corrupt society without being corrupt oneself. After all, what do you achieve by refusing to make money? You’re trying to behave as though one could stand right outside our economic system. But one can’t. One’s got to change the system, or one changes nothing.”

Why Did It Challenge Me?

In this current job climate, it was a reminder that at the moment, no industry is ‘safe’ and that there is no such thing as a ‘proper’ job. Those jobs such as advertising, marketing, retail and hospitality — that we were always taught—were secure and ripped apart during the pandemic. It made me think about my own plans and perceptions of the job market.

Additionally, Gordon’s inherent dislike of money and the capitalist world reignited my desire for a more minimalist outlook and society. After all, money is never the route of all happiness.

Reading fiction is an enjoyable form of escapism, but it can also teach us a lot about other peoples’ lives, and challenge our own ideas and values. We can often become comfortable living in our own bubbles and reading the same books we have always turned to.

But reading fiction can help challenge our own comfort and promote a more diverse world view — when dealing with subjects such as race, society and culture. By reading fiction, we get to be inside the minds and live inside others' shoes we may never encounter in real life. Thus, it’s a form of stepping outside that comfort bubble, a form of social education, and a way of understanding people.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Why do we read?

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whumpbby · 3 years

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I finished typing and now I feel I have to preface it with a: this is all a monologue about Jedi and Force and Lucas’ inability to show the good story he wants to tell - just a warning. This is in no way meant to contradict the other post with that quote floating around or argue against it - just my own rambling coming to a conclusion I keep struggling with when it comes to SW universe and the ways it makes no sense to me and how I feel deep in my bones that Lucas is a crap storyteller.

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I don’t know why, but for all the interesting concepts Lucas talks about, Anakin’s fall never sat well with me. In time I came to the conclusion I would respond better if the Jedi culture surrounding it wasn’t so contradictory to itself.

And if he wasn’t so heavily leaning on the concept of the ‘pure love’ that is unconditional and undemanding and ‘unselfish’. Tldr: that love does not exist outside of poetry and romance dramas and imagination. Like every other emotion humans feel, love is conditional.

Take the first trilogy - I got that. The Jedi were largely missing and there was not much lore-wise, but the vibe it gave was measured and peaceful and mindful, and all the things that stood against the Empire - that represented the Dark Side in a very concise way. It wasn’t too nuanced, so we could buy it in this very simple ‘princes kidnapped b ya dragon’ story. This is as good as Lucas gets.

But then the prequels happened and Jedi became this weird, extremely specific, but conflicting idea. They are not supposed to take sides in politics - except when they do. They are not supposed to kill - except when they do, with freaking relish. They are not supposed to love or hate or allow emotions dictate their ways - oh, except when they do. And they can have sex - just not sex with someone they want to settle down with (oh boy, is that a signifier of a story written by a guy or what?). All seems to be ‘except when they do, as long as it can be adequately justified to make them look good’.

And I do have an issue with the idea of ‘Anakin was too old to join, he was already attached to his mother’ which is, when you think about it, is insane. Learning to control your emotions and letting go of your wants, Buddhist way, fine.

Aiming to train children to not be attached to their parents? What? How young a child has to be for that attachment forms? How is a meditation and repeating mantras going to help a 5-year old who is missing their mom at the temple? How do you even expect to train a child out of missing their mom??? How is it NOT better to get an older child that can reason above the instinctual and hardwired need for their mother?

But let’s say Anakin’s attachment to his mother was ‘selfish’ from the beginning - but, that’s the thing, was it? Was it really? They were slaves and she was his only family, okay, obviously that made his attachment stronger and more layered than, say, a normal middle-class Coruscanti kid who could love their mom without constant fear that any day they can be separated forever by someone who didn’t give a shit. In that sense, yes, Anakin was desperately attached to his mom and afraid of loosing her - there was fear in him. Right, I’m there with you, Yoda.

But the movies show us that the way Jedi seem to approach these hard subjects is by not approaching them at all - oh, well, we can’t take him in. He had a difficult childhood and there are issues attached, get him out of here.

In a galaxy full of races and issues and the Force being tied to any and all creatures in any and all circumstances - this was the hard line Jedi were drawing. In essence, either only accepting kids young enough to not remember their parents (and I see absolutely no issues whatsoever that could happen here, nope) or with childhoods perfect enough not to have any issues whatsoever. Anyone else? Adults that discovered Force when they were older? Kids like Anakin with hard childhoods? Creatures that were either culturally or chemically wired differently enough that the tight reins Jedi held over their emotions weren’t possible for them? Nope. Go away. You are a bad person in the making.

If you spend a moment contemplating, you will realise this is such a white privileged guy way to think about it. And if you stick your head into the microwave for a couple seconds, you can almost understand how Lucas thought this is something profound and mystical.

No that I think about it... I always thought Sith were freaking clowns - their philosophy makes no sense, their ‘rule of two’ is hilarious, everything about them is just so badly designed and thought out, and who would ever decide to join of that creepy cult of their own volition? It made no sense!

But, as an answer to the egalitarian and contradictory ways of the Jedi - Sith make all the sense to exist. And let’s forget about the Light and Dark (that I don’t believe exist above the ways of personal emotional expression that in time trains the Force around a person in certain ways - like a person can train their brain in and out of anxiety ofr example), but focusing strictly on philosophy - yeah, being a Sith makes sense when any other way is barred form someone by no fault of their own. And barred with an excuse they are a bad seed anyway.

“You fear/hate/desire hence you can’t access the Force with us” = “Well fuck you, then, I will access the Force in my own way, using these exact emotions!”

Like, Sith are clowns, but Jedi suck in their own very special way and their fall was just waiting to happen.

I get a strange feeling that Lucas created Jedi as a class of a warrior monk in DnD and then scrambled to create their enemies out of the simplest contradictions. Light-dark. Love-Hate. Peace-Fear. Etc. But because Jedi were so simple - once they started to gain popularity and he had to expand their lore and layer on the philosophy, he hit a wall. Or rather, the bottom of the kiddy pool. Because a ‘warrior monk’ is not an a ‘good’ class, but he wanted them to be mostly warriors, but also a force of good in the galaxy, because Star Wars is the same simple story repeated again and again with a new set of characters (regardless of how much fake politics is thrown in to obscure that fact) so this whole universe is basically built on giving Jedi reasons to fight and kill, and adequately justifying them. And then the Dark Side had to catch up by being more ridiculously evil at every turn - accidentally unmasking the way Jedi philosophy falls apart under closer scrutiny.

So like, to make a full circle, the one thing the prequels did well was to show Anakin’s fall (and I am not gonna argue, it was effective and he is a villain of this story) but they also presented - I think against the creator’s intention - why it was pretty much inevitable. Not because Palpatine was there to whisper poison, or because Force itself strived for ‘balance’ (even though the latter is a hilarious idea I love to contemplate) - but because Jedi, as presented in the movies-media around them, as a philosophy and way of life is inherently contradictory and unsustainable from the point of being a, well, a breathing, thinking being. The ‘selfish love’ argument would work so much better if it wasn’t presented with an example of a kid who was born a slave and the people who saw it as a strike against his character, and did very little to address the specific issues that could arise from that before it was too late.

Would it fucking kill them to let go of their strict training routine and ensure that his specific emotional needs were met? That Shimi was, I don’t know, NOT A SLAVE. They seem to interfere into politics just fine when need arises - but not when it’s a sandy planet in the ass-end of the universe no one cares about. Then no, we can’t liberate one slave. That would be acting in self-interest - not in the interest of not allowing one of the strongest members of out order to fall into the ruin we have forseen form the beginning.

It would work better is if Anakin’s ‘selfishness’ was presented as his inability to let Padme leave him for someone else/just leave him - not to be unwilling to let her die.

Think about it for a moment - he wasn’t presented with the idea of Padme leaving him. With the idea of his mother not loving him anymore. He was firmly and, form his point of view, believably, presented with the idea of both of them DYING. Which actually happened to his mom, solidifying the fear in his mind.

Yes, he was not meant to go on a rampage and kill the ones who killed Shimi - but wasn’t he? The Jedi are not against killing. Only killing in self-interest I guess - when self-interest is not one’s life and their political affiliation or their ‘job’ at hand, that is. Revenge is a no-no, but a military retaliation is a yes-go. Can’t kill anyone who wronged me - but I can kill those who wronged a person who gives me orders. How does that work within a Jedi doctrine?

How, in good conscience, can you present this scenario, George, and then try to spin it into this big philosophical bullcrap about unselfish love???? Jedi murdered people over political squabbles - but I guess that’s okay because they weren’t invested??? And that’s better?!?!? George! What the fuck! You are such a bloke my head hurts!

In case of Anakin, Jedi were essentially Elsa’s parents. I pretty much despise Elsa and the film she crawled out of, and I personally don’t like Anakin as a character either, so this is not stanning in any way, but their issues scream ‘I was raised by well-meaning idiots’ and shows the level of botched storytelling I just can’t reconcile.

Which, you know what?

Luke, who spent years studying Jedi ways and taking them into himself?

I can believe than this Luke would try to kill his nephew at the barest whiff of the Dark Premonition instead of helping him manage his motions in a somewhat healthy way - that seems to be exactly what a real Jedi would do, after all.

#star wars #rant?#thoughts?#rambling #jedi suck blue balls #and so do sith #sw #lucas should never write on anything that isn't a post-it note

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lady-plantagenet · 3 years

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Tumblr History Ask meme, No. 30! (An AU where George was never executed but Edward IV still dies at 40, and his sons both die of the plague or sweating sickness, leaving GEORGE to be King of England! what think you? 😆)

Hohoho ho. I have a lot of thoughts on this. Hell I even wrote an entire fictional AU series on AO3 on this topic - you can find it here (please R&R I’m desperate). So yes sorry for the late reply and I really hope you enjoy my usual bursting out in an essay (as per usual). Mwah x

Without speaking about it anymore and spoiling I’ll just answer your ask straight. Ok so George becomes king. Princes dead or not this may still cause issues because technically speaking Elizabeth of York has a stronger claim to the throne (Edward IV recognised the same in 1469 and before presenting her as his true heir presumptive not George).

While on a practical level George would easily be able to hold the throne against Elizabeth of York (who on her own did not command enough support to overthrow Richard III despite the illegitimacy rumours not really being considered as true by most), if Elizabeth married and got a son it would wreak havoc. Everytime King George fails in any way people will look at Elizabeth’s son as an alternative. Sure he could pull a King John I and keep her unmarried under house arrest until the end of her days (what happened to his niece Eleanor of Brittany) but how will he manage to do this will all 5 sisters?

There are many things to consider, for one, George was popular in London and if there was an outspread plague and he gave the princes a state burial I really think people could believe him that they were not murdered. Not to mention under these circumstances, Richard III would be the protector so the blame would fall on him anyway - pretty excellent for George id say. Hell he could even use the kid’s death as some sort of God’s divine judgment propaganda against his brother’s reign. He would need to continue denigrating Edward because his daughters (as explained above) will continue to be an issue. He would most likely continue with the ‘Edward IV was a bastard’ rumour. Otherwise, George could use the ‘by law I’m Lancaster’s heir’ as some sort of further support his reign and why he can overreach his nieces and their sons.

Another question remains ~ is Isabel dead or not? Assuming you mean this is 1483 and she dies, I am certain George would get remarried once he becomes king because while his part in the Mary of Burgundy marriage shamaz remains unclear I think what it shows is that he was more likely than not to want to remarry. This need would further increase if he became king because two young children (only one of which is a boy) is no secure line of succession. George took no decisive steps to get married to Mary upon his brother’s refusal (eg scheming for a dispensation or trying to go abroad) so I will assume that in this timeline George remains unmarried until 1483 and Mary dies in 1482 as canon. Mary (and his sister Margaret behind her) would have gained him great support in keeping the throne, England and Burgundy would have pretty much united (if Edward of Warwick died prematurely and George and Mary’s son became the next king) and England may have become the dominating European power as opposed to the Habsburg empire.

However since Mary is out of question, I can’t think of some other foreign Princess at that time that would have brought with her considerable power. George seems to have had no wish to war with France so that’s nice. I can’t say that Louis XI had great admiration for him but his place in the Picquiny committee (one of the four) implies that France trusted that he would keep the peace. George (mostly because of Warwick) was hated in Burgundy but Margaret clearly would have guided Maximilian (Mary’s real husband who took up control after she died) towards good relations with England and given Maximilian’s support of the York Pretenders in Henry VII’s reign I think he was the type of man who had no strong opinions towards any individual in England so would have been fine with it.

Anything else is difficult to say. George was described by Hicks (who is very very un-pop-history in his biography/PhD thesis of George) as a man ultimately unsuited to his role because of his temperament. His actions even before Isabel’s death do suggest something like that but the way he was after her death (Dec 1476 - May/June 1477) was just so uncharacteristically erratic and one-after-another that many people (including me) think it was him becoming unstabilised by his wife’s death as opposed to a reflection of his general fortitude and decision-making capabilities. So I ask: was it a phase he would have gotten out of by 1483 or was he permanently going to stay this way even if he did get remarried? I don’t think he was mad - certainly not, but a bit perturbed definitely and I don’t know how it would affect some aspects of his reign eg being merciful, pardoning people who’ve done him wrong, giving patronage of influence to his ministers... etc. However, if he did get out of this phase (or at least calmed down a bit by 1483) I think he could have genuinely been a good king. His role as a regional magnate shows him as generous, pious, eloquent, handsome, popular, refined, extremely knowledgeable of the law and good at peace-weaving. On a downside he also seemed inflexible in his approach, disproportionately harsh on certain penalties (eg Poaching), quick to act in certain aspects yet full of procrastinative habits in others, prideful, vengeful, susceptible to flattery, suspicious and with something suggestive of an overly superstitious personality.

Nevertheless, it is one thing to be a baron and another thing to be king. George had become quite detached from the national stage (let alone the international) towards the end of his life so he would have a lot of catching up to do. And as always is the issue with a king coming from the nobility and not the crown directly, there may be factional issues and the Neville affinity might expect certain favours and privelages from him especially since his heir Edward comes from their line. As we know, Neville support for George waned after Isabel’s death but the few that remained would expect great favour from him - this being at odds with those who were in power during Edward IV’s reign eg William Hastings, Anthony Woodville etc. After all, they really saw him as their earl (Rous speaks of him in the same terms as he spoke of his predecessors the Beauchamps).

George would inherit a country full of administrative issues and as much as I believe he was genuinely concerned with ‘the common weale’ and deserved all the praise given to him by his contemporaries, I see him falling into the same trap as Edward IV. Circumstances would likely force him to strengthen the crown’s authority and people would call him a hypocrite for this. Otherwise, he would let himself become a small centre around which others revolve but I don’t know if his pride would allow that either. Nevertheless, I think he would lead England into the ‘renaissance’ culturally. He would continue patronising the printing press, continue with the previous monarchs’ cultural endowments of colleges, churches and such (as he had done in his own lands), he would also share in Edward’s popularity with the city and trade (he gave great privileges to his burgesses says Rous, his permanent retinue had burgesses in them and many other stuff point to him respecting the place of trade) - though he wouldn’t engage in them because (as according to Hicks and others) he didn’t have a good business sense. This could go at odds against him most likely attempting to retain military retention privelages to the barons which in itself was a factor which worked against the development of a early modern state. This is the odd thing about George, in some ways he appears beyond his time and in other behind his time. All we can hope is that Warwick had tried to cultivate him a bit in national leadership and that it stayed with him.

Will he reign peacefully or get deposed? It could go either way but I am certain his reign would be filled with problems. If he gets his own Bosworth (with his niece’s sons or Henry Tudor) I think he would get romanticised as the last Plantagenet king in case of the latter because unlike Richard III he wouldn’t have nephew killing as his issue. A saving grace of George was that he was a master propagandist so I have bit of faith in his posterity and image and I think it could have made his reign flow more smoothly to a degree.

#george of clarence #don’t be shy anon #🍷❤️#lady plantagenet’s assizes #george plantagenet #george duke of clarence #the wars of the roses #the white queen

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Why Turner Classic Movies is Reframing Problematic Hollywood Favorites

https://ift.tt/3rnt3hu

Breakfast at Tiffany’s is a movie Alicia Malone fell head over heels in love with during childhood. Seeing it more times than she can remember in her native Australia, the future author and Turner Classic Movies host still recalls failed attempts to launch a high school film club with Audrey Hepburn’s Holly Golightly as the star attraction.

“I thought for sure people were going to get excited about classic movies if they watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s because it has so much life to it!” Malone says today. How could they not fall for Hepburn’s iconic performance, which Malone still describes as luminous? “Holly Golightly is a complex female character, and for the times it was quite sexually progressive.” Yet there was always another element, even in those halcyon days, which Malone recognized as uncomfortable—that discomfort has only grown to modern eyes.

Beyond the movie’s bittersweet romance between a pseudo-call girl and the kept man living in the apartment upstairs, there’s a grossly racist caricature of Japanese Americans in the movie’s margins, and it’s portrayed no less than by Mickey Rooney in yellowface makeup. It’s technically a small part of the movie, only appearing briefly and sporadically, but each time the character arrives, it’s like a sledgehammer swung across the screen. For decades the performance has been rightly criticized by Asian American advocacy groups, and even Rooney acknowledged late in life that if he knew people would become offended, he “wouldn’t have done it.” Nevertheless, the shadow that character casts over the movie has only loomed larger with time.

“I just kind of hold my breath and half shut my eyes every time Mickey Rooney shows up,” fellow TCM host Dave Karger says during a Zoom conversation with Malone and myself. “Mercifully, he’s gone pretty soon, and I’ve chosen actively not to let that performance ruin the movie for me, because ‘Moon River’ and the party scene, and George Peppard looking so great—there’s just so much to love and appreciate, so I actively choose to focus on that.”

Despite those personal struggles with the movie, Karger and Malone are both unafraid to examine the full implications of Rooney’s Mr. Yunioshi head-on. It’s why they hosted, alongside Ben Mankiewicz, a lengthy discussion of the character’s legacy last week during a special Turner Classic Movies presentation. That conversation was part of TCM’s Reframed series, a new season of content from the network which looks at some of the most beloved Hollywood classics of the 20th century—the crème de la crème, as Karger describes them—and studies why they can also be problematic and, in some cases, stunningly offensive. In the case of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, that can even lead to larger discussions about prevailing anti-Japanese attitudes and stereotypes in American society that persisted in the immediate decades after World War II… and can still be found as echoes in the anti-Asian stereotypes of today.

For Karger and Malone, these are the types of discussions TCM hosts have been having off-screen for years. So bringing those dimensions to the forefront for new generations of viewers felt only natural with Reframed.

Says Malone, “We often talk to each other about how we approach certain films when it comes to writing our scripts for our intros and outros for each individual film. We also talk with the producers about what we should bring up, what we shouldn’t bring up; if we should talk about an actor or director’s problematic past during that particular film, or if it doesn’t go with the content of the movie.”

So the five main hosts of TCM–who also include University of Chicago Professor Jacqueline Stewart and author Eddie Muller–were eager to have these frank discussions on screen while offering historical context from a modern perspective.

“All of us at TCM are watching the world change and watching the culture change,” Karger says, “and even though we show movies by and large from the period of the ‘30s to the ‘60s, we all realized that it doesn’t mean we can’t be part of today’s cultural conversation. It’s not a stretch at all to talk about classic movies from a point-of-view of the 21st century; that’s very possible to do, and I think a lot of our fans are looking for that kind of context when they watch the channel.”

The Reframed series, which was spearheaded in part by Charlie Tabesh, the TCM head of programming, and organized by producer Courtney O’Brien, looks to balance what Karger describes as the push and pull between nostalgia and criticism. Both Malone and Karger are acutely aware of the hesitance some classic movie fans might have about evaluating works from nearly a century ago through a 21st century prism, however the new program is intended to renew engagement with these movies—particularly in an era when there are just as many loud voices that attempt to dismiss or wipe away the legacies of these film’s from the cultural canon.

“That’s really important to remind everyone that this series is not here to shame these movies or to tell anyone that they can’t love these movies,” Karger says. “And if there’s a frustration that I’ve had in this last month, it’s to see some of the reaction to this series be along the lines of ‘you’re part of cancel culture with this series.’ It could not be more the opposite of that. We’re not cancelling anything; we’re showing the films a hundred percent in their entirety, we’re just talking about them.”

Malone further emphasizes this is what can keep so many of these movies vital in an era when sequences like the aforementioned Rooney scenes in Breakfast at Tiffany’s are being deleted from a Sacramento film festival—effectively erased from the collective memory.

“I think everyone at TCM sees this as the way forward,” Malone says, “the way that we can continue to make sure these movies stay alive for younger generations. We can continue talking about them, discussing them, they can change over the years, our feelings can change about them; you can love a film and not be able to justify parts of it at the same time. What’s so important though is just to have the discussion, to talk about these problematic areas and face up to them rather than hiding them. To me, if you take out a film from existence or you just delete parts of a film, you’re in a way saying these problems never existed.”

Indeed, even the opinions of folks as steeped in this history as the hosts of Turner Classic Movies can evolve as the culture does. Ben Mankiewicz, for example, is TCM’s unofficial statesman but he surprised some viewers two weeks ago when he revealed during a Reframed discussion that he can no longer comfortably watch Gunga Din (1939), a rollicking adventure movie set in British India. Based on a Rudyard Kipling poem, that classic film’s influences can still be felt in more modern blockbusters like Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984). However, Gunga Din is also a movie that glorifies the British Empire at the expense of then-contemporary Indian independence movement, with the villain being a character who Mankiewicz noted is physically modeled after Mahatma Gandhi, who would’ve been seen as subversive by some white audiences in the ‘30s.

“I’ve never been a huge fan of that movie, even though Cary Grant is my favorite actor,” Karger says. “And I was even a little surprised when Ben and Brad Bird included it on [the TCM program] The Essentials last year. Not because it’s not a revered classic movie, but because it’s more than a little offensive. And it was fascinating to be part of that conversation with Ben, talking about the evolution of his feelings for Gunga Din, because he’s been with the network 15 years. I can’t imagine how many times he’s talked about that movie, and it’s just showing you that culture and history are living, breathing things.”

Opinions change. Malone had a similar experience when she joined Mankiewicz and Muller to discuss John Ford’s seminal Western, The Searchers (1956), a movie where the director began reckoning with his depiction of Native Americans on screen. The film is a touchstone to this day for filmmakers like Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, and George Lucas. Mankiewicz and Muller note that Ford is grappling with the racism of his earlier films via John Wayne’s lead character, an unrepentant bigot who becomes both the movie’s protagonist and antagonist. However, the film still bathes Wayne’s character in heroic imagery, and still relies on Native American stereotypes.

“Watching The Searchers again with the lens of talking about it during Reframed, I just saw so much,” Malone says. “I know John Ford was trying to have a conversation about racism involving Native Americans, but there’s just no doubt that many of his films contributed to the very dangerous and horrific stereotypes based around Native American people. And I think Native American people have suffered greatly because of the way they’ve been stereotyped in Hollywood films.”

That subject of intent comes up quite a bit during the Reframed series; Karger describes the movies they discuss as running the gamut from mildly problematic to extremely offensive, yet that ambiguity should invite education about the times they were made in, as opposed to preventing audiences from knowing about those eras.

Says Malone, “I think [Reframed] does show an attempted evolution on the parts of the filmmakers, and that’s interesting. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and The Searchers, and My Fair Lady are trying to comment on a particular issue. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers comments on the sexism of the brothers in the film; My Fair Lady comments on the misogyny of Henry Higgins; and The Searchers comments on racism. But at the same time, they are also sexist, misogynistic, and racist.” She ultimately concludes movies can be both progressive and not progressive because of the times they’re made in.

Movies

From Hitchcock to Star Wars: What Makes a Great MacGuffin

By David Crow

Culture

Was John Wayne High Noon’s Biggest Villain?

By David Crow

My Fair Lady (1964) will be the centerpiece of TCM’s final night of Reframed programming this Thursday. A lavish big screen adaptation of Lerner and Loewe’s Broadway musical, which itself was an adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s 1913 play, Pygmalion, it deals with the story of cockney flower girl Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn) being remade into Professor Henry Higgins’ (Rex Harrison) ideal woman through diction lessons. And the fact the musical, written in the 1950s, changed the more transgressive ending of the original play where Eliza leaves Higgins behind, will invariably come up on Reframed.

“Some people would look at that and say, ‘My Fair Lady? What could be the problem with that? It’s a very strong female character who stands up for herself and has so much agency and power in the movie,’” Karger admits. “But then when you really look at specific scenes, particularly the end of the movie, which is what I think we talked about a lot, there are certain things that just kind of make the movie, for me at least, have the tiniest bit of a sour note.”

The question of whether My Fair Lady is a sexist movie or rather a movie about sexism became the heart of its Reframed discussion.

Adds Malone, “We also talk about the fact that that ending has been changed by some stage productions. That is happening now, and we also talk about the idea of the makeover movie. I think the Pygmalion myth is something that’s fairly sexist and outdated when you look at it, but there’s also so much to love about My Fair Lady.”

The opportunity of having these discussions has been a gift for Karger and Malone. They both stress they don’t have the answers to all the questions they raise, and that even with added time for the outros on Reframed, there is no way to cover everything that needs to be said about a film in a handful of minutes.

“I thought about multiple things I wish I said or I forgot to say, or just didn’t have time to say,” Malone says. However, she hopes the series gives viewers the tools to begin engaging more seriously with these films and embrace a greater curiosity about the past. On tonight’s line-up alone, Malone and Karger will both get to engage in discussions of films they lobbied to have included in the Reframed series.

“I had just a brief conversation with Charlie [Tabesh] about including something around the idea of gender identity, or the transgender community, because I wanted to delve into that,” Malone says. “And of course from there, it becomes what do we have the rights to? What’s in license, what can we show? So there are certain limitations on the types of films we can show in the series.” The film they ended up agreeing on is Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.

“I love the fact that it is one of the classic movies that everyone should watch, a horror classic,” Malone adds.

Karger by contrast will be discussing another Audrey Hepburn movie, this one dealing with Hollywood’s history of depicting LGBTQ characters on screen.

Says Karger, “I will never forget watching the documentary The Celluloid Closet in the mid-1990s when it was released, and that was one of the seminal moments for me, as far as looking at film critically. This was a history of LGBT characters in film history over the years, and one thing you learn when you watch a documentary like that, there was this trope in films where if there was a character who was gay, that character would not live to survive at the end of the movie. That character would either be murdered, have some kind of horrible accident, or end his or her own life.”

He continues, “So you think of The Children’s Hour in the early 1960s and at first you think, ‘Oh this is something to applaud. Shirley MacLaine and Audrey Hepburn playing two women who may or may not be lesbians. Wow! This is a great thing to bring attention to.’ And then you realize they couldn’t even use the word lesbian in the movie… then the character who ends up being gay also ends up being dead by the end of the movie, and I just think it’s this unfortunate trope that tells people, consciously or not, that you can’t be gay and you can’t be alive in society… It’s a shame, because it came so close to getting it right but you realize it didn’t have the opportunity to get it right in 1961. It couldn’t with all the restrictions in the film industry and society in general.”

It will be the last night that TCM dives so directly into the murkier waters of some of Hollywood’s legacy, although both hosts hope for a second season of Reframed. Karger, who admits he shouldn’t spend so much time on social media, has seen the predictable social media reactions of “you’re ruining these movies” by talking about these elements. But he’s also been heartened by responses from fans who wished TCM provided Reframed discussions on movies that aired later in the evening, like Stagecoach (1939) or Tarzan, The Ape Man (1932). Karger says if he has it his way, they’ll include all those movies in a second season of Reframed.

Meanwhile Malone would really like to continue a thread begun with the screening of the Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy classic, Woman of the Year (1942), from several weeks ago.

“I love having discussions for films where we talk about the representation of female characters,” Malone says. “That’s something I’ve done a lot of work on, so that’s something I’d like to continue—to talk about the way women have been portrayed in films throughout Hollywood history, and we could talk about that in terms of their beauty and how that was seen to be the most valuable quality a woman could have, or the way they could search for love. I love all the women’s pictures that forces the woman at the end to give up everything for love, but for most of the movie she is a fantastically independent woman.”

Other examples of this trope she cites are His Girl Friday (1940), and nearly every movie Katharine Hepburn made after The Philadelphia Story (1940).

Karger conversely would be interested in revisiting movies with extreme age differences between couples.

“I’d love to look at films like Gigi or Love in the Afternoon,” the host says, “because I think there are some people who have issues with the much older man and much younger woman pairing. And I think I’d love to hear what my fellow TCM hosts have to say about that, because you never see it in the opposite direction.” In fact, based on just this one comment, Malone began thinking aloud about all the ageist movies spawned by Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), a camp horror classic that kicked off what Malone describes as “hagsploitation.”

When it comes to revisiting (and reframing) Hollywood classics, the options for learning more are limitless. Not that the lessons should be intimidating.

“I think it’s quite exciting the way things change,” Malone says. “Society changes so quickly, and you learn more and have different opinions, [including] on films. I love being more educated and finding out more of my own blind spots and trying to fix them.”

Reframed continues that search on Thursday March, 25, beginning with My Fair Lady at 8pm EST.

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arctic-sage · 3 years

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Sirens and Sea Foam (dreamnotfound)

https://www.wattpad.com/story/261171985-sirens-and-sea-foam-dreamnotfoundhttps://archiveofourown.org/works/29916423#mainSummary:

Dream had been hunting sirens for years until one encounter changes his life forever.

*****

"I don't like killing people, really. Not without a reason. I'm just your average friendly siren!" The creature paused for a brief moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Oh how rude of me, I didn't even introduce myself! My name is George." He shifted closer, staring at the sailor expectantly.

Dream was taken aback.

One. It can't be him. There's no way.

Two. What? Did he just say friendly?

*****

OR a dnf siren AU oneshot with a twist ;)

*****

Dream woke up.

Head spinning, he jolted upright, sand falling from his clothes like sawdust. Coughing up salty water from his lungs, he blinked once. Twice. The sailor looked around, pupils dilating to adjust to his ill-lit surroundings.

The ocean bled into the night sky, the horizon indistinguishable under a curtain of black. A sliver of moonlight peered through smoky clouds, casting an eerie glow on the beach. Seafoam gathered at the edge of the shore.

Where am I?

And then it hit him.

Just hours prior, he was sailing away from the Florida coast, headed toward a secluded archipelago. Nobody dared sail in this direction unless they were looking for sirens. He hardly remembers why he began hunting in the first place. Spending months at a time in the middle of the ocean seemed to blur his memory, though he still found it rejuvenating. He never had company, but he didn't mind. The constant presence of the water was all he needed, rocking his ship back and forth from noon to midnight when the stars shimmered like flecks of gold.

Only there were no stars tonight.

He'd veered slightly off course, venturing into a storm. His ship, for all he knew, was sinking to the bottom of the deep blue depths, along with the rest of his belongings.

So here he was, on a deserted island in the middle of siren territory.

Great.

He stood up, brushing himself off when he felt a sting of pain. There was a shallow cut on his left leg, but other than that, he was fine. Dream breathed out. He was lucky, considering he'd been tossed around mercilessly in the water for who knows how long.

The wind whistled, a lyric-less sonata of empty promises, teasing the hairs behind his neck. Then, out of nowhere, a rapid gust ripped through the folds of his coat, causing his body to tremble in an attempt to shake away the cold.

Walking in the opposite direction of the wind, he rounded the corner of a rocky overhang. There, he came across a small cove where the waters were calmer but still dark.

As he approached a cluster of jagged rocks, he spotted a flash of blue. if he blinked, he would have missed it.

He gasped. Sitting ten feet away from him was a startlingly beautiful creature. If not for the tail, he'd have mistaken it for a sunken spirit.

Dream stepped closer, taking notice of the siren's features. His skin was pale--a translucent white that revealed a flush of purple under the moonlight. Jet-black eyes glinted like solid orbs of obsidian, a wicked smile displaying a set of pointed teeth. Gills littered his neck, stopping above his collarbone where the milky skin faded into iridescent scales.

He lowered his gaze to the siren's azure tail, resting partly underwater, but where the light cut through the lapping waves, he could make out a pair of blade-like fins.

As much as he wanted to run away, something about the siren transfixed him. Dream opened his mouth to speak-

But the siren cut him off. "What are you doing here?" his accent was foreign, but it carried a wave of familiarity.

Dream wondered if he'd met him before, though he never conversed with a siren until now.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Dream blurted out.

"You didn't answer my question" the siren responded, his lips pressing together in a thin line.

"I uh... my ship sank." Dream didn't tell him the whole truth. He was hunting sirens again, this time near the border of the Bermuda Triangle. That is, before a storm carried him to this desolate island. Not that the siren needed to know.

"Well..." the siren smirked, "Why don't you stay with me for now? It'll be a while 'til the next ship comes around."

Dream's hand hovered over the small knife concealed on his right thigh, just now realizing he'd left his harpoon gun and hunting knives back on the ship. It was too late to retrieve them-they were undeniably lost, no matter how hard he wished them back.

"How can I be sure you won't kill me?" Dream was certain that the siren's hospitality was only for show; they were notorious for drowning sailors after manipulating them. For fun, if I might add.

Dream was taken aback.

One. It can't be him. There's no way.

Two. What? Did he just say friendly?

"D-Dream. My name is Dream." He choked out, not sure what else to say. He shuffled his feet, kicking away a pebble that made its way under his shoe.

"Dream..." he echoed, testing the name on his tongue before looking up. "You're from the mainland aren't you?"

"Yeah." Dream didn't want to give away any more information; he'd already given his name, he didn't want to spill his life story to a stranger, let alone a siren. Not that it mattered anyway. His mind scrambled for a way out of the conversation until-

"Can I sing a song for you?" George asked, expression softening.

If it weren't for George's delicate smile or his gentle demeanor, Dream might have refused. But George was different than other sirens he'd encountered. He wasn't cruel, nor did he carry the same bloodthirsty glare in his eyes.

And besides, he wanted to learn the words behind many a sailors' demise. He wanted to know what compelled them to leap overboard, despite the silver skulls strewn across the shore. He wanted to hear the song that nobody can remember, because those that do have drowned, their last cry lost to the shrieking wind, their bodies anchored to the ocean floor until they dissolved into seafoam.

So he let his curiosity take over. Just this once.

He nodded, eyes looking anywhere but ahead, not wanting to disturb the shroud of silence that fell between them.

George gestured with his hands, patting the spot beside him, motioning for the sailor to sit down. Dream took a few hesitant steps, shifting his weight carefully as he maneuvered over the slick surface. The last thing he wanted to do was slip and fall on a rock jutting out of the water, only to fall prey to a siren. Although George seemed fairly pleasant, he didn't want to take any chances.

He sat down on the smooth stone, ignoring the icy water seeping through his clothes. He didn't mind-he was already freezing, so what difference did it make?

The sailor blinked. Up close, he could see George's complexion; his skin gleamed, illuminating the occasional blue freckle that dotted his cheekbones. Dark brown locks cascaded over his forehead, curling at the tips just above his brows. His nose sloped downward, yet endearingly so. It framed his face oddly enough, matching a whimsical smile that tugged at the sailor's heartstrings. God, he was ethereal.

Dream's eyes traced down his body. George's tail drifted silently with each passing wave, glittering like an abalone. It reminded the sailor of the shells he collected with his friend many years back. They spent every summer chatting about nothing and everything at the same time, fantasizing about the journeys they'd embark on, or the souvenirs they'd collect along the way. The two boys had planned to spend the rest of their lives navigating the Atlantic... until an ill-fated incident claimed his friend three summers ago.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought him back to the present. Dream shook his head to push the memories away, but echoes of an anguished cry still lingered in the back of his mind.

"You're staring." the siren spoke, a hint of worry in his eyes.

"Sorry, go ahead." Dream brushed back dirty blonde hair, sand falling from his fingers. "With your song, I mean."

"Alright. But before I sing, let me tell you a story." The siren whispered in a hushed voice, as though the wind were listening in.

*****

"Sirens once had wings. They were rumored to be the protectors of Persephone, the goddess of spring. But once Demeter discovered that Hades had abducted her, she cursed the sirens, who have now retreated to the ocean to live off of mortal beings.

Their feathers morphed into scaly tails, their hands now lined with grotesque webbed claws. Eyes that were once lively became dull, empty voids. Passion was replaced by eternal hunger and a thirst for human blood. But Demeter spared their voices, which grew more potent, more deadly with time.

The gods believed that the life of a siren was a fate worse than death. Yet I beg to differ.

With every curse comes a gift. Sirens are skilled manipulators; some sirens bewitch sailors with their songs until the bloodlust takes over. These sirens are ruthless, leaving only the skeletal remnants of their prey.

Other sirens, however, take on the form of their victims' deepest desires, especially those which they cannot have. They feed on souls, emptying victims of their emotions and memories, so all that remains is a vacant shell of a human. Though less gruesome, this is the most painful way to die."

*****

Dream's heart began to race, pounding against the walls of his chest. His vision blurred, breath speeding up as thoughts raced through his mind like sparks of electricity.

"So, which type of siren does that make you?" He spoke, but part of him already knew the answer.

George's lips curved into a menacing grin, showing no trace of his earlier affections.

"I'll leave that for you to decide."

And then it clicked.

All the memories he'd suppressed suddenly flooded back to him.

The first thing he remembered was the sound of his voice. The way he rounded his vowels with that British accent of his. The contagious laughter that filled hearts to the brim with euphoria. God, what he'd give to hear those three words again.

Then that smile. His gorgeous, irresistible smile that Dream longed to witness once more, even if it were the last thing he'd see. A smile so bright it rivaled the light of the stars.

And his eyes. Rich, velvety pools of dark chocolate that drowned Dream's green. Eyes that bore holes into your heart until it ached for more.

But now, all that stared back at him were evil spheres of obsidian. The siren, Dream had realized, was nothing like George. The mirage faded, unveiling a monstrous creature. His mind screamed, willing his limbs to move, but he couldn't.

Dream's eyes widened.

The siren was close.

Too close.

Too late.

*****

Emerald eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the light. Dream looked around, taking in his surroundings. The rocky cove was gone. Silky white sand replaced the sharp stones, stretching beyond his line of sight only to merge with a soft blue sky.

He'd recognize this place anywhere.

There was a bit of wistfulness about this place; it was the hidden beach that George took him to, just days before he died. Here, they'd sit together in the blissful shade of the palm trees, looking out to sea. They dreamed of cloudless skies, crystalline waters, and magnificent ships that could sail them from one end of the world to the other. They dreamed of adventure.

Dream sighed, heavy lidded as he basked in the warmth of the sun. A comforting breeze ruffled his hair. But then the sound of soft footsteps in the wet sand caught his attention. So he craned his neck to locate the source of the noise.

And there he was.

His breath hitched. Standing no more than three steps away from him was a familiar face. The man stepped closer, silver seafoam gathering at his feet.

George.

His friend, his soulmate, his everything.

Smiling for the first time in years, Dream looked longingly into George's eyes, now sparkling with a newfound heat.

And in his eyes, he saw light. He saw his future.

Dream didn't care if his vacant, lifeless body was worlds away on a rocky beach. His spirit was in a different place. A happier place.

He was with George.

And that's all that mattered.

**end**

*************************

tysm for reading!!!

twt/ao3/wattpad: arctic_sage

links:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916423#main

https://www.wattpad.com/story/261171985-sirens-and-sea-foam-dreamnotfound

https://www.twitter.com/arctic_sage

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our-kendrick · 4 years

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Anna Kendrick Puts Her Characters, Her Career—and Herself—Under the Microscope

The actor turns inward to reflect. But don’t worry, she’s laughing along the way.

Read here, or below.

Anna Kendrick has an idea. “Every character should do a scene with her mother at the beginning of a shoot,” she suggests. Her theory is that this type of interior work could function as a sort of controlled breakthrough in therapy—but instead of your own lifetime’s worth of baggage, it’s your character’s.

The notion occurred to her during production on her new HBO Max series Love Life (debuting May 27), on which Hope Davis portrays her mom. “I learned so much about my character during that episode; you go back to your own childhood stuff,” she says. And though she hadn’t previously considered it in such explicit terms, to hear Kendrick talk about her acting is to realize she’s actually been putting her roles under the proverbial microscope for years.

“Why does that person behave that way? Why do some people see the world in a different way?” she muses, chatting by telephone from her home in Los Angeles, where she’s been quarantining since mid-March. “And that’s the kind of driving curiosity that, hopefully, makes me effective at my job.”

Of course, having been acting professionally since adolescence, Kendrick knows that what initially lured her to the trade was a good deal less existential. “It would be really insane for me to suggest that finding truth in a person’s psychology interested me at that age,” she says, with just a little bite. “It was more that I knew plays like Annie and Gypsy meant that I could get on a stage and wear a costume, and people had to pay attention to me. My goals were more streamlined: I wanted to sing really loud and be onstage.”

Streamlined, indeed. Kendrick starred in the 1998 Broadway premiere of High Society, for which she earned a Tony nomination at the ripe age of 12, making her one of the youngest performers in history to earn the distinction. Not long after, as it so often does, Los Angeles came knocking. And, as it so often does, it quickly proved less glamorous than advertised.

“I don’t really know what to say about it other than it sucked. It was hard,” Kendrick says of her early days navigating the “business” side of the business. “Every now and then, I’m walking around in L.A. and I notice some back alley, weird entrance, and remember I used to go around to that entrance because they didn’t want you coming in the front entrance if you were there to audition. It’s a very degrading process to be holding your sides and have some bored receptionist say, ‘Can you use this back entrance?’ And then, obviously, the image of walking into a room and there are 20 girls who look exactly like you.”

Though she hardly recalls the period with rose-hued fondness, it was a necessary steppingstone to becoming the Anna Kendrick we know today, the singular one who is known as much for her turns onscreen as her quips on Twitter. (She even wrote a book of nonfiction essays, Scrappy Little Nobody, that went on to become a New York Times best-seller.) As it happens, learning to unleash the persona inside the person—to embrace rather than smother whatever nonconformity exists within—was a critical turning point in her approach to both acting and auditioning; one which, believe it or not, came courtesy of a certain vampire franchise.

“I remember auditioning for the family in Twilight and running into a friend of mine and both of us being like, ‘Why are we here?’ ” Kendrick recalls. “ ‘[The role] is the bitchy mean girl, they’re going to hire some leggy blonde, because that’s the part.’ I thought, OK, I’ll just go in and do something dumb, because I’m not going to get the job anyway. Hopefully, the casting director will remember me as being funny, and they’ll bring me back in for something else. It’s such a hideous cliché, but I just had to realize the only times I got a job were when there was something I could do that nobody else could do.”

To again lift that turn of phrase right off the therapist’s couch, it wasn’t just a career breakthrough, but a psychological one. That isn’t to say it suddenly unlocked the secret to enduring Hollywood success, but it did help secure the actor’s first Oscar nomination.

The story—well-documented in the history book of Kendrick’s life by now—goes that the writer-director Jason Reitman already had her in mind when she came in to audition for his new feature Up in the Air. The role was a co-lead opposite George Clooney. She got it, obviously, but as the greener of the two actors, how did she step on set and believe, I have a right to be here?

“Um, I didn’t,” she says with a terse laugh. “George was such an angel, and would say things like, ‘Are you nervous? Got to get nervous for your first day’—and that is complete bullshit. He absolutely does not [get nervous], but I believed it at the time, and that’s what I needed to hear: that I had permission to be nervous. Because it’s one thing to be nervous, and it’s another to be pretending you’re not.”

Now, Kendrick is herself a formidable leading lady, having starred most notably in all three Pitch Perfect movies; the series has to date made more than $500 million worldwide and solidified Kendrick as a capital-N Name. In a position quite different from the one she was in about a decade ago, today she tries to practice the same on-set empathy that has been shown to her.

“No, I’m an absolute monster,” she says with just a split-second pause before answering in earnest. “I mean, you try to adjust to your various co-workers. Obviously, there are people who you realize really thrive when it feels spontaneous, and it would be better if we weren’t word-perfect. And then, for other people, it’s those early takes that are really magical and you want to make sure it’s as on-book as it can be.” As for her ideal scene partner, when given a preference, Kendrick does have one in mind.

#Anna Kendrick #Backstage #Interview #2020

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

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heart of stone (7/?)

AO3

Unlike most of his peers, Damian isn’t excited at all about moving out. There’s a lot he loves about living at home-having a mom who cooks him his own meals, not having to pay bills, living withing walking distance of his best friends and a not having to do his own laundry. All those little conveniences are things he’ll miss sorely when that day comes, but the biggest reason has nothing to do with any of that. No, the reason he dreads moving out is because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to find a roommate that will put up with his constant singing around the house. Especially around audition time.

Which is why now, he’s practicing his rendition of Dressing Them Up in his bedroom, his mom being incredibly cool about the whole thing downstairs and Janis on Facetime, earbuds in and bopping along with him and giving him more enthusiasm than the actual audience probably will.

“You sound great.” She’s sitting cross legged on her hospital bed in a sweater and leggings, her face more bare than it was yesterday, but her eyes still bright and laugh lines creased around her eyes and mouth. She’s still her.

It was tough, seeing her for the first time, but weirdly, it wasn’t nearly as tough as he thought it would be. Once he got past the strangeness of the hospital environment and the little emotional hiccup she had with Cady, he knew she’s still her. Hard situation, uncomfortable new world, but still his Janis.

“You think so?” he says. “I don’t know about this song. All the forums say it’s a really good song to audition for the Emcee with.”

“And it’s your party piece,” she tells him. “Remember freshman year, you sang it for my grandpa?”

“I miss your grandpa,” he sighs.

“I’ll let him know. He calls me weekly now.” She shifts on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Before he even realises what she’s doing, he checks her arm. No IV in there. Why does that make him feel better? “So do you think you’re going to change it?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking through his music. “The audition’s tomorrow. I don’t know if I can research and learn a new song by tomorrow.”

“Then don’t,” she tells him. “You’re overthinking it.”

“You’re telling me off for overthinking,” he says rather indignantly, raising an eyebrow at her. “This is the same girl who texted me at 2 in the morning for my opinion on a dog meme to send to Cady.”

“I needed a second opinion,” she says.

“Thought you didn’t need opinions,” he teases.

“Maybe I need yours,” she says softly, the grin on her face lighting up the screen. “Dick.”

“Don’t even love you,” he replies, blowing a kiss softly to the screen. Janis giggles, hiding her face behind her hand.

“Okay, you have the scene worked out as well?”

“I think so.” He picks up the extract from his bed. He’s done it for everyone, Janis, his mom, Janis’ mom, Cady, even the plastics. He learned that day that Gretchen is amazing at giving weirdly specific compliments and also knows more about theatre than he’d have guessed. Maybe in another life she’d be a drama geek like him. “It’s just an audition anyway. They’re not looking for the finished product. Just potential.”

“And you my good man are 6’2” of raw mother fucking potential.”

“Janis, language!”

“Raw mother freaking potential. Sorry, mom.” Somewhere behind the phone, Janis’ mom says something and Janis chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I’m not allowed to cuss in here. Since this is a ‘children’s ward’.” She quotes the word with her fingers. “Which is apparently where I belong.”

“You are a children,” he reminds her.

“I am older than you!” she spits back, laughter shaking her voice. She leans back on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The joke slips from her face, leaving soft sincerity in its place. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.” She raises her eyebrow at him, of course. By now she can see into his brain like there’s a little window on his forehead. It’s why he can’t bullshit with her, and conversely, why she can’t with him. “A little. I just really want a good role, you know. It’s our last show.”

“Which is why you’re going to ace that audition so hard,” she tells him. “Just don’t drink dairy in the morning and do your breathing before you go in. And stay away from the candy!”

“Pity you’re not here to remind me,” he says.

“True, but I did take the liberty of passing on all the info to Cady,” she tells him. “She knows what to do.”

“You’re a hero, babe.”

“Don’t I just know it,” she says. “Are you going to do the whole ‘dress for the part you want’?”

“Of course.” He runs over to his wardrobe and shows her the outfit he’d picked out for tomorrow, black silk waistcoat and black skinny jeans, his dance shoes in his bag. “What do we think?”

“Oh, that’s so sexy,” she tells him. “We need to bring waistcoats back to the collective again. I miss them.” Before he can answer, she looks beyond the camera, nodding along to a conversation he can’t hear. She casts an anxious glance at him, so quickly that he would have missed it if he blinked. “Okay. Okay, yeah fine, I know. Okay fine.” She turns back to him, letting out a long exhale that makes the hair on his arms stand up. He can’t help it; he has built-in parental instincts and they’ve been heightened ever since Janis went to hospital. So much so that even when she flashes up a peace sign and grins, it’s hard for him to grin back. “I have to bounce. Go get a good night’s sleep, ace it tomorrow, and tell the drama club that my services are still available.”

“I’ll let them know,” he says. He sits on the bed, tucking one leg under his body. He’s reluctant to let her go, their time together so precious now. “I love you, honey pot.”

“Love you more, bitch.” Her face freezes and then she’s gone. Not gone, he corrects himself. Just… not around for him right now.

“Okay,” he exhales, giving himself a shake. She’s fine. She said she was fine, she looked fine, she is fine. And she will be fine. She even said that she might be well enough to come see him in the show, all things going smoothly. The thought alone is enough to make him smile. Of course she will. The show won’t be for months anyway. He just has to get through this first. So he picks up his music and bounces down the stairs, ready to treat his mom and sisters to yet another rendition.

*****

It’s just after second period when the nerves do start to kick in. He’s not scared or intimidated, he can’t be he approaches auditions the way Cady would a calculus test, as a thrilling challenge to be overcome and a way to improve, whatever the outcome. But like he said to Janis, it’s his last year. He’s not gotten parts before but would be different. He wouldn’t throw a fit or leave the show if he didn’t get it, those types of divas make him cringe so much it hurts. But he can’t shake the idea that it wouldn’t be as special if he were in the ensemble in his last year. Besides, this is his part. Always has been.

“Hey.” He jumps off the floor, so wrapped up in his own thoughts he’d barely noticed the person sliding up beside him. He’s even more surprised when he sees who it is; Regina, wearing a lacrosse jersey over her white dress and a smile that’s uncharacteristically apprehensive. Since when did Regina George doubts? More to the point, since when did Regina talk to him? He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know his name until Cady told him. He just assumed he was ‘Janis’ gay friend’ to her, nothing more. The same way she’s nothing more than ‘asshole Queen Bee I’d punch given the chance’ to him.

“Hi,” he says flatly. Her smile falters at his tone, and he has to hide his own smirk behind his locker door. Someone clearly isn’t used to not being given the golden treatment.

“So… how’s Janis doing?”

And the surprises keep on coming.

“You care?” he snorts.

“Yeah, I do.” Her tone is more defensive this time, the familiar anger that’s become her trademark making an appearance. Somehow, she sounds more natural this way. She shakes her head and tosses her dark hair over her shoulder. “You’ve talked to her recently, I’m guessing.”

“Of course I have. She’s my best friend,” he fires back, suddenly finding himself on the defence. Heat prickles on his skin and he wants nothing more than to get out of this conversation.

“I just… wanted to know how she’s doing,” she says, her voice quiet and her arms crossed over her chest. He closes the locker door and looks at her, trying to find some semblance of the ruthless predator he knows rather than the timid, vulnerable creature before him. It’s unsettling, seeing her like this, and he’s almost certain it’s a trap. “So how is she?”

“She’s great.” He slams the locker door closed and now it’s her turn to jump. “Janis is doing great. And she’s being let out for a week on Friday. So, she’s great.”

“O-okay,” she replies. She picks at her nails, her eyes growing wide. It’s only when she takes a step back that he can breathe again. She gives an attempted smile and it doesn’t look right on her face. “That’s cool. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah.” He puts his bag on his shoulder and pushes past her. Admittedly, he does feel a little guilty here. Regina’s a horrible person, but she’s still a person, right? Maybe she is worried about Janis, that there’s some sincerity beneath the make-up.

No. Of course not. And if Regina wanted his respect, she should have started back in middle school. And in any case, why is he even thinking about Regina? He’s got way bigger things to worry about today than her.

He checks his phone at lunch, finding nothing from Janis. Which is normal these days. Normal re-adjusted pretty quickly and she’s just finished another round right about now, so she’s probably resting from that. Besides, no news is good news, as his mom likes to say.

“Damian. Damian!”

“Woah, yeah, I’m here.” He shakes his head, grabbing the side of the table. He really needs to tune back in today. Cady is sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes big with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, patting her hand. “Just daydreaming, kid.”

“Okay.” Silence settles over them, tight and uncomfortable. It hurts. Janis’ absence hasn’t rocked their friendship at all, but at the same time it’s felt like there’s been something missing since the start of the year. And that there’s constantly something going unsaid with them. “When’s your audition?”

“T minus four hours,” he tells her. “They’re after school.”

“Speaking of I see you’ve broken out the two-litre bottle of water.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks. “Honey, I am a professional.”

“A professional drama queen,” she teases. “You think you’re ready?”

“As I can be. My mom and sisters all gave me a standing ovation,” he says proudly. “And I think my cat liked it.”

“I mean that’s all the validation you need,” she says. “When you go into your first Broadway audition, all you need to tell them is how highly your cat recommends you.” They burst into laughter as Karen and a forlorn-looking Gretchen sit down next to them, Karen holding the other girl’s hand and looking helplessly at Cady and Damian.

“Hey, what’s up, Gretch?” Cady asks. Without a word, Gretchen slides a crumpled sheet of math questions over the table and lets out a huff. Despite trying not to look, Damian can’t help noticing the score at the top, and the “see me” written at the bottom. Cady’s face falls instantly as she takes in a sharp breath. “Well, it’s just the second week. And it’s one homework.”

“Oh, what’s the use,” Gretchen sighs. “I’m never going to get it. It’s all so complicated. I wish I had a brain like yours, Cady. You’re super great at math.”

“Well you’re good at stuff too,” Cady responds.

“Yeah,” Karen agrees. “Like you’re super good at English. And at picking out clothes.”

“I don’t think Ms Gardner will appreciate me picking out clothes,” she says glumly. “Besides, I need to get better at math this year. For one thing, my dad will totally kill me if I get another C.”

“Well… hey why don’t I tutor you?” Cady offers, changing Gretchen’s entire demeanour in an instant. She sits up and gasps, a smile breaking out across her face and lighting up the cafeteria.

“You would? Really?” she squeaks.

“Of course! I mean, I did all this stuff last year, so I know it well. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She reaches out the table and grabs Cady’s hand, and judging by Cady’s face, it’s stronger than you might think for Gretchen’s slight frame. “This makes me feel so much better.”

“What does?” Regina sits down beside her, looking from Cady to Gretchen and funnily enough, avoiding Damian entirely.

“Oh, Cady’s going to tutor me in math,” Gretchen explains.

“Oh, cool,” Regina says. “You know that’ll look great on a college application.”

“Yeah. I mean of course that’s not the only reason I’m doing it,” Cady replies, smiling at Gretchen. “But I know. All I’ve heard since we got back is ‘college applications’.”

“Me too,” Damian sighs. “And I am not looking forward to telling Miss Meyer I want to do theatre.” He rolls his eyes and mimics shooting his head.

“Oh, hey Damian, Cady?” Karen asks. “Can I ask you something.”

“Um… sure?”

“What kind of muffins does Janis like?” The four of them all fall quiet, Damian looking to a confused Cady before back at Karen, who seems to be the only one who sees the sense here.

“Muffins?” he echoes.

“Mm-hm. Well, I want to bake her muffins to cheer her up, and since you two are her besties, I thought you’d know,” she explains. “Trust me, there’s nothing worse than bringing someone the wrong muffins. One time my cousin brought my other cousin muffins that weren’t her favourite and I was so, so ashamed for her.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. Karen nods severely, apparently taking the muffins incredibly seriously. “Um… she really likes raspberries I guess. Oh, and white chocolate. That’s one of her favourite combos.”

“Perfect!” she chirps. “I’ll start shopping for those tomorrow. I told my mom about her and she said she might like something sweet.”

“That’s… really nice,” he says. Life with the former-Plastics is a surprise even after spending the summer with them. He isn’t sure how ‘former’ he’d consider them, especially Regina, but they’re softer than they were a year ago. Gretchen more caring, Karen more kind. Or maybe they were always like that and he simply didn’t notice.

As they get up to leave, he takes out his phone and checks it. Still nothing from her.

He walks Cady to her next class, the two of them being on the same floor.

“Should I wait for you until your audition’s done?” she asks him.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says, patting her on the back. “Go live your life, little one.”

“Okay, but…” She rests her head on his shoulder and warmth sparks in his fingers and a stupid grin crosses his face. “Would you like me to wait until after your audition? We can go to the donut place after?”

“Did Janis tell you to do that?” Grabbing donuts after auditions to unwind has been their tradition since middle school.

“Well, yeah,” she says, shrugging innocently. “Just thought it would be cool. It’s what you always do, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course, totally. That’d be awesome.” They stop outside her history classroom. “Okay, I will see you later.”

“I’ll be in the library,” she explains. “You can meet me there?”

“Awesome blossom.” They have a quick high-five before he sets off down the hall to American Literature. As he goes, he finds a small but fierce sense of anxiety sparking in his chest and he can’t work out what it’s for. Probably the audition. After all, no amount of experience can chase away the terror of this process. Waiting around, learning and re-learning lines, sitting by his computer waiting for an email and fighting through crowds to see the cast list. He puts up a confident face, but that will never stop shaking him.

He takes out his phone again, just to check the time and location again. There’s nothing from Janis again, which is fine. Completely.

“Damian Hubbard.” He halts and looks up at the face of his Literature teacher, Mr Bock. He’s not great, but he’s not awful either. Once upon a time he may have actually liked kids. “Is that phone meant to be out during school hours?”

“No, sir,” he replies, sliding it back into his pocket and hoping for the best.

“Well come on, you’re in my class next and I won’t have anyone being tardy.”

“No, sir,” he repeats, doubling his pace and making it into the classroom, looking up at the clock as he does so. Just three more hours to go.

*****

He spends the time waiting for his slot breathing and doing small vocal warm-ups, enough to get him ready but not enough to irritate anyone else. As well as consoling a fearful looking little freshman kid. There are few things in the world that warm his heart quite as much as seeing new faces in auditions and watching them bloom during the show. He always makes sure to build connections with each and every one of them, taking up the role he wished someone had done for him. By the time Damian’s name is called, the freshman is grinning and his hands are nearly steady and he even whispers ‘good luck’ before he goes in.

“Afternoon all,” he greets the panel; Miss Petersen, the director/oldest drama teacher, and the perky little new one, fresh out of teaching college and rearing to go, as well as the choreographer and head of the drama club. Three familiar faces and one new, all smiling back at him. Something he tells every freshman; they want to cast you. He hands the sheet music to the girl at the piano and takes his spot, always remembering to smile and compliment her.

“Hi Damian, how are you?” Petersen asks.

“I’m great,” he replies. He clears his throat slightly, not having realised how tight it was. Did he not warm up enough? “Ready to go.”

“Okay so what song have you picked for us today?” the new teacher asks. Miss Hadsell, someone said her name is. She’s cute, with wide dark eyes and blonde hair in a messy braid. He wonders if she also takes art, he hasn’t seen her around the art room.

Then he remembers he hasn’t been in the art room this year.

“I have picked Dressing Them Up from Kiss of the Spider Woman,” he says brightly, bringing himself back. Here and now, that’s what matters.

“Good choice,” Miss Petersen says. “And you’ll be reading for the part of the Emcee?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay.” She grins at him, although it doesn’t really do anything to bring his focus back. What is wrong with him today?

He takes two deep breaths, and then another, and quickly shakes out his hands before nodding to the pianist. Once the song starts, he’ll be fine. Lost in the music, laser focussed. And he is. After missing the first note. He’s never missed a note before. Still, he manages to pick up the rest of it and keep going, throwing everything into it.

But it doesn’t feel enough. Like something is holding him back. Every time he’s sang this song before it’s come as naturally as breathing, the movements coming from him, not a character or persona. Now nothing feels right. Like he’s on a string and someone else is moving his limbs and every gesture is artificial.

By the time he finishes, it’s almost a relief. And he’s never thought that about performing.

“That was great!” Miss Hadsell says. “You must love that song a lot.”

“It’s an old favourite of mine,” he agrees. He can still bring this back. Maybe it was better than he thought.

He reads through two scenes for them before he’s asked to leave. At least those are stronger, partially because he knows them like the back of his hand. He feels more himself in them, or rather he feels more like the character. Even if his mind’s still a little fuzzy, it clicks for him. If only it could have happened earlier.

Rather than running right to the library and Cady afterwards, he sinks down onto a bench in an empty corridor, wringing his hands together. He doesn’t remember ever feeling that nervous or having an audition like that. Not even when he was a kid. Being in drama clubs since he could walk chased away the strong jitters that could affect him like that. So what happened in there?”

You know a voice in his head whispers. He goes to wave it off, but he can’t quite do it. Because what if there’s some truth in it. He’s worried about Janis, he’s only human. But he has it under control. She’s getting what she needs and she’ll be back with him by Christmas, and they’ll move forward like nothing ever happened. He presses his fist into his palm and bites his cheek. He’s handling it, and his own issues have never affected his performances before. Why would they now?

There’s no point in worrying now, he tells himself. It’s over, so just go home, tell everyone it was fine and whatever happens, happens.

It’s with that mantra that he gets up and heads to the library to pick up Cady.

*****

The next day is Wednesday and when he wakes up he’s suddenly immensely excited and won’t pretend he doesn’t know why. As his mom likes to say, ‘Wednesday is halfway to the weekend’. Which is enough of a reason to be happy in itself, but this means something more. It means it’s two days until Janis gets out of hospital and three days until they hang out again. They arranged it a few days ago; a movie night in her place, just like always, with blankets and pillows and junk food and an equal balance of musicals and old sci-fi and horror. So he can’t not be excited, so much so that it’s enough for him to block out the memories of his audition yesterday.

So when he half-walks, half-dances into the kitchen, it’s justified, and what’s more, his mom picks up on it.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she remarks.

“Sun’s shining, birds chirping,” he replies as he puts on the coffee pot and pops bread into the toaster.

“Did you talk to Janis at all last night?”

“A bit.” He pours himself a cup and one for his mom. All the milk in his and one sugar for him, black and two sugars for his mom.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” he says. “You know her. Tough as hell, fighting anything.” His phone vibrates in his pocket and it brings an instant smile to his face. “As a matter of fact that’s her now… oh…”

Janis’ message is a picture of the medical student, Jackson, fiddling with her IV, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Below is the caption ‘forgot to send you this yesterday. Thought you might enjoy’. And a winking face, of all the emojis.

‘Appreciated, thank you,’ he texts back. ‘Though I am debating the ethical ramifications of this.’

He probably won’t get an answer for a while. She tends to sleep in in the mornings.

“Her poor mother,” his mom sighs, seemingly to herself. He looks up at her, her hands tight around the hug and her head shaking. “I mean, poor Janis as well of course. No one deserves to go through that. But if anything like that were to happen to you…” She runs a hand through his hair, a fond smile along with her sad features. “God knows what I’d do.” There’s a small moment, a sigh, and then she kisses his head.

“Mom, you’re so mushy,” he sighs, not meaning any of it. Mushy is a well-established Hubbard trait passed from mother to son and he’s not ashamed of it, not at all. It’s that exact mushy-ness that gives him the capacity to love his friends the way he does and let them feel it every chance he can. He’d never trade it for anything. “I have to get ready. Don’t want to be late. Love you!”

When he gets into homeroom, Cady is bent over her notebook with her pens out, which strikes him as odd. Surely the study bee Cady Heron isn’t catching up on homework already. He’s not even catching up on homework yet.

“Hey.” He pulls on her ponytail, a far more amusing way of getting her attention that tapping her shoulder. She grins and looks up at him, stretching out her arms. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to make a schedule for tutoring,” she explains, handing it over to him. The page is divided into seven days and those into hour long slots, and true to form, everything is colour-coded. School is green, Mathletes is blue, and so-called ‘Janis time’ is purple. Her name is written in silver glitter pen rather than black ballpoint, and there’s a little star doodled in the corner. It’s nothing short of adorable, and Cady’s cheeks go pink as he knowingly catches her eye. “Gretchen says she can’t do weekdays, so I might squeeze her in on Saturday mornings.” She takes the page and tilts it, scrunching up her face. “Wonder how many more I can fit in.”

“How much tutoring does she need exactly?” he asks.

“It’s not just Gretchen,” she says, shrugging. “I just thought, well, why not expand it. See who else needs tutoring? I could make some money off of it. And it looks great on-”

“The college applications,” he finishes, earning an eyeroll from her. Still, they both smile. “I think that’s a great idea little slice. As long as no-one’s faking stupid to score a date with you.”

“Oh hush,” she chides, swatting at him playfully. “Besides, no one would dare. Half our grade is kind of terrified of Janis.”

“We all know she could still kick their collective asses.”

“Even hopped up on chemo, she could.”

“Yeah, completely.” Something shifts inside him, and suddenly his smile feels more plastered on that natural. Keep it together, he tells himself. “So has anyone gotten back to you about tutoring?”

“I haven’t put the word out yet,” she says. “Although I did make this!” She reaches into her bag and hands another page to him, this time with a photo of her in the centre and “Tutoring Services-Math and Science, specialising in calculus” printed below it, and her phone number and email address in a different, cursive font below. And true to form, she decorated it with little ClipArt lions and tigers. “What?”

“Nothing.” He hands her it back. “It’s just very you. And if I needed help with math, I’d call you in an instant.”

“You flatter me,” she jokes, putting it back in her backpack and dropping it on the floor. It catches his eye and he doesn’t understand why it would for a second, but then he remembers. She bought this backpack the day they went to the mall. She picked the white one with the little frogs. Janis had laughed at it, affectionately calling her a ‘permanent child’. That was the day Janis had passed out. The day she had overslept. The day before she had gotten that doctor’s appointment. And all the while, none of them knew the truth. None of them had put the pieces together.

“Damian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yes, you should definitely do that.” Across from him, Cady’s eyebrows are shot up, her mouth half open. He’s blown it. Whatever ‘it’ is.

“Okay,” she sighs. “Um… are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” He leans back in his chair and tosses his head. “Look at me, I’m the King of Okay, baby girl.”

“I know a bad Doctor Who reference when I hear one,” she tells him. She taps her pencil on the desk. If she knows a Doctor Who reference, then he can recognise a tell. She’s building up to something. “Look, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I mean what’s going on right now with Janis… it’s rough. It’s okay if you’re a little out of it. I am too.”

“Well that’s fine, but I’m not.”

The words shock him as soon as they leave his mouth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t said them at all, rather someone behind him, and he wishes that were the case. He’s not like that. Those words are sharp and he’s rarely ever sharp. He made himself a promise never to be sharp or cruel or nasty unless absolutely necessary. He’s put in so much work over the years building up his cheerful, warm persona and it took a while for it to become fully natural. Apparently, he still needs work, because Cady’s face is falling at his outburst and she’s turning around him her chair and his gut is twisting and churning with guilt.

“Caddy, wait.” He reaches out and grabs her shoulder. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just-I’m so sorry, Caddy.”

“Hey.” Cady takes his hand and wraps her own around it, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. Everything’s a lot right now.” Is it? Well, it is anyone can see that. But he’s coping, he’s sure of it. He woke up today so full of happiness he may have burst. How did he go from that to this in the space of an hour?

“Yeah,” he simply says. He runs his thumb over Cady’s knuckles, still shaken from what he said. He grips her hand tighter as if that can make sense of it. “I’m sorry.”

Despite Cady telling him it’s okay, a bad feeling follows him around all day, guilt combined with something else he can’t figure out. It leaves him feeling nauseous and uneasy all through his classes and even during lunch with his friends. It sits there all day, right in the pit of his stomach and wearing him out. By the time his first class after lunch starts, all he wants to do it go home. That very last bell is music to his ears and he barely remembers to bid goodbye to his friends before bolting out the door.

His hands are cold and unsteady as he pulls books out of his locker, his heart beating quickly and faintly beneath his shirt. He checks his phone, his messages empty, and makes a mental note to text Cady later before closing his locker and heading to the front gate. Hopefully by the time he gets home he’ll have come back to himself.

“Damian!”

Oh god, he thinks, suppressing a sigh. Ms Towers slips out in front of him, a file held close to her chest and her glasses perched on her head. She’s the school guidance counsellor, someone he’s never really interacted with. All of his issues were either fixed or in the process of that by the time he reached high school. She sure had her work cut out for her when the Burn Book was released though.

“Um, hi,” he says.

“Could I grab a quick word with you?” she asks.

No you cannot is what he wants to say. The school bell has gone, I’m free now.

“Sure,” is what he says instead, and his body follows her into her little office and even takes the seat she offers. It’s only when she sits down that he turns off autopilot. “Is this going to take long? Only I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“Not long at all,” she replies. She clears her throat, pretends to fix some papers on her desk, and leans forwards on the desk, her hands clasped beneath her. “Damian, what you’re going through is very difficult.”

“That’s indeed one word for it.”

“And the schoolboard is fully aware of any challenges you might be facing this year,” she goes on. “You probably know your teachers are all aware of the toll this may take on your schoolwork.” He hadn’t actually thought of that before. “But there are many support systems in place outside of the classroom. I want you to know that if you need any of them, we would be more than happy to schedule something for you. You could talk to me, or one of my colleagues on the care team, during one of your free periods maybe once or twice a week? Or if you want, our pastoral care team would be more than willing to talk to you in the school chapel-”

The image of Damian sitting in a church sitting on a pew talking to a priest about anything is so ludicrous to him that he actually bursts out laughing in her face.

He’s really being the resident asshole today, isn’t he?

“Sorry,” he replies, making a show of clearing his throat. “Something caught in my throat. You know how it is.”

“Oh, of course. I can get you some water if you like.” He shakes his head, taking his own bottle out of his bag, and gives her a gesture to keep talking. “Just if you want to avail of any of these services, they’re here. We’re all here for you Damian. So… do you think you might?”

“I appreciate the offer,” he says. His hand wraps tightly around his knee. “I really do. But I’m fine. I don’t need any school therapy or anything like that.”

“I don’t mean therapy,” she says. “Well, I could. But just if you needed a quick chat. This is a hugely stressful situation.”

“I know,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath in. He feels as though his insides are shaking, like a town caught in an earthquake. “I know. But I’m fine. I’m coping. And I have my own people anyway. I’ve got my friends; I’ve got my mom.” He stands on sore and unsteady legs and puts his bag on his back. “Besides, everything’s fine. Janis is coming home this weekend and we’re going to have a movie night and it will be exactly like it always has been. So we’re all good here.”

He lets her nod before bolting out the door. He doesn’t let anyone slow him down this time as he runs outside, down the front path and out the school gates, only starting to slow down when he’s off that street.

All the while, he doesn’t let himself think about Ms Towers’ offer, because doesn’t need it. He’s good. He’ll make himself good if he has to. He’s had enough practice at that after all.

*****

Saturday night takes forever to come around. The clocks on the wall tick by too slowly no matter where he is. Janis must get home late on Friday, because at some time after nine she posts a video of her dog cuddling her on her bed with the caption ‘I missed this boosh so much’. While Maxie takes up half the screen, he can see the smile in her cheeks. She looks good, healthy, happy, and that’s the main thing.

But finally the time comes, and he’s standing on her doorstep with a rucksack full of treats, DVDs, and the sleepover essentials. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, something he hasn’t felt since the early teens, and he has to hold back his arm lest he press the doorbell again.

“Hubbard!”

“Sarkisian!”

The moment he’s in her house, he envelopes her in a hug, letting her head rest in his shoulder and his hand rubbing up and down her back. His knees buckle in relief once she’s back with him, back hugging him. Sure he’s seen her before back in the hospital, but that was too alien. This is home. This is real.

“Missed you, dork,” she whispers.

“Missed you more,” he replies. When they finally let each other go, he sees her dressed down, blue and green galaxy leggings and a deep purple sweatshirt with a cartoon dinosaur on the front. Sleepover wear.

In the living room, Laura is setting up a bowl of popcorn and a try of tortilla chips, as well as a litre bottle of water and one of lemonade. She brightens up at the sight of him, hugging him lightly like you would a family member.

“Nice to see you, kid,” she tells him. “Hey how were the auditions? Janis told me they were this week.”

“Oh yeah,” he replies. It’s an effort not to wince. “They were fine. You know.”

“Well, we’ll be expecting front row tickets,” she tells him. “And a discount.”

“Sorry Laura no can do. Janis knows the importance of providing funds for the drama club.” Behind her mom, Janis nods as she fiddles with the DVD player.

“Oh, Janis, hon, let me do that.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, force behind the words. “I’ve got it. Besides you’re the one always asking me how to work it.”

“Fair enough,” she mutters. “Well, you two enjoy your night. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

“Cool. Thanks Mom.”

“Do you want me to take the dog out?”

“We can keep him. I think he’s missed Damian anyway.”

“And I’ve missed him,” Damian adds in. Maxie is pawing at Damian’s legs, his head rubbing against his legs and his tail wagging.

“Okay, just make sure you keep him calm. Otherwise he won’t let you sleep.”

“We’ll keep him calm,” Janis promises. “He’s a good boy.”

Laura mutters something to the contrary as she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Janis rolls her eyes at her.

“She’s so mean to the baby,” she says, patting the ground. “Come here Maxie-boy. Isn’t mama just the meanest and nastiest to the poor baby boy?”

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asks, only half-joking. Janis looks up from where she was making kissy faces at her dog and chuckles.

“I missed him,” she says. “Can you blame me? Imagine not letting your dog into the hospital with you.”

“It’s lunacy all right.” He kneels down beside her, opening up his rucksack. “Okay, I brought chocolate peanuts, I brought mini pretzels, I brought sour gummies. And to top it off, I brought your faves… crispy NemNems!” He holds up the box of M&Ms, wiggling them in her face. She bats them away, grinning.

“Perfection. Okay, what do we watch first?”

“You pick. That’s the rule after all, remember?” he reminds her. “Your house, your rules.”

“Okay. Then I pick…” She holds up the DVD to him; A Nightmare On Elm Street and wiggles her eyebrows. One of her favourites, which just so happens to be one of his least favourites. He’s not a horror fan. It’s one of the few disagreements they have.

“Deal. But I may have to hide behind your hair.”

They settle themselves on the couch, a pair of blankets resting on the heater behind them and Maxie plopped on top of them for extra warmth. His little head is on Janis’ lap, demanding pets, and she is only too happy to oblige. He snuggles further into her with his paws up on his legs and whimpering whenever she so much as shifts.

“Someone missed you.”

“Yeah he did,” she replies, her voice fond. “You know when I came into the kitchen last night he peed himself because he was so excited.” She leans down to the dog and starts speaking in what they call her ‘Maxie-voice’. “Didn’t you to a peepee on the floor and Daddy had to mop it up?”

“Awww. Also ewww.” Janis digs him the ribs even as she laughs. Maxie is oblivious to this, his ears pricking up as he looks between the two of them. Damian cracks open the snacks, already commandeering the tortilla chips (what can he say, he’s a carb lover) and placing the rest of them delicately between them before opening the M&Ms and handing them to Janis.

“Oh, thanks…” She picks a few out of the bag while holding the dog down with the other hand, lest he eat something he shouldn’t.

When he looks back in the bag, it’s like no-one took anything. Sure enough, there’s probably only three or four in her hand right now. And they’re one of her favourite things in the world, ever. She’s hidden them under pillows at sleepovers before. Before he can stop, she notices him looking and gives him a shrug.

“I’m just not that hungry,” she explains, taking a sip of the water. “It’s fine.”

It’s fine. There you go. She said it’s fine, so it’s fine.

Despite that reassurance, and against his better judgement, he doesn’t stop taking peeks at her as the movie goes on. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t like this movie. She picks at the food she would normally be fighting him for, eating a pretzel here and there and nothing else, only long, slow drinks of water. The hair on the back of his neck pricks up at it, his instincts once again kicking in.

Maybe instead of instincts, he thinks he might just be paranoid. Janis said that she hadn’t had much of an appetite recently. It’s just a side effect of the medicine. Nothing to be worried about, surely, especially with the way her eyes are wide and her grin is excited and bright, the way she jumps at scares she’s seen ten times over and ‘ooh’s at Freddy coming down the hall. She even calls him a ‘magnificent bastard’. Why should he focus on what she’s eating when she’s still her and is in good spirits? With that in mind, he turns his attention to the movie, properly this time, accompanied by Janis’ rantings and commentary.

When he does lose focus on Freddy Kruger again, it’s nothing to do with Janis or ‘instincts’, but rather nature calling, courtesy of a half-empty lemonade bottle on the floor. He stretches his stiff legs and turns to let her know, probably having to tap her to pull her out of the movie… only to find her curled in on herself, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Her hand rests limply on Maxie and her chest rises and falls slowly. How long has she been like that, he wonders.

“Janis?” he whispers. Nothing. “Janis.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. That’s her for the night.

She looks younger in sleep, especially without make-up. And a lot less tough. It’s easier to see her as the little girl he met crying in a bathroom all those years ago. But she was tough even then, and she’s even stronger now. He rises slowly, careful not to wake her. Maxie is still awake, but antsy at sitting down for too long.

“Come here, kid,” he says quietly to him. He lifts Janis’ hand a little and coaxes him off her, patting his knees until he reluctantly climbs down. He settles beside her instead, sitting beside the couch like a little guard dog. “Good boy.” Next he takes the blanket from the heater and throws it over her, making sure to tuck it over her shoulders. That’s what moves her, and for a second he panics, but she only murmurs something and burrows into it. His heart swells in that moment, and he presses a swift kiss to her head.

“Good night, kid,” he whispers, even if it’s still light outside.

He doesn’t go home after that. He sticks around all night, despite Janis’ mother asking if he wants to go home. Neither one of her parents are surprised she fell asleep, telling him she’s tired a lot in the hospital. Her dad heaves a sigh before telling him that’s how they know it’s working. Damian nods, unsure of what else to say, and heads back to the living room. The idea of leaving her alone in there unsettles him for whatever reason.

He slides Cabaret into the DVD player, the volume at 2 and the subtitles on. At least if Janis does wake up, it’ll be to something she likes. For now he bounces between watching the movie and watching her until he gives up entirely. He changes spreads himself on the couch next to him, the light from his phone the only light on in the room. As he does start to doze off, a mere four hours after Janis, he starts thinking about what her dad said. If this is how they know everything’s working, then he can take it. Because it means she’ll be okay at the end.

#mean girls fanfic #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #damian hubbard #janis sarkisian #cadnis #cadnis ff #mean girls ff #despite that cadnis is barely in this chapter ....#fic: heart of stone #look its a damian pov!

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wexhappyxfew · 4 years

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Can you talk about Catherine/George?? 🥺🥺 Also Catherine/Lizzie/Hazel? only if you want to of course 😊

KRYSTA YES HELLO!! i will SO GLADLY talk about those two, i have many things to say about them :) AND YES OF COURSE!! i adore the viragos with my whole heart 😩 send as many of these as you want, i have so many answers 🥰

this is SO LONG, so i’ll put it under the cut :)

Catherine & George - Friendship

Catherine and George’s friendship/relationship is not entirely touched on by me as the author until really Episode 7, heavily at least. Of course before we see the little moments they share of fun, the humor, but nothing really DEEP, if that makes sense, it’s just a mutual friendship. But after the loss of Bill and Joe, we see Catherine hit that wall and George (in my story) hits it as well.

Both Catherine and George were friends with Bill and Joe, and I hoped to make that fairly prevalent in the story. So after losing them we see the emotional moment between Catherine and George where they become vulnerable with one another, and we finally see two fairly strong, upbeat, happy people really break and they break with each other, which I really wanted to happen.

Because normally, we don’t see Catherine hit a wall and we don’t see George hit a wall. They both are happy and funny people, as Catherine leads and George provides comedic relief. But we really then see it after they break down with one another.

Here is the portion AND SORRY IT IS SO LONG!

George and Catherine sat quietly side by side in the foxhole. No words left their mouths and Catherine was surprised. They were talkative, especially together, but now they were silenced by war and pain.

" You okay Catherine?" George said, softly glancing towards her. Catherine met his eyes. there were tears, fresh tears in his eyes. Her heart fell, and her face scrunched up, as she watched his youthful eyes shine. Her heart broke, as she began to feel her bottom lip trembling, uncontrollably. Catherine's heart raced. She never thought she'd see George cry, George upset emotionally, George with tears that weren't happy tears in his eyes..

" George." she whispered, scooting closer as a tear trailed down his cheek, “ Don't cry, please." George watched her, taking in a shaky breath, as he wiped at his eyes. Catherine watched him, squeeze his eyes shut, and let out a shaky breath. Catherine sucked in a cry. This hurt. This hurt more than so many other things.

" George," she whispered, gently placing a hand on his shoulder as he met her eyes, " look at me, please." George met her eyes. Two tear filled pairs of eyes watched each other. Two hearts broken, yet only repaired slightly. They were still wounded, bearing too much pain, too much heart ache.

" Can I hug you?" George whispered, " Please?" Catherine nodded softly, her lip trembling as George's arms wrapped around her. Catherine was frozen with George's arms around, frozen with the man's arms, who was happiest person she'd ever met, who seemed to have no bad day, who seemed to never let anyone get to him. Who now was trembling in her grasp. Catherine then felt her throat tighten and she squeezed her eyes shut. In that moment, her arms wrapped tightly around George and full, quiet, innocent cries, left her mouth one after the other. Her hand went up into his hair, pushing against his head to hold him there in her arms, as a sob shook her entire being. George tightened his grip on her and the two souls connected, sobbing for one thing, crying, their hearts aching in agony and pain. They held each other when they needed to be held, right now was one of those moments.

We really see them break and I think this is what starts off their relationship together. Because since they have shared a certain vulnerability together that generally no one else has seen, it makes them bonded even closer together because you know they’ll always hold that in their hearts, the moment where two strong people broke in each other’s arms. And that’s where I sort of continued their relationship off of - knowing they can be vulnerable in front of one another, something that is hard for Catherine after having to be so perfect, or at least trying so hard to be her best for everyone without letting people down. She knows George can see her side of her where she can’t be strong and that’s what makes the bond so so strong.

Honestly, Krysta, I could go on about these two with more analyzing of scenes, so feel free to ask about specific scenes if you would like, I’d be happy to answer, but I don’t want to go too long winded :)

Hazel & Catherine & Lizzie - The Viragos

I really should’ve done one big post for these three, but I’ll simply it the best I can, sorry if this runs EVEN LONGER than it already does but their friendship restores my faith in humanity.

For me, I told myself, I was writing three strong female characters in their own ways who would be the best of friends within this company. No matter if they were apart, together, separated by a bunch of land, they would hold a sisterhood, a connection, a best friend relationship that no one else can replace. I went into this KNOWING that to make this a strong book, that the set-in-stone Virago relationship of the three of them was going to be the top most important relationships, besides some of the MAJOR subplot relationships, which you probably already know of!!

Hazel, Catherine and Lizzie, all come into the story, not as rookies, but as women who hold rank, who have gone through specific training, who are all in their own ways unique. And I needed to give them human flaws, flaws that people can relate to.

Hazel is quiet, humble, gentle, and an openly friendly person, who has trust issues.

Catherine is a confident, patient, motherly leader in the company, who does her best she can for the company, but has trouble recognizing that she’s done the best she could.

Lizzie is a soft, caring, funny, i’ll make you feel better, type of person, who has trouble with attachment and taking care of herself to the fullest.

All three have normal human flaws, and I wanted that to be highly prevalent through the story to show they all have positive qualities with also qualities that still make them human. And I wanted people to be able to relate to them. The quieter people for Hazel, the confident, upbeat, leaders for Catherine, the tender, caring and motherly for Lizzie. Just 3 examples even, and there are so so much more!!

I truly have grown to love these women, because for Hazel especially, she looks up to Catherine and Lizzie. My approach with these characters was to not have everyone be looking up to Hazel, the main OC, because in life, that many not always be the case, so I made it Catherine, a secondary OC, who still holds as much power as Hazel, but it the one more looked up too, and I really tried to convey that to show that the man character won’t always be loved or looked up to by all.

Throughout many points in the story, we see their simple interactions, and even when they’re apart and with a completely different character, we know that these three women are simply all connected by those early interactions at Camp Athene when I marked them as becoming a strong core female trio. And they all mesh, no one really over powers the other, or undermines the other, they all are at that level, where they are each different and expressive in each of their own ways, which I feel is super important. Secondary OC’s are just as important as main OC’s and I wanted to really show that with this grouping.

Each woman has their own aspects in the friendship that I love and adore and with the way they just form this group of strong women, strong in their own ways, I feel I truly succeeded in solidifying their powerful relationship together. Because they truly know each other, and without even context of scenes or just simple flashback moments of like “ Back in x, Catherine had previously told Lizzie and Hazel x” things like that, where you know these women are like sisters in the way they act. They know everything about one another, what makes them tick, their thoughts on trust, love and family, being with one another. And I knew that nailing the part of showing their relationship as simply strong woman was MEGA IMPORTANT. So many stories are focused on the male bob character x oc character but with this, I include that, but this female friendship is still the most important and I’ve always hoped it has been that way for people, because Catherine and Lizzie show Hazel that she can be a strong woman in her own ways.

I could truly go on, so please, if there are specific scenes, as away, as many as you want, I’ll be up for a while, so I’m open to answering :) thank you sm krysta these were such good choices!! and i’ll even answer more on them. thank you thank you thank you!! <3

#band of brothers #relationships #frinedships #george & catherine #the viragos - hazel catherine and lizzie #ask me questions about my characters!!#ill answer anything!! :)

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