#this was meant to be part of a series of 3 other tapestries but i never got around to making the other ones so for now it stands as is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wiltedrosewritings · 6 months

Text

INTELLECTUAL CRUSH

ep. 2 | ep. 3 | ep. 4 |

a multi-part series centered around the anonymous exchanges of namjoon and a literature girl. a separate but related installment of the halley universe (see Cupid Operation)

Books Nine Lives Company

Eco-friendly and sustainable trade of old books. Where we repurpose the neglected.

Namjoon pushes his weight into the swinging door and the store sign rattles.

A bell rings overhead - a jaunty, youthful chirp - as he enters the familiar bookstore to be encased in the scent of aged leather, the subtle-sweet vanilla essence of lignin wood-based parchment and the musty scent of carpet that has endured soiled shoes, coffee spills and bladder accidents from the part of the resident senior dog sleeping by the shop window.

He takes a practiced sharp left down a thin hall lined with mahogany-variation shelves, all crammed with books, without a single cubic inch to spare. The walls seem to encroach in on him, the further he disappears into the shop. Hardcovers and paperbacks - some surprisingly intact in condition, others faded, sun-bleached, tearing at the spines - spill from the shelves, pour into unstable, uneven stacks on either side of his legs.

Over the terrain of an old tapestry carpet, his worn logger-lace-up boots part a sliver of shuffling space.

His eyes dart over the labels meant to trim the seams of unrelated sections. During some point in the lifetime of the store, it proved effective. Now there's impractical irony to it. The books spill over their borders, congregate into uncategorized mounds, beg assortment and the inquisitive human graze.

Non-fiction, Poetry, Modern Poetry, Classical Philosophy . . .

"Kant...Kant...Kant," he recites beneath his breath, whilst drawing the tip of his forefinger over the lined spines. The ribbed feel of it in conjunct with the continued drum of his touch reminds him of sliding a hand across piano keys. An unattended grand piano on the courtyard of a local mall, the sound inflating beneath his hands, swirling up and around, diffusing through empty space and through an idle mind.

"Ka-" his finger halts, and shortly after, so do his steps.

He shuffles back to trace down the spine.

Namjoon saunters towards the front desk, skimming the dorsal face of the book cover with a furrowed brow.

There's a golden - well, once-golden, now-rusted coppery bronze - call bell that he would have once rang and been met with silence. He would have questioned ringing it once more at the risk of irritation.

Now, he only sets the book by the register and folds down to greet the senior dog curled into a ball over its dented, worn pillow. Grey, melanin-deprived hairs shade the corners of its snout, and highlight its brows, the tips of his billowing ear-lobes.

"How are you today, Apollo?" he whispers.

The dog lifts its head groggily to sniff Namjoon's outstretched palm. It scrunches and wrinkles its cracked nose and slightly parts the drooping lids of its eyes. Murky white clouds greet Namjoon.

"You make twenty the new twelve."

At the beep of the scan gun, Namjoon starts to rise.

The shop owner, Ruki, has a near-psychic ability to sense the presence of a customer within the maze of shelves. The call bell is for formalities, as is the dainty one hanging off the entrance frame. Uses them as fail-proofs while he disappears into the storage closet towards the rear of the store and pastes barcodes onto the covers of new arrivals.

Namjoon fishes a hand into the internal pocket of his winter coat for his wallet.

Ruki, behind the desk, mirrors the grey, melanin-deprived complexion of the dog, who once had been golden. The old man drums his knuckles on the wood counter and stares out the shop window contemplatively. It looks like it might snow today.

"Stray dogs," he voices, puckering wrinkled lips into a slight frown. "Invincible little creatures, aren't they? At this rate, I fear the damn dog will outlive me."

Namjoon thumbs the lined green bills nestled into his brown wallet.

"2.50's the sum, kid."

Namjoon folds the cash onto the counter and slides it into the man's wrinkled, patchy, outstretched hand.

"Everything alright, Ruki? With you, your family?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He shrugs. "Cancer's back." In a swift and practiced motion, he slips the receipt between the book pages like a bookmark. "I guess I can't be too upset with this fate. I only ever wished to live 'til 85. 84's not bad. Not bad at all." He slides the book face-up toward Namjoon, lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. It doesn't quite reach the point of crinkling the lines strewn around his eyes.

Namjoon grabs the book, taps it on the edge of the counter, as if gathering a deck of cards or a pack of printer paper. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, kid," he slices right through the platitudes, having felt sorry for too long, having learned how much of a waste it is to live in regret and pity. "We all die at some point. It's nature. No use defying it."

"What about treatment? Technology, nowadays, is so advanced. I read a paper discussing the transplantation of a pig heart into a human recipient. Promising developments."

Ruki shakes his head markedly. "Can't go through that all over again. I won't spend whatever time's left - months, maybe a year, if I'm lucky - rotting because of chemo, not being able to tolerate my favorite foods, bleeding from my gums, in hospital rooms surrounded by people in the same death-bound state as me. I wanna be out here, where life is, all types of it. The pretty kind, sweet kind, the ugly, the morose, rude, and real kind. I wanna make memories with my daughter while there's still time."

Namjoon absent-mindedly frays the edges of the book with his thumb, liking the fluttering friction of the thin corners against the pads of his fingers. Tries to think of something better to say but realizes that sometimes silence holds more meaning. Ironically, his words fall short of any value, even amidst a bookstore overflowing with them.

Instead, he voices his unbridled curiosity. "What'll happen to Apollo?" He looks down at his left, at the dog. Very faint golden strikes up its flanks, transitioning into colorless white. "The store, too?"

"Ask myself that daily." He lifts his brows and lets them fall just as quickly, as if he's at a loss for a response himself. "I've been trying to persuade my daughter to assume my position. I even offered her the compromise of opening the shop only two days a week, so that she'll have the rest of the time to dedicate to her studies - wants to be a doctor, my little girl. I have no doubt she will be. Unfortunately, I likely won't be there to see it, to see her pledge her Hippocratic oath, get her white coat."

Namjoon sits at the bus stop, string earbuds in his ears, the book held splayed by the sturdy hold of his right hand over his crossed lap.

He draws the flame of his lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips before slapping the case over the amber, extinguishing it swiftly.

Ashes descend onto his denim lap.

When the snow starts to glide through the sky, the grey nicotine ashes blend with the pale blanket by his feet. It is clean and fresh, yet untarnished by scruffy boots or bicycle tracks.

He'd read once, a statistic accusing nicotine as the leading cause of lung cancer. Quickly and half-mindedly brushed it off, like burdensome lint on a freshly-washed sweater. Plucked the doubts from his mind one by one before they could poison the rest of his thoughts.

It wasn't because he found it hard to believe. He was certain of its validity, the statistics were convincing, as was the logic, rather he didn't care. Cared more for taunting death a little, daring the universe to kill him the way he predicts. It's a little morbid but something deep inside him knows that life is rarely predictable or tamable.

He could do one action, and the opposite would unfold. It's not hypothetical. He'd tried to refute his hypothesis with trials; the amount of times it was supported soon became too burdensome to track.

Life isn't straight-forward. Good people get sick, die; the evil persist. The talented go unrecognized in the shadows, ghost writers; the connected thrive. It's all pointless to try and make since of any of it. It's all absurd, as Albert Camus would put it.

He tosses the butt of the cigarette to the ground as the bus pulls up, comes to a screeching halt before him, and squanders the faint amber with the sole of his boot pressed into the snow.

It fizzles a little through the worn-thin sole.

The bus shudders to a halt, and Namjoon shakes the slumber from his head, unfolds his lap, stuffs the book into his back pocket while he starts up, swaying clumsily, sleep-drugged. It was a routine practiced enough that he didn't need to count the stops, or read the street signs to know when to hop-off. There's some internal clock in his subconscious that starts ticking away at the minutes as soon as he climbs the steps up the bus before Nine Books.

The gates unfold and slide across the frame of the bus. It drives away with a long draw of its engine, and a squirt of inky smoke from its exhaust.

Replacing its sight, a vintage-style diner comes into view across the street.

Namjoon crosses the striped pedestrian markings towards it.

At the door, he tugs on the sign, hung around a snagged nail, twists it from displaying a scribbled "Closed. Come Again!" to a "Welcome!"

He strolls in, heavy boots echoing dully across the vacancy. Dispersing muddied snow on impact.

On the trajectory towards his quaint square office space towards the rear of the facility, he can't resist the nagging urge to flip the chairs resting on tabletops. He's got a chronic case of twitchy hands, likely a result of the incessant nicotine crave. Makes his mind race, his legs unsteady, unstill.

At first, he means only to flip one, and scratch the mental itch.

It persists.

After the second chair he starts circumferencing the table, figure eights in swift motion towards another table.

The chatter of the legs on tile is enough to fill the buzzing vacancy of his mind. Enough for his hands to clasp onto and anchor themselves.

But just as quickly, his focus starts to blur. Eyes skit over the distant counter in search of the next thing to occupy his time. His mind.

He's been down this road before. Has made it until noon stil in his winter coat, robust keychain clanking rhythmically against his belt clip. Goes hours without eating anything of substance. The gnawing of an empty stomach numbs before he circles back around to the first intention of the day: visiting his office.

"Office first," he reminds himself today. Inhales deep into his diaphragm and holds it lest it escape his dominion, like the rest of his thoughts and intentions.

He slips the jagged teeth of a golden key into the lock and twists the rusted knob. The door lets out a long groan as it swivels on tired hinges.

Nearing the disheveled surface of a wooden desk pressed against a wall, he plops down his latest read over an assortment of folded papers, receipts, stacked notebooks of moleskin and annotated promotional pamphlets. Try as he might to assign each item its designated square space, it never remains organized long enough. The universe tends towards entropy, he'd justify, it's just the law of nature.

Upon shrugging out of his winter coat, he drapes it over the backrest of his office chair.

His eyes habitually trail over a circular frame standing on the desk's edge. The textured frame accentuates a black-and-white image of his grandpa and grandma caught in a side-embrace, hands clasped over one another's at grandpa's breast.

Gingerly, his tremoring hands collect the frame. He draws his pointer finger over the smooth glass preserving the image, the single moment solidified in time.

He shakes his head clear of some dense sensation and places it back on its designated place, indicated by a square frame of gathered dust.

Shutting the creaking office door behind him, he fishes the carton of cigarettes from his back jean pocket. Plucks a single cylinder from its place and plants it between the groove where his ear adjoins his scalp.

He meanders into the vacant kitchen. Starts a pot of coffee. Nostrils flare as the acidic aroma starts to permeate the empty lot.

The brew drips and bubbles as he strolls to the dormant jukebox on the far end of the establishment. He bends down to plug its chord and starts up. Digs a spare coin out from his front pocket and slips it into the slit on the machine.

In response, it illuminates to life, flickers neon in a hypnotizing pattern.

Pressing a neon green button, he flips through the title slips. He's not registering any of them, though. Just lets his eyes become oversensitive by the mechanized motion of the slips. Defaults to inputting "1-2-4" on the selection panel.

Inside the glass, a wheel of two-hundred discs spins in search of the selection. It slows until it halts and a robotic arm upends a record disc from the rest, lays it out over a turntable.

In a synchronized choreography, as the record is laid over the turntable, a needle descends over its grooves and holds steady pressure.

The machine emanates a crackle that falls into a single voice: [The Song]

Namjoon shuts his eyes in that moment. Allows the familiar tune to send him back in time. An easier time, a more innocent one. Where his only worries consisted of finishing school assignments and coming home by the parent-designated curfew.

His grandparents would dance circles in the diner, hands clasped together, heads leaned to this very song. The customers would cheer, eyes sparkly. They'd submit petitions for the next songs by holding up a shimmery silver coin.

Namjoon would collect them, have them whisper the desired track into his ear. He'd skip back towards the illuminated machine and recite the corresponding track numbers until the current song would come to a cadence.

He sighs. Thinks, I should visit them while they are still there to visit.

It's not something he looks forward to, however. To come to terms with how much time has changed them. To accept that those fond moments are never coming back.

Circling around the kitchen, he procures a metal bowl from the cabinets. Tugs open a drawer and clasps a whisk, its metal cool to the touch.

Opening the fridge door, and bathed in its sterile light, he grabs a couple of eggs, skims the container counting the ones that remain. Provisions should arrive today.

While there, he grabs the tub of butter. Flings the door close with his boot and swivels to pour the ingredients over the counter space, next to the shimmering bowl.

He turns and leans over his head, grabs the flour and sugar from a high shelve. A bit of flour escapes a tiny hole on its bag and dusts his cheek.

Instinctually, he crinkles his eyes, coughs. Shakes his head.

As the batter inflates under the warm luminance of the oven, he grabs a broom propped against the wall inside a storage closet.

His boots clunk rhythmically over the tile floor when he makes his way towards the entrance. Props the door open with its embedded door stump. Starts to part a walkway through the compacted snow. Can't have customers slipping.

It's a cold day in January. The merciless kind of cold that can't be nullified by the festive spirit of the holidays. There's mutable wind changing directions immediately as it blows into him. Delivering the caress of winter and just as quickly withdrawing it.

The muscles of his back and shoulders tense in anticipation for the next gush of frigid wind. The hairs on his exposed forearms prickle.

He starts to envy the batter heating in the kitchen.

He thinks of burning the cigarette nestled over his ear. Imagines how the smoke would warm him up from the inside out. As though a steaming chimney lived inside him.

When he balances the cigarette between his chapped lips, he becomes aware of an approaching figure, strolling up the walkway. She's bundled in a coat, hunched in on her small figure. Raven black hair blowing in the wind.

Namjoon nods in her acknowledgement as he digs around his pocket for his lighter. It's clumsy and desperate and hurried, so the lighter slips his grasp on multiple occasions.

The incomer doesn't slow or detour.

"Morning, boss" the girl quips. Plucks the white cylinder from his lips.

He grimaces at the sensation that a part of his dry lips had been torn along with it. Cups his mouth to verify it isn't true.

"First time I actually get here before you light it."

"You owe me a pack."

"Yeah, well, you owe me the two years of extended lifetime I've gathered you."

"I don't think that's the actual math."

"I've saved you time. Can we just leave it at that."

Namjoon resumes brooming. Still cold. Still tense and prickled. Nicotine deprived.

She shrugs her shoulders out of the billowing coat to reveal at least three more layers of clothing beneath. Long sleeves tugged over her wrists to keep her fingers from tingling.

Norah's armored herself with a black apron, her name affixed to the collar with a pin. She pops out of the doorframe long enough to hand Namjoon a mug of steaming coffee, no sweetener, light milk, but not long enough to allow the wind to ripple a shiver through her.

Namjoon gratefully accepts. Holds the broom handle beneath his arm to allow himself to cup the mug with both hands and derive warmth from that. "Where's your partner in crime? Sleeping late, again?" He mumbles against the ceramic rim, steam billowing up his nostrils.

"En route," she responds over her shoulder. She rounds into the kitchen. Grabs the glass coffee pot and pours herself a black.

Namjoon chortles, accidentally inhaling a gulp of the hot drink. Dissolves into a coughing fit before he's finally composed enough to verbalize "From where? Mars?"

"Actually..." she sets down her drink on the counter. Loses her gaze out the front windows, ravaging her mind for recollection. "No. I think he mentioned it was from Saturn." She angles her head pensively. "Got caught in the current of those spinning rings or something like that."

Namjoon translates, "He's stuck in rush-hour traffic."

[thought of henry's place in addy larue while writing this so thank v.e. schawb for the imagery inspiration]

3 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 3 years

Text

Burning Hour (Part 3)

This series has completely taken over my life and I am so happy you are all enjoying it so much - thank you for all of the lovely messages and comments - I treasure them deeply.

So - you shouldn't be surprised that this particular moment on the red carpet absolutely inspired a scene in this story and I regret nothing. Hope you all enjoy this fantasy that's keeping me going lol.

Din Djarin x F!Reader (Virgin reader)

Pairing: Din x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) Angst, pining, slow-burn, implied arranged marriage, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age) Yearning, jealousy, fingering/touching / slight dirty talk (slightly possessive)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist Part 4

—

You floated through the morning.

Your dreams were full of kisses, of declarations of love and beskar glinting under the sun and it was hard to concentrate on anything.

You smiled to yourself as you broke your fast with warm bread and butter, feeling his eyes on you from his place behind your father.

“Your highness-” Your father’s advisor came through the door holding the usual paperwork, things for him to look over, letters to read. “-A letter has come for the Princess.” He turned to you then with a smile. He was an old man, grandfatherly and sweet. He handed it to you and you noticed from the corner of your eye Din’s helmet turn towards you.

It was a small letter and you noticed how beautiful the script was as you opened it.

Dearest Princess,

I would be honoured if you were to join me here at my home for dinner. My messenger awaits your response and if you agree, I will send my personal household guard to accompany you. I also imagine your knight will be in attendance, I welcome him and whoever else you choose to bring at my table. Ruby as well of course.

Hoping you’ll say yes.

Ever yours,

Poe. D.

“It’s from Poe, he asks that I join him this evening for dinner.” You were frowning at the letter, conflicted because you wanted to stay home, wanted to meet Din in the garden again. A tiny part of you however, the tiniest part wanted to say yes - wanted to see how Poe would behave. Part of you wanted him to do something unforgivable to wipe the smiles off your parents faces.

“Oh but you must go!” Your father’s voice boomed through the room and you imagined that you could almost hear Din’s jaw clenching.

“Yes my darling, you must go. What does the letter say?” Your mother held her hand out and you handed it to her. She smiled as she read it. “Din, you must accompany her.” She was smiling big, excited at the prospect of a match having been made. No one bothered to ask if you wanted to go.

“Yes of course, let his messenger know that the Princess will be in attendance. She will go, Din- I leave her safety in your hands. Take you who must.” It had been decided for you, and you had to accept it. You felt Mila’s hand grasp yours under the table in understanding.

“Which gown would you like to wear your highness?” She asked sadly as you put on your undergarments and you sighed.

Whichever one makes everyone leave me alone.

“Whichever you think would look best sweetling, I have no preference.” You said the words and they were honest. Yes - Poe was charming and sweet, handsome and in another life you would have been faint with excitement at his interest in you but you were in love with Din. He was the one you wanted to share a meal with. He was the one you wanted to kiss in the open - to have holding your hand as you sat together in front of the hearth. He was the one you wanted in your bed.

“How about this one?” She held out a lovely powder blue gown. You would have said no, something more plain but you had to be seen to be making an effort.

“Yes, that will do nicely.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. She didn’t comment on it.

“I will tie a blue ribbon around Ruby’s neck to match, and I think you have some sapphires as well.” She brought over a tray of jewelry for you to peruse while she laced up your gown.

Your mind drifted to an interesting place. You imagined you were preparing for dinner with Din and imagined your knight picking out jewels for you to wear.

Would he prefer diamonds? Would he like me better in opals or emeralds?

You had a feeling he wouldn’t mind either way, but it was lovely to pretend even for a moment. She placed a dark blue cloak about your shoulders and stood back.

“You look beautiful Princess, the blue looks lovely against your skin.” She held up a silvered looking glass and you saw the reflection of a happy woman, although why she was happy - no one could know.

“Thank you sweetling, let's get this night over with shall we?” You smiled at her as you both made your way outside.

---

Din, along with five of his best knights, waited for her to set out for Damerons home. Damerons own household guard waited as well, having been sent to accompany her and he surveyed them. They seemed competent enough, he gave them their space nonetheless.

It was getting more and more difficult to put the future out of his mind - he knew that the Princess would marry at some point, it was her duty as Queen. She might even marry Poe - he knew that objectively they were a good match but his mind simply couldn’t stay objective. Not when it came to her.

This whole thing was moving faster than he hoped and he didn’t know what he could do about it.

You have to face facts Djarin, you’ll never marry her. You are a knight, she is a Princess, there is no place for you. Maybe you should just let her go.

It was in him to do so, to ignore his feelings for her; to find Gisela and ask her to marry him - have a couple of little ones and pray for things to work out. The harsh words to get her to hate him on the tip of his tongue but they evaporated like dew on a sunny day when he saw her come out to meet him.

She was a gem- a bright, glittering thing that he wanted so desperately to hold onto.

“I am ready Sir, shall we?” She smiled shyly and he nodded.

“Of course Princess, allow me.” He guided her into the wheelhouse, dreading and cherishing every single second.

The ride was uneventful, the road was quiet thankfully with nothing to see but long swathes of trees and greenery in the gloaming of the evening.

Ruby was napping softly in your lap but woke quickly when you arrived, her little tail wagging happily at the prospect of exploring.

“Yes my little darling - we are here.” She was in Mila’s arms when you pet her, the two of you waiting for the wheelhouse to come to a stop.

Din opened the door for you, he was helping you climb down when you heard Poe’s voice sounding out.

“Princess, I am so pleased you agreed to come-” He was striding over, his squire on his heels. “-I am happy to see you all. Please - be welcome.” He was smiling big at everyone as his guards retreated, no doubt returning to their posts. He crouched quickly to pet Ruby before approaching you.

“Hello Poe, I thank you for your invitation.” You smiled as you took in your surroundings. His home was a beautiful sprawling estate. He must have been wealthier than you thought. “You must give me a tour of the grounds - I would love to see the gardens.” You smiled at him as he offered you his arm.

“Of course Princess, I will show you whatever you wish after our meal - unless you’d like to go now?” He paused for a moment.

“After dinner would be just fine.” You answered as he guided all of you inside.

You weren’t sure what to expect about his home when the letter had come in earlier but it was a pleasant surprise. There were fresh cut flowers everywhere, painstakingly detailed tapestries hung up on the walls as you made your way to the large dining room. Lush carpets and plush chairs, truly a man who enjoyed his comforts.

“You have a lovely home Poe.” You smiled as he led you to your seat.

“I thank you Princess -“ He turned to Din and the other Mandalorians waiting by the table. “-Please, sit with us. I meant what I said, you are all welcome at my table.” He gestured to them to sit.

“I do not wish to intrude, we would be happy to eat with the rest of your household guard.” Din replied, his voice was clipped however.

“Nonsense. I insist, I dare say the Princess would be more comfortable if you were to join us.” He said it with an easy smile and Din hesitated slightly before agreeing. They all sat, lining their helmets up before them.

Din barely spoke.

He had never been one for long speeches - you were unsure whether it was because of the helmet, or just his nature. The other Mandalorians were friendlier and Poe took it all in stride. You could see that he took nothing personal and treated them just as he treated you.

Aside from Din’s cool demeanor and Poe’s etiquette, the dinner went well. The food was wonderful and you didn’t fail to notice some of your favourites on the menu.

“I took the liberty of finding out what you like to eat.” He said it quietly, not wanting to draw attention and you favoured him with a smile. It was hard not to like him, he was very thoughtful.

Once the meal was done, he fulfilled his promise and escorted you outside. It was much more open than the gardens back home - everything illuminated by torches and lanterns. There were flowers and neatly pruned shrubbery surrounding the large building. You noticed a stable on one side, as well a modest greenhouse on the other.

“It’s nothing compared to what you’re used to but I enjoy it. The kennels are just behind the stables and there are flowers and different fruit trees just to the right there - that’s where they get the most sun. I’m afraid the night doesn’t do it justice, it’s much lovelier during the day.” He was walking you through the grounds, your arm tucked under his as your party followed.

“It’s lovely, truly.” You were sincere and you couldn’t help but look up, the sky awash in stars. “I would imagine you must spend a lot of time out here.” You let him guide the way.

“Not as often as I'd like to, but I try. Perhaps when we marry I’ll make more of an effort.” He said it with a wink and you scoffed loudly but without malice.

“Oh is that so? Well then I suppose I’ll have to change some things around since in your mind I’ll live here hm?” Your tone was playful but sarcastic and you were acutely aware of Din following the two of you.

“Oh yes Princess, I am quite sure. My home is yours and you may do with it what you will. I live only to make you happy.” He was just as playful and as annoyed as you were that he was so confident in your union, it was also aggravatingly refreshing to be able to speak to someone so honestly - better yet for them to respond in kind.

You ignored it, Poe was charming, that’s all.

Much to your annoyance, the night was enjoyable. Poe was an excellent host and it was later than you had originally planned when you set off for home. The woods were pitch black in some spots, it made you anxious to ride in the wheelhouse while the world outside seemed like it didn’t exist. The soft light of the moon doing nothing to pierce through the darkness of the road at times.

Reaching the palace had been a relief and you said as much when you stepped out.

“You should have told me Princess, I would have ridden in it with you - if it would have helped.” He spoke as he guided you inside. You had wanted to, but the temptation of having him so close would have been too much - and as much as Mila knew about your feelings towards him - you didn’t want her to see you kissing him.

You patted his arm in silent thanks and he said nothing else.

When you reached your room you hesitated at the door, wanting him to pull you away somewhere but he didn’t - instead he waited until Mila got in. He took his helmet off and you smiled at the state of his hair. Your fingers itched to ruffle through it.

“Princess, if it’s not too late, I would ask you to join me for a midnight ride.” He waited for your answer and your smile widened.

“Of course! Would you permit me to change quickly?” You didn’t want to ride in such a stuffy gown - as beautiful as it was.

“I will wait however long it takes.” He motioned for you to go and you did - urging Mila to help you once you reached your bedchamber.

“The soft linen dress I think - with the long shift and the heavy cloak. I want to be comfortable and warm.” You changed as fast as humanly possible - all but ripping the jewelry off and within a few minutes you were rushing out the door. The two of you making your way towards the stables as silently as possible.

You watched him work deftly, his skilled hands saddling his horse with ease. One horse, not two.

“Are we to ride together?” You looked at him confused.

“Is this a problem for you Princess? I thought it might be quicker to get us to safety should something happen if we were on the same horse. I could saddle you your own if you prefer - we just wouldn’t travel too far.” He hesitated momentarily and your heart leapt at the thought that he would be holding you so closely.

“I trust your judgment Sir, one horse it is.” You kept your voice neutral and he nodded, finishing his work quickly. Once he was done - he helped you up and pulled himself up behind you. The cool beskar pressed up against your back as his arms reached around you to grab the reins.

Your dress pooled up around your thighs slightly, but your legs were covered by your big cloak but it was exciting nonetheless. You felt exposed, with his proximity it excited you way more than it should have. It felt forbidden, taboo and thrilling to have it feel like he was holding you. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into his body slightly but he didn’t complain.

The ride through the forest was quiet except for the sound of the night birds, the crickets and the creatures that prowled at this time. The sound of the horses' steps, the sound of its breathing mixing with yours as well as Din’s. He rode through trees, through the little paths only he seemed to know and after a while you were beside a lake. The soft sound of the water kissing the shore added to the nightsong and you were happy that he had brought you here. He had been silent the whole ride, but you felt him take his helmet off behind you and secure it somehow to the saddle.

“You should know that you looked exceptionally lovely today Princess, blue is your colour.” His breath tickled your neck and you shivered. You turned slightly to look back but you couldn’t fully face him, the angle awkward but he kissed you just under your ear to let you know it was okay.

“I thank you Sir, I hoped you would like it.” You leaned back into his arms to tuck your head under his chin.

“You wore that for me? I thought you wore it for Dameron.” His hands came up to hold onto your arms as he pressed little kisses to your neck.

“I always dress for you.” You left it at that, hoping he would understand that despite everything- he was the one you wanted.

“Can I confess something?” His hand came up to slowly undo the cloak tied at your throat.

“Yes, anything.” You answered almost breathlessly, watching his hands open up the cloak to expose your shoulders, the skin of your thighs poking out where the dress had bunched up even more.

“You might think me wicked but, I thought about what it would be like to kiss you.” His hand trailed down as he spoke, rubbing at your thighs over your dress and you watched them in the low light of the moon, mesmerized.

“You’ve kissed me before Sir, you could kiss me now.” You turned a little more but he stopped you.

“I wasn’t thinking about kissing your mouth lovely girl, I was thinking about kissing you somewhere else.” His hands slowly gathered the fabric of your dress, bunching it in his fist - lifting it inch by inch to bare your legs to him. “May I show you where I want to kiss you?” He stopped but you clung onto his arms around you.

“Yes - please show me.” You felt is other hand join the fray and soon he had exposed your lower half to the cool night air. Your undergarments were damp you knew it - the arousal pooling low in your belly at the thought that he might touch you where you most wanted him to. He didn’t disappoint.

His hand trailed up your inner thigh lightly, slowly, up until he skillfully slid it into your undergarments. He groaned deep in his chest when he touched your bare sex.

“Right here. I long to kiss you, taste you here.” His touch was feather light on the lips of your womanhood, slipping along the seam of you. You whimpered, no one had ever touched you here and you felt the slick dripping out of you as you let him explore. “Would you let me Princess? Would you let me bury my tongue right here?” He dipped his fingers low, parting you slightly to dip his fingers just at the entrance - collecting your arousal onto his fingers before slipping them out and bringing them to his mouth behind you. You moaned at the sound of him sucking you off of them and you nodded frantically.

“Yes Din, I would let you - I’m yours.” You moaned the words and his other hand held you in place.

“And I am yours.” He responded before bringing his hand back to where you craved it, this time he spread the lips of your cunt open wide, honing his middle finger on the pearl of your sex. He rubbed tight, slow circles around it and you moaned - trying desperately to open your legs wider. He chuckled darkly behind you.

“Does that feel good Princess?” He turned your face with his other hand, twisting his upper body enough to capture your mouth in a messy kiss, not quite aligned but it sent a shiver of arousal through you and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher- his finger relentless as he sped up a little.

“Yes - Gods yes - it feels so good Din, I thought about you too.” You moaned the words into his mouth. “I think about you touching me like this, when I do it to myself.” He groaned at your confession, his tongue thick in your mouth when he kissed you again.

His finger dipped low to collect more wetness and the glide of it was just right, just slippery enough to send you over the edge and you almost screamed. Your body seizing up with pleasure as your sex clenched around nothing. He cooed into your ear as you rode it out.

“You are intoxicating my lovely one.” He kissed your neck, as he lowered your skirts.

You watched him, blissed out and boneless as he licked his fingers before grabbing the reins again and slowly making his way back to the palace.

Mila was snoring softly when you slipped into the room and you were careful not to wake her and as tired as you were from travel it took you a long time to fall asleep. Your heart full of love for Din and a hunger you couldn’t satiate filled your belly. It was a craving for his body, for his kisses, for physical love a woman shared with her husband. You fell asleep hoping - though secretly knowing- that he craved you the same way.

—-

As happy as you were when you awoke the next morning, it was quickly dampened - your father informed you that Poe was to arrive at the Palace as his honoured guest. That he was to stay for a time as a gesture of good will.

You saw right through it.

Your parents had decided that Poe was the suitor they wanted for you and they weren’t being at all subtle.

They informed you with big smiles on their faces, no doubt in hopes of pushing you towards him. It was exhausting - this constant reminder that you would never be truly free to live the life you wanted with Din.

When Poe arrived, he was happy - taking this as a sign that he was winning you over.

“Greetings Princess, I cannot tell you how happy I am to be able to spend more time with you.” He was all smiles and you had no choice but to smile back.

“It will be interesting for sure.” With the way you felt about Din, the intense desire to be around him was at the forefront of your mind. As well as the way Din behaved around Poe, it would definitely be interesting to say the least.

—

Your father invited Poe to dine at your private table, and he engaged him in conversation almost the whole night. They spoke of the future, of how Poe would help rule if he were indeed to marry you. Your mother smiled silently, happy to let the conversation center around the two of you.

Din stood still behind your fathers chair and you wanted nothing more than to pull him to sit with you. To talk to him, kiss him and feed him from your own plate.

“I would want to help people to be quite honest, extend a hand to those that aren’t as fortunate as us. There are people out there starving and that doesn’t sit right with me.” He was honest, to a fault like he said but you admired that.

“That’s very noble of you my boy.” The king nodded.

“It’s very honourable isn’t it my darling?” Your mother smiled at you and you smiled back, nodding around a bite of your food.

“I’m sure the Princess and I could do much and more to help the people who need it the most, if she would let me that is.” He had a shy, genuine smile for you, tentatively reaching over and taking your hand in his. You couldn’t very well snatch it back but you felt Din’s eyes burning into the interaction.

This could get messy.

“Princess, I would humbly ask that you accompany me for a walk through the grounds - chaperoned by your knight of course.” He asked as the remnants of the meal were taken away.

“Oh I’m sure she’d love to join you wouldn’t you sweetling?” Your mother cooed, and you smiled and nodded.

“Yes of course.” You let him guide you, Din following closely behind.

—

“I hope I’m not intruding - I know that the King and Queen are very keen for this to work between us.” He held your hand as you walked arm in arm and you couldn’t help but sigh softly.

“Yes they are aren’t they.” Your tone came out a little more exasperated than you’d hoped but he was well aware that you were not to be swayed by him so easily, you knew he should expect some hesitancy from you.

“I understand that you aren’t impressed and that I am most likely not your first choice. For all I know you might already have your eye on someone else.” He laughed and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder at Din. “Regardless of that Princess, I know this must be difficult for you but I beg of you to give me a chance to show you that there is potential here. I believe that in time you might come to love me.” He pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed your fingers.

“You are selling yourself quite hard Poe, I appreciate that you understand that my feelings for you aren’t where you want them to be.” You looked up at him apologetically, expecting him to have a sad look on his face but he surprised you; he was smiling - content to listen to you speak.

“I know, it’s not in you right now but I believe you will see me in a different light. I have faith.” He left the conversation there.

——

It was hard to find time to meet with Din, Poe seemed to be everywhere and his determination seemingly had no bounds.

Your mother found you as you dressed for the day - she had a note from Poe. He was asking you to accompany him into town to hand out some supplies. You couldn’t refuse him, not when your mother had delivered it herself.

“Will Din accompany us?” You asked it offhand, your voice neutral - your face a mask of nonchalance.

“No your father is going on a hunt and Din will be protecting him, there will be other guards with you.” She said it with a shake of her hand as she searched your wardrobe for an appropriate dress. “This will do nicely.” She picked out an off the shoulder, deep berry coloured dress that was not at all practical for a day out in the city.

It would have to do.

He had taken you to an orphanage in the heart of the city. There were kids running around of all ages and the older ones ran towards Poe when you entered - recognizing him. He had a big smile on his face as they hugged him around the middle, all decorum forgotten.

“Poe did you bring us anything?” A boy of about twelve years was eager, looking around you to the entourage of guards waiting behind you.

“Of course, brought all of you some good stuff like I always do.” He ruffled the boys hair before he held his hand out to you, you smiled and stepped forward. “I have someone very special here with me today, this is the Princess. Come on over and say hello.” He called them over to you and you saw some of the little girls eyes light up. They flocked to you, asking you if you were indeed the Princess. Asked you if you had a crown, and most importantly why you were there. They were precious.

“She’s here to help just like I am.” Poe answered for you.

A little girl of about six pulled on your dress and you lowered yourself slightly to be at her level.

“Princess, I like your dress, you’re so pretty.” She was smiling at you, her hair was a tangle but her eyes were bright.

“Thank you sweetling, you are much prettier I must say.” You moved the hair out of her eyes and she smiled wide, her little hand clutching at a makeshift cloth doll.

You helped Poe hand out toys and new clothes and there was food for them to eat. You spent the day playing with them and learning about their lives. The women who ran the orphanage knew him and you saw that all of the talk of helping the less fortunate was real, he had already been doing much more than you had ever even imagined.

It was hard to deny the little spark of something that he held within you.

He was handsome, he was kind and smart- funny and generous and with the way his eyes found yours throughout the day; he felt something for you. His eyes were piercing, dark and mysterious and for the first time, he gave you butterflies.

One of the little ones was showing you his space within the building, his bed and his tiny toy horse. He was waxing poetic about how one day he would be a knight. You were smiling at him when Poe stood next to you, his gaze heavy and it sent a flush crawling up your neck to light up your ears.

The fabric at his neck was crumpled and you couldn’t help but reach up to fix it, your arm extended over to him and his gaze focused on it, reached up to hold it to his neck. He placed a delicate kiss to your bicep and pulled you closer. The act was small, but so intimate it did something to you. Melted a tiny piece of you that up until now was frozen to him and he saw it on your face. Felt it in the way you let him hold you close, your arm still around his neck, his hand moving down to hold onto your waist.

The little boy was in front of you now, asking Poe if he would ever give him a real horse and he laughed, not unkindly.

“One day my boy, one day I will give you a horse - only if you promise to behave and be on your best behaviour. Can you do that?” The little boy nodded sagely promising he would. You didn’t pull your arm away, and you couldn’t pinpoint why.

—-

Tag list: @frannyzooey @foli-vora @danniburgh @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @gaiuswrites @stevie75 @sweet-creature98 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @bellaorisa @hellovanessax @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @librariantothejedi @studythoreauly @missswriter @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @giizhkens-cedar @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @anaaaispunk @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @gothicxbarbie @tkolemba @localddreamer @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @ajeff855 @recklessworry @soltassbruxa @heyitmelexie @liviiii98 @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix

#din djarin x you #din djarin au #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #royalty au #knight!din

519 notes · View notes

drawlfoy · 3 years

Text

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy.

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two.

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him.

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers.

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door.

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time.

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled.

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her.

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks.

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth.

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile.

Task 1? Technically done.

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable.

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation.

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her.

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N.

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone.

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys.

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was.

“What is it?”

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back.

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs.

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??”

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her.

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on.

“Y/L/N?”

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match.

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms.

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made.

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her.

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled.

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.”

“Why?”

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.”

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin.

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest.

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood.

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own.

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him.

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost.

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!”

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink.

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia.

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed.

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked.

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face.

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before?

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me.

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes.

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.”

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.”

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour.

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.”

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.”

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck.

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him.

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica.

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?”

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what.

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned.

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper.

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove.

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.”

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown.

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait.

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill.

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower.

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?”

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress.

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim.

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings.

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot.

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe.

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking.

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

320 notes · View notes

dearestgojo · 3 years

Text

Summary: Even the people that are most in love can fall out of it. But what do you do when one of is still holding on to what once was and isn’t willing to let go while the other lies to themselves about their own feelings. And what lies have led to the downfall of what you once thought was perfect.

Iwaizumi x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+. Drug use.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Series Masterlist.

Word Count: 6,937

The sounds of kids laughing can be heard from all around you as you walk through the festival. Your friends a few steps in front of you, school uniforms untucked and wrinkled, laughing. The sun is starting to set, and the air is getting colder, but you all have a couple of tickets left and refuse to leave without using them.

You walk a couple of steps behind the rest of your friends, looking around for something to spend your last ticket on. There isn’t much that only requires one ticket, you could play a prize game and get one chance at winning a prize, but your arms were already full with two big stuffed animals from a ring toss game you won at. Then you see it, next to the funnel cake stand, a small table with a crystal ball in the middle of a round table. Red cloth spilling onto the floor, matching the red tapestry hung up behind it. As you walk closer you notice a short girl with dark curls underneath a thick blue hairband. Her make-up is down heavily, especially her eyeliner that darkly outlines her eyes.

“Would you like a reading?” You hear her ask.

You stand right in front of the desk, wondering how you got her. When did your feet carry you over? Looking behind you, you notice that your group of friends started to follow. “Ooh y/n are you getting your future predicted?”

“I don’t know.” You say, clenching onto the ticket in your hand, “How many tickets?”

“Depends on how many cards. One ticket for one card. Two for two cards, and so on.” The girl answers, taking her seat behind the table, pulling out a deck of cars from under the cloth.

“I have one ticket left.” You watch as she extends her arm, palm up, towards you. She has long purple nails that are perfectly shaped. With a shaky hand you put the small red piece of paper in her hand, and take a seat in the chair opposite of her.

All of your friends' eyes, along with your own, watch as she shuffles the deck. The sound of the cards sounded louder than they should in the crowd area. You hold your breath as she pulls the card from the top of the deck and sets it in front of you, face down. Your eyes go up to meet hers, gray eyes trying to read your emotions written on your face. “My decks are honest, so pay attention.”

Holding your breath as she flips the card over, you bend over the table trying to read the upside down letter. “The Lovers reversed. I can sense that you’ll meet someone, a year or a few years down,” you look up to look at her, finding her with her eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed as she tells you your fortune. “ You need to be careful of who you give your heart to, and remember that first loves aren’t always meant to last or be great. There will be secrets and lies which will bring you pain” She opens her eyes, she looks distant for a second, the look on her face clouded.

“Um, thank you?” You awkwardly say getting up from the chair.

“Heed my words, he is not your happiness, you were happy before him, and you will know happiness after him.” It’s the last thing you hear from her as your friends drag you away.

“What type of reading was that? I'm sure your first love will be great, y/n something you’ll tell your grandchildren about.” You laugh along with them, looking over your shoulder, only to find the women and crystal ball gone. The wind blows sending a chill up your spine. Her words slowly fade from your mind as time passes.

You can hear the noise of the boys playing video games in the living room, their laughter sending jolts of annoyance through you. It’s been a month since Hajime returned to Japan, and it seemed that his friends were always around. Setting the empty cup of tea you’d been drinking out of, you make your way into the living room ready to head up the stairs when Toru calls out your name, “Y’n, wanna join us for a quick game?”

Turning back to them you put on your best fake smile that you can and answer, “You just want to play against me cause you’re losing.”

“Not true!”

“You’re one of the worst players I know and a sore loser,” Iwa adds, not looking away from the screen as he presses buttons on the controller or even sparing you a look.

“You so are, dude,” Makki elbows him, head thrown back laughing.

“See, and the only other person worse than you is me, so nah I’m good.” You walk back up stairs, hoping that they’d notice your unusual behavior and leave. That’s not what happens though

because you can still hear their laughter through your closed door. The book in your hands is not serving its purpose as you sit at the head of your bed, the noise coming from downstairs fueling your anger.

A whole month and Hajime hadn’t spent any alone time with you. A whole month that you’d had to spend alone by yourself. A whole month of you coming home from work to find that Hajime had already called them after getting home from job hunting. A whole month that he had not found the time to dedicate a single second to you despite claiming that he had missed you the entire year you were apart. A whole month of Hajime acting distant and secretive. A whole month of being able to seethe in your anger and let it build up until it spilled over.

It’s almost midnight when Hajime finds his way into your shared bed, breath reeking of alcohol. You feel the warmth of his arms wrap around you as he climbs into bed. Pretending to be asleep you try to scoot to the edge of the bed, but he’s always been stronger than you. Hajime presses kisses along the back of your neck.

“Hey, are you awake?” He drunkenly whispers. He stills for a moment waiting for a response. You do your best to pretend to be asleep as he presses kisses on your shoulders, but the anger boiling inside of you threatens to boil over if you don’t leave the room. You sit up causing him to fall back into the pillows, and you swing your legs off the ledge of the bed and head towards the door.

“I can’t do this right now,” you breathe out looking for your shoes.

“Hey what’s wrong? Where are you going?” Hajime asks, sounding worried.

You scoff turning to look at him, “You’re really going to ask what’s wrong? You want to know what’s wrong, cause I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You’ve been back for a month, and you haven’t spent a single minute with just me,” you rub your temple as you try to keep your voice from rising.

“That’s a lie, I’ve spent time with you,” Hajime counters.

“When?” You pause for a second, giving him a chance to answer, “Exactly, your friends are always around.It’s not that I don’t like them being around because I love those three idiots, but I want to spend time with just you! Lately it seems like that’s the last thing you want.” You can feel the tear running down your face.

“Well if you didn’t want them here, you should’ve just said that.”

“When? By the time I get off work there already here, and by the time you get to bed I’m usually asleep. We don’t talk either because you're always too busy entertaining them to even spare me some of your precious time! So when Haji, when I am supposed to tell you I want to spend time with you?”

The room fills with silence as Hajime and you look at each other, your breathing starting to even out. There’s still tears sliding down your face as you cry from anger and frustration. You can still see that Hajime is intoxicated by how slightly unfocused his eyes are. You swallow the lump in your throat before speaking, “I’m going to sleep in the other room. You're too drunk right now to have this conversation with.” You walk out the room, closing the door behind you, sliding down it and letting more of your anger out as you cry against it.

Hajime lets out a groan when he opens his eyes the sound of an alarm going off waking him up. He reaches over and turns it off, turning over to his back hands searching for your warmth, only to find your side empty. He sits up, flashes of last night crossing his eyes. He can’t really recall what you said, his head pounding from a slight hangover.

He climbs out of bed and heads towards the bathroom, the silence of the apartment surprising him. You’re usually up by now, preparing breakfast, he looks at the door in front of him. It’s closed, and no signs of life seem to emit from it. Hajime lets out a sigh before heading to the bathroom.

He opens the cabinet mirror looking for pain relief pills, taking them before heading towards the kitchen to start making breakfast for you. Hopefully that will help you be a little less angry with him. He opens the fridge pulling out the eggs, bacon, and butter.

Hajime hears the opening and closing of the spare room echo throughout the quiet apartment. He can hear the sound of your footsteps against the wooden floorboards as we head towards the restroom, door closing behind you. If he’s quiet enough he can hear the shower and sink water running as you brush your teeth before coming down the stairs. He looks towards the kitchen door, and sees you in just one of his shirts with your hair still wrapped in a towel.

“Morning. I made breakfast if you're hungry.” He grabs you a cup and pours coffee into it and adds milk along with two spoonfuls of sugar, just how you like it. His walks towards you place the cup in your hands, fingers brushing along your skin.

“Thanks.” When you look up at him Hajime feels he’s heartache. Your eyes are swollen from crying. Your voice is hoarse and dry.

He wants to bring it up last night, but when he looks at this watch he notices that he'll have to leave soon. “I have to go soon, but can we talk about last night later.”

You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, “I thought you had today off.”

“I do, but I promised the guys I’d meet them and play some volleyball.” Hajime watches as you release a sigh, pushing past him to the sink where you dump out the coffee he made.

“This is what I was talking about last night. You don’t have time for me, and when you have time you go and spend it with your friends. I haven’t spent time with you in a month, Haji.”

“Don’t exaggerate. We spent plenty of time together. We had dinner a couple of days ago.”

“Yeah, dinner that I had to make for four, because Hiro and Issei were here when I got off work.” You remind him.

“Okay, what about the week before that we had a planned date to go to the park.”

“You cancelled because you got a call from Toru asking you to help move his washer.” You stand in front of him with your arms crossed. Waiting for him to give you another example.

He looks one more time at his watch, “Look can we talk about this later, I really have to go.” He watches as you let out a frustrated nod, turning on his heels and walking out the door. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest, but he can’t let you find out about what he's really doing. He can’t lose you. He can’t risk losing you like that time. He just can’t.

He didn’t know why he drank so much the night before. It might have been that Toru was with him and had kept handing beer after beer as they moved along the house party. Hajime wasn’t one to drink, especially when he had class the next day, but that was all thrown out the window when Toru had begged him to talk him to one of the college parties that he’d heard was getting thrown last night. He regretted now as his head banged and ears rang.

Looking around the room he spots the reason behind the killer hangover he has right now, sprawled out on the floor, drool pouring from his mouth. Hajime fights the urge to murder him. He didn’t even get to talk to you on the phone last night. He looks at his clock and sees that it’s eleven am, definitely too early to call you. He climbs out of bed avoiding the heap of limbs that’s at the bottom of his bed and heads towards the restroom. He has a class to get ready for in two hours.

He takes two pain killers, and a quick shower, letting the cold water wake him up. When he walks out of the bathroom he finds Oikawa spread out on his bed, head buried in the pillows soft groans muffled. “I have to get to class, think you can stay alive while I’m gone?” Hajime gets a muffled response as he gathers his things, “Okay I’ll see you later I guess.”

On his way to class Hajime stops to get some coffee and a bagel to help with his hangover. He tries to recall what happened the night before, most of it being a blur. He remembers arriving at the party, Toru passing him a drink as they walked around, girls swarming around them. He remembers a girl clinging to his arm as he got drunk, but his brain turns black after recalling how a drunk dude jumped from the roof of the house and into the pool.

He can’t concentrate during calls, something in the back of his mind nagging at him to be remembered. When he gets out of class it’s almost three in the afternoon for him, a good time to call you as you're probably already awake getting ready for school. He dials your number as he walks back towards his apartment. He’s call goes to voicemail after a single ring.

Hajime is still looking at his phone in confusion when a call from Toru,”What’s up dude?”

“Have you talked to y/n today?” He sounds worried.

“No, why?”

“Dude I fucked up. I fucked up bad.”

“What did you do?”

“I think you should just hurry and come back.” Oikawa hangs up the phone before Hajime can say anything else.

He tries calling you again, only for this time to be sent directly to voicemail. He shoves his phone into his pocket hurrying towards his apartment.

When he opens the door to his bedroom, Oikawa is sitting on the edge of the bed, head between his hands. Toru’s head snaps up when the room door closes, “First off you can’t hit me or kick me out.” Oikawa stands from the bed, hands outstretched in front of him, as Iwaizumi drops his book bag to the ground.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“I might’ve sent y/n a picture of you kissing another girl last night while I was drunk.” Oikawa lifts up a pillow to protect his face from whatever Hajime might do.

“You did what?” Hajime runs his fingers through his hair, angry and worried, filling his very being. This couldn’t be happening. No wonder you weren’t picking up the phone. “Your phone. Let me see your phone.”

Hajime opens Toru’s messages and clicks on your name at the top of the list. Sure enough, there’s a picture of him and girls with blond hair kissing. His eyebrows are scrunched, his hands are on her shoulders, and lips pressed against her own.

Hajime lets out a frustrated sigh as he tries to remember. A group of girls followed Oikawa and him around the party, some of them clinging on to Toru, but there had been one who kept holding on to his shoulder. She had kept fluttering her eyebrows at him and running her fingers along his arm. He looks at the picture once more trying to remember.

He'd been sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand, feeling like the world was spinning. She’d been sitting beside him, talking about something. She leaned in to kiss him and he stood up and tried walking away from her, and dropped his beer in the progress. The girl had gotten to and grabbed onto his elbow, and had pulled him in and forcibly kissed him. That's why his eyebrows were furrowed in disgust and he was trying to push her off himself. But you wouldn’t know any of that, you only saw your boyfriend kissing someone else.

Closing the app, Hajime calls you from Toru’s phone. It rings a couple of times before you pick up, “Hello, Toru.’

Taking a deep breath to try and even out his pounding heart, Hajime talks into the phone, “ It’s me, please don’t hang up. It’s not what it looks like, y/n.” He can hear you starting to cry from the other end, making his own tears start to fall down his face. “Please listen to me, I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me. I promise.”

Your cries get louder from the other end of the phone, “ I don’t care if it was an accident or not, Hajime, the fact is that you kissed another girl.”

“It didn’t mean anything. Please, y/n, please just listen to me.” Hajime sobs into the speaker.

“I don’t think I can do this, I don’t think I can be with you anymore, it’s too much worrying about whether or not you're being faithful,” your sobs echo in the small room that Hajime sits in.

“No, no, no, please listen to me, I can’t live without you. I need you. I love you.”

“I can’t Haji. I just can’t anymore.”

Hajime can feel his heartache as he listens to your cries, “Y/n please don’t. Don’t do this, I need you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “I love you.”

Your cries get louder, “I love you too, bu-”

“Then give me one more chance to prove to you. Please. Just one more, I won’t fuck it up this time.”

He can hear your cries turn into sniffles as you think about his proposal. It feels like the world slows down for a bit as he listens to your breathing start to even out, his own tears slowing down. “I’ll think about it.” He feels relieved when he hears you.

“Okay, take as much time as you need.” He closes his eyes. At least you weren’t leaving him immediately, he still had a chance to fix this.

“Bye Haji.” He hears the line go dead after that, and though his chest is still heavy he feels light knowing that this isn’t the last time he hears your voice.

You’re moving around the kitchen grabbing the pot of tea you’d heated up earlier, setting it in the middle of the table in between you and Kagami. “So he just walked out not listening to a word you said?” You nod your head, taking the seat across from your oldest friend, “That’s so unlike Iwa though,”

“I know. Something changed, I just don’t know what.”

The kitchen goes quiet as the two of you sip on your cups, Kagami thinking her words over, “Have you gone through his phone.” You look at her like she’s grown an extra head, “Hey he's cheated before, why wouldn’t he do it again.”

“He didn’t cheat on purpose that time. The girl forced herself on him.”

“You don’t know if that’s true. Even if Oikawa says that what Iwaizumi tells you is the truth, he could be covering for him. You weren’t there.” Kagami, “Look I just don’t want him to make you cry like that time. You wouldn’t leave your room and you cried for days.”

She was right. You couldn't completely believe what Toru or Hajime told you, Toru would cover for Hajime as long as it meant not getting his ass beat. But would Hajime really lie like that to you? “ I don’t think he would do that, again. Not after all the trouble he went through to win me back,” You take a sip of your tea letting her words ring in your ears.

“At least ask him. If he’s not guilty of hiding anything you’ll be able to tell if he hesitates.” She advises you.

You think her words over, you don’t want to doubt Hajime, but the way he’s been spending very little time with you raises questions and suspension. “I don’t know. What if he really is just hanging out with his friends. They’ve been here almost everyday.”

“It’s totally up to you, but remember once a cheater always a cheater.” Kagami picks her cup up and drinks her tea.

You're still lost in thought when the front door opens and closes, heavy footsteps sounding throughout the first floor. Hajime comes into view, a black bag in his hand. “I’m home.” He sees you first and then Kagami who stands up to put her cup in the sink, “Hi babe, Hi Kagami.” Hajime walks towards you and presses a kiss on your forehead while Kagami’s back is towards you, “I bought dinner.”

“Okay go ahead and sit on the counter, and go ahead and shower.” You stand up from your chair picking up the remaining dishes.

“Okay. Um...It was nice seeing you Kagami.”

“Nice seeing you again, Iwaizumi.” Her tone is dry and hostile. After finding out that he had kissed a girl while in California. Kagami formed a great dislike for him and even after he made up with you, she still refused to give him a chance.

You start to lead her out, give her a look that tells her not to start anything. Out of the corner of your eye you see Hajime throw his phone on the couch before heading up the stairs towards the bathroom. “I’ll see you next Saturday so we can go out with Ayumi.”

“Okay.” She looks behind you before leaning in and whispering, “ Don’t forget what I told you. It won’t hurt to check.” Kagami presses a kiss to your cheek before walking out towards the road.

You close the door behind you heading back towards the kitchen, Hajime’s phone catching your eye. Stopping in your tracks you look at it, sitting perfectly in the center of the seat, screen facing up. Your mouth goes dry as you debate whether to go through it or not.

Shaking the thought out of your head and continuing on your way to the kitchen. You can hear the shower head get turned on as you turn the water on the sink on to wash the dishes you used for tea. Scrubbing the dishes, the temptation of taking Kagami’s advice sneaks back into your head. You set the last cup into the rack, drying your hands on the dish towel, before walking back into the living room. Stopping at the foot of the stairs to listen to the water still running up stairs.

Slowly making your way toward the couch, you pick up the phone. You stare at it for a bit, and then it lights up receiving a text message. Grace. ‘I had fun seeing you today.’

You can feel your heart clench in pain. So he had lied to you. Tears sting the corners of your eyes, as you swipe across the screen to find it’s unlocked. You go through his messages first. You don’t open the text that Grace sent but scroll down to the group text he has with Oikawa, Mattsun, and Hiro. You don’t see anything suspicious about covering for him, but Hajime wasn’t stupid he could’ve deleted the messages. You close the chat and open his messages with this Grace person. Most of the messages are short, like ‘hey let's hang’ or ‘had fun today,’ nothing of substance to prove that he might be cheating on you with her.

You open his instagram likes next, seeing most of his liked pictures are of her. You click on her profile to get a closer look at what she looks like. She is quite pretty, with long light brown curls, and full lips. Doe like green eyes, with long eyelashes. She’s clearly a foreigner. You remember how Hajime had told you that the women from America scared him, so why would he be cheating on you with one for a second time.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the water turn off, or the steps that come down the stairs until it’s too late. “Hey, have you seen my aftershave?” You scramble to your feet when Hajime enters the room, phone stumbling out of your hands. The two of you freeze in your spots and stay that way for what feels like an eternity. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, despite the fact that you’ve been caught red handed.

“No. You were going through my phone weren’t you?” Hajime looms over you. Eyes set into cold glares. He snatches the phone from the ground, opening it and finding the open message. “Really, y/n. What has gotten into that you feel the need to go through my things! This was her idea wasn’t it? She never liked me and now she’s turning my own girlfriend against me.”

You feel your anger start to bubble to life again, “Kagami has nothing to do with this, I tried to talk to you this morning, but you left and I was left with questions. And you have no right to be angry right now cause you were the one who lied about where you would be!”

“I told you we would talk about it when I got back. That doesn’t give you the right to look through my phone! I didn’t lie! I was hanging out with Oikawa and them but Grace messaged me that she needed help!”

“And I’m supposed to somehow believe that! It wouldn’t be the first time you cheat on me!” Your chest is heaving and tears are starting to fall down your cheeks.

Hajime is shaken when you bring up his past mistake, “I made up for that, and explained everything that happened. There’s no reason for you to bring that up right now.” He's standing directly in front of you now and you can clearly see the hurt in his eyes.

“And how do I know you weren’t lying then? How can I know that what you told me weren’t simply lies to keep me tied to you? I gave so much to you. Part of being young waiting for you to come back, because I loved you. Only for you to come back, not make time for us, and to lie to me on top of that. So how can you reassure me that what I’m thinking isn’t true when you're acting suspicious,” You sniffle.

“I can’t believe this.” Hajime runs his hands down his face, fighting back his own tears, “Even after everything I did to prove and make up for that, you still doubt me.” He walks towards the door shaking his head.

You follow him, “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere you're not. Somewhere I don’t have to deal with your paranoia.”

You stop three steps behind him as he grabs his keys, “You can’t call me paranoid when I have reasons to believe you're being unfaithful, especially when you’ve done it before. You’re lying to me and spending less time with me, and you want me to somehow act like everything is okay when it clearly isn’t.” You wipe your tears, watching him reach for the door knob, “If you walk out that door without giving me a good reason as to why I should believe you're not cheating, I don’t know if I’ll let you back in.” Your voice cracks at the end.

You watch his back as he stops from opening the door, hesitating on opening it, “Do and believe whatever you want.” Hajime slams the door on his way out. When the door closes you drop to your knees as the pain in your chest becomes unbearable from the lack of air, your hands clenching the material of your shirt as you cry on the floor. You're unsure of where to go from here. Unsure if you should take Hajime leaving as a sign that your suspicions were right.

The house is silent, only your soft cries can be heard as you curl up on the floor, and fall asleep there. You don’t have a restful sleep as your heart aches all throughout the night at the gaping hole you were left with when the door shut.

The room is filled with smoke coming from the blunts that Issei had rolled as soon as Hajime walked in through the door to his shared apartment with Hiro. They were now all sprawled out on the floor, eyes unfocused and red. Hiro kept coming and going from sleep, giggling every few minutes about nothing. Issei was sitting on the couch taking slow brags of his blunt, staring at the t.v. that was playing some weird old cartoon. Hajime was on the floor with his back pressed against the couch, legs stretched out in front. He was starting to feel the weed kick in.

His bloodshot eyes becoming more unfocused. Leaning back further into the couch he let out a laugh, remembering your fight. “Guys she thinks I’m cheating on her,” he throws his back in laughter.

“That’s so crazy dude. Hey, does anyone else see the unicorn in the corner?” Hiro questions, eyes closed into slits as he tries to focus them.

“No. Does water actually taste like something or is it just flavorless?” Issei wonders.

Fits of laughter can extend throughout the room. Hajime’s not sure how much time has passed, but he somehow moved from the floor to the bean bag chair. He lays back, his eyes starting to droop, and his mind wondering where he wants to be right now. “Guys she gives the best hugs. I miss her.” He hears incoherent responses coming from the floor and couch. “I haven’t seen her since this morning and I miss her.” Hajime starts to cry a little. “She has the prettiest hair and softest skin. She said she was going to get me a job at the gym she works at.” Hajime tries to stand, failing completely and falling back down into the soft chair, “I really miss her.” He mumbles before passing out.

With their minds clouded, Hiro and Issei don’t think that Hajime is grumbling about you and the fight he had with you earlier that caused him to come to their place and get high off his ass. When the effects of the drugs start to wear off a bit they make their way to their rooms leaving Hajime alone in the living room, talking in his sleep. Issei throws a blanket over his friend, catching a name slip from Hajime’s lips that isn’t yours. He pays it very little mind blaming it on the weed they smoked and that he was probably dreaming about some celebrity crush. Hajime would never cheat on you, Issei reassures himself as he lays face down on his bed. Not again.

In his dreams Hajime sees you in a field of daffodils, in a white dress he starts to move towards you, when a hand grabs his wrist. He turns back to see a blurred face with curls around it, he feels his heart start to beat rapidly in his chest. He recognizes her, how could he not the curly hair that invades his very being, the one person who’s the cause for him being away from you.

He says her name, her face clearing up a bit as her hands come up to cup his face, smiling sweetly at him. “I love you, Haji. Please stay with me.”

Hajime feels conflicted, “I-I can’t.” He turns to look at you only to find you with your back turned towards him and walking away. He tries to move from his spot only to find that he can’t move his feet. Panic starts to run through his body as he watches you get further and further away.

Hajime wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest, cold sweat running down his back. His breathing is uneven and his hair is sticking to his face. “You okay there, bud?” Hiro asks, walking from the kitchen, a plate in his hand.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” Hajime puts a hand over his chest as he tries to recover his breathing, wiping the sweat off his head with his other arm. The smell of eggs hits his nose suddenly and his stomach releases a loud grumble.

“Someone’s hungry,” Hiro laughs, taking a big bite of his food. His mouth is still stuffed with food when he asks, “Are you going back to y/n’s today or what?”

Hajime sits up on the bean bag chair he had fallen asleep on, pain shooting up his back. He puts his elbows on his knees and rubs his face, “I don’t know. She probably won’t let me in.”

“What did you even fight about?” Issei asks coming in from the kitchen two plates filled with eggs in his arms and two cups of coffee in his hands, handing one of each to Iwaizumi.

Taking a drink from the coffee, Hajime considers how much he should tell them and how much he needs to keep to himself. He needed to be careful. “Just about how much I’ve been hanging around you guys the last month.” He takes another bite of his food, “Apparently I’m not spending enough time with her.”

“We only come by like twice a week, what’s she talking about?” Hiro scoffs, some food falling out of his mouth. They didn’t know that he’d been lying about being with them ever since he came back. “Didn’t you spend last weekend with her? I remember you telling us that you were going to that park for a date.”

Hajime can feel himself choking on his food, he didn’t think they’d remember that. “Yeah. Don’t bring up to her though, she had a horrible time,” He lies. Hajime gets up, and sets his empty plate in the kitchen sink before walking towards the door, “Well I better go and see if I still have a place to stay.”

“Dude it’s not even worth this big fight you’re having. I’ll talk to her and tell her we’ll come by even less.” Hiro offers

Hajime can feel his heart speed up in panic,” I’d rather you didn’t. We’ll figure it out on our own.” He slips into his jacket, opening the door, the cool air of the morning coming from the door.

“Whatever you say dude.” He hears Hiro say as the door closes.

You're laying on the couch with a blanket thrown over your shoulders. Eyes swollen from crying the majority of the night, your body screaming for sleep. When Hajime left you started to think back as to why you had stayed after the first time he cheated. What made you stay? Had it really been the effort he had put in to win you back? Or had you been so desperately in love with him that you let him back in? You weren’t sure, but what you were sure of was that if he was cheating on you for a second time, you wouldn’t take him back.

What you needed right now was to understand why he was being distant, why he wasn’t spending as much time with you. And in order for that you need to speak with him, so that maybe you could stop being the bad guy in his story.

You wish that things could go back to the way they were before Hajime left for California. That you still had the same trust in him as back then. If you hadn’t built a fantasy around how things would return to the way they were before maybe you wouldn’t be fighting. You had created this fantasy that once Hajime returned he’d simply be with you all the time, but the reality was that the two of you had built two separate lives while apart. While you might crave his closeness and physical prenses, Hajime probably didn’t, he’d gotten used to being on his own.

Were you ready to end things? Had things come to an end after five years? You didn’t think that you were capable enough to end things, you had a future planned out around Hajime. You wanted a future with him, one where you were his wife and mother of his kids. So would you be able to end things with him? Was it worth ending things just because you were a bit unhappy at the moment? And you would only be unhappy for a moment while things finished settling, right?

You turn over to your side, hand over your forehead, head hurting from the lack of sleep. Letting your eyes finally close you let sleep start to slowly engulf you, but the sound of the front door opening has you snapping your eyes open and sitting up straight. Looking over the back of the couch you wait for him to appear. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. Would you fight again or would you actually settle things this time.

Hajime walks in shoulders slumped, eyes red, and clothes reeking of weed. He spots your head sticking up from the couch, if you weren’t fighting he’d tease you about how cute you look, but all he can do is stop at the corner of the corridor and look at you. You’re the first to speak out, “H-hey.”

“Hey.” Hajime looks at you as you stare back at him. The tenison in the room is thick and suffocating. You're not sure what you should be doing, it’d been three years since your last big fight.

Breaking eye contact you look towards the kitchen, “Have you eaten yet?” You ask, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation that needs to happen. Too scared that you might end up losing him. Having to realize that you wasted five years.

“Yeah, I ate at Issei and Hiro’s.” That would explain why he smells like weed.

“Okay.” You let out a puff of air, unsure of where to start. How to even begin to fix this. Was it even worth saving?

Hajime is the next one to break the silence, “About last night, I should’ve listened, but you also need to realize that going through my phone wasn’t right either. You do know that right?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tears stinging your eyes, “I- I know. I know that. That it was wrong, but you need to realize that you wouldn’t tell me anything, and that you’ve been weird since you got back. Of course I was going to be suspicious.” You stand up, turning your back to him, fighting to keep the tears in.

“That’s not a valid excuse though.” You can hear Hajime’s voice closer to you now.

You let out a frustrated sigh, “What did you want me to do? Ask you about it? Hajime please, you're barely around the house, and when you are we’re not alone. You always have to be someplace.” You turn around to look at him. He has a heavy set frown on his face. Softening your tone you reach out to cup it, his scowl immediately relaxing, “I just want to know what is going on, so that I don’t get this crazy idea. I want to be a part of your life like I was before even through the distance. Because even though your standing here, in front of me, it feels like your miles and miles away from me still.”

Hajime wraps his arms around you, chin resting on your head, and slowly pulls you into his chest. You can hear his heart beating steadily, his warmth providing you comfort and familiarity. This is what being home feels like. This is what you’ve been wanting from him. The closeness that consumes your very being. You bring your own arms around his torso, burying your head in his chest. His chest rumbles when he speaks, “I’ll do better. I know I’ve been...distant, but I promise it’s not what you think.” Hajime pulls back slightly, hand coming down to grab onto your chin and make you look up at him. There’s a tenderness in his eyes, his voice comes out dripping of honey, “I’m only yours. And you're mine. There’s no one else. I love you with every part of my soul.”

And you can’t help but believe every word that comes out of his lips. When his lips meet yours, everything he says just makes sense. You and him being together just makes sense.

90 notes · View notes

thefirstknife · 3 years

Note

Help, I ran Garden of Salvation with some clan mates and i'm Experiencing Great Sadness about the Kentarch 3 again.

I haven't been following you since shadowkeep, and was wondering if you had some theories about what happened, because a lot is left unexplained, specifically about Lisbon-13's motivations. The story from Yardarm-4's perspective shows that something is influencing them before they accept power (stasis teaser?) from the darkness. Do you think they really had a choice? Do you think he was influenced in his decision to kill them? If so, why? As a test just for him? Presumably he's still out there somewhere, and I can't tell from the lorebooks whether Rekkana let him kill her first or not. I just feel so bad for them, they all loved each other. Yardarm probably took the power in the first place to help get them out safely. Do you think it'll ever get concluded? The whole lore series seems interestingly close to what happens with Shayura, just sort of in reverse.

Kentarch 3 fireteam and the whole story on the Garden of Salvation armour and the associated weapons and equipment is amazing and very interesting, I agree. I haven't talked about it before but it's a good thing to revisit every so often! I think there's still a lot we don't really understand, mostly due to not fully understanding the power of the Black Garden.

In short for the general audience, Kentarch 3 was a fireteam that consisted of Yardarm-4 (Titan), Rekkana (Warlock) and Lisbon-13 (Hunter). They went to explore the Black Garden at the behest of the Warlock order called the Cryptochrons which Rekkana was a part of. This order got exiled some time after Osiris for dabbling in prophecies. Cryptochrons were formed around a Oneiromantic Circle and led by a Sibyl (or multiple sibyls; or Sibyl was just a name of one member, it's unclear). Oneiromancy is the practice of interpreting dreams to predict the future and sibyls were ancient Greek female prophets and oracles.

I didn't think this would get long but it did so the rest under the cut:

The Cryptochron order continued operating after its exile and Rekkana received a prophecy from them that revolved around a fireteam learning about the Black Garden and retrieving from it a Vex relic of some sort. The relic is the exotic weapon Divinity and the lore tab on it details the prophecy they were chasing:

"And after any other Cryptochrons they learn of. But your path is more dangerous than most. The Circle has foreseen many fireteams following in your footsteps. You can find the knowledge the order seeks at the Tree."

"Can? Not will?" For the first time, Rekkana sounded concerned.

"The Circle has had limited success in piercing the veil that surrounds the Black Garden, so the order offers no certainties. They say that a group of Guardians will discover secrets about the origin of the Black Garden at the Tree. The Oneiromantic Circle foresees no reason why it will not be the Kentarch 3."

"Nor can I. But…?"

"There is another thread in the tapestry, entwined with this one. The Vex, or some fractal faction of them, worship or honor a… divinity there."

"The Black Heart? It was destroyed."

"Yes, but this is something different. An object. Something like a sacred relic. It is important to the Vex for reasons that we have not yet fathomed. The Circle has determined that it is dangerous—"

"A Vex weapon?"

"Perhaps," the Sybil sounded annoyed at the interruption. "Rekkana, the Circle concluded that it is a danger to you."

"To me? But then, why send me on this mission?"

"When the Circle dreamed of the object, you were beside it."

They agreed that, should they find this object, Lisbon should be the one to carry it. They did find it and he was indeed the one to carry it, as is shown later in another lore tab detailed below.

We know that Lisbon-13 killed the rest of his fireteam because they got corrupted by the Black Garden, something happened to their Ghosts (they all just dropped down and started losing their Light) and then turned on him. He was being hunted and he really had no choice. But he couldn't live with it. In Beyond Light, he's shown trying to kill his Ghost in order to stay permanently dead because he couldn't bear the burden of what he did to his fireteam, even though his actions were justified and he acted in self-defence.

But before he managed to do that, he was faced with his own doppleganger, just like the YW at the end of Shadowkeep. In the end, Lisbon didn't kill his Ghost because the doppleganger offered him power and Lisbon (presumably) chose to take it: his wish was simply to make himself forget about his fireteam (and Rekkana specifically, whom he loved). It's implied that he accepted and after that, we have no formal information what happened.

The outcome of what happened to Kentarch 3 is somewhat known, as detailed in this ship lore. The Vanguard knows Lisbon killed the other two, they're not sure when they lost their Ghosts and they have not found anyone's body, not even Lisbon's. But we know from the lore that came out after that Lisbon accepted the deal with his doppleganger and we have no idea what that entailed. Is he still in the Black Garden? Was he killed? Replaced? Just memory-wiped and sent back? Something else entirely? We'll explore at the end.

I'm pretty sure the voices they heard talking to them were also their own dopplegangers. And it's somewhat implied that they made some sort of a bargain and accepted "new powers" that came "from the wrong side." There's only one description of it:

Her fist glimmered and quaked with an unfamiliar power. She only had to release her grip, and that energy would rip through him, burning without fire.

That's Rekkana attacking Lisbon. It's never fully explained what it is, but it could very well be some sort of prototype Stasis in my opinion. Or some other Darkness power. Not sure why the Black Garden would give them this, which is why I think they simply harnessed the power of their dopplegangers. This is something that's been mentioned a few times in regards to Darkness: duplication. Same is present with the Taken as well (Taken psions duplicate). I mentioned the duplication theme being discussed in Clovis' journal before too.

Honestly, I can't make any definitive conclusion, but Kentarch 3 definitely found something horrifying in the Black Garden and fell to its influence. They also reference doing the puzzles to get Divinity, which they got and Lisbon used it to kill the other two.

Garden of Salvation raid ends with a Pyramid scale opening up and leading us down into the area with the Darkness statue. I think this could've easily been some sort of a lead into the future of Destiny and the powers of Darkness. Kentarch 3 may have accidentally received this power early on or were perhaps some sort of a test the Darkness did on Guardians before offering them Stasis for real.

It's an interesting story and yep, it does mirror Shayura's fireteam and how the story is told! Each member of the fireteam tells the same story from their own POV on armour for that class. I'll link all of them in order, roughly how I think it's best to read each POV:

Rekkana: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Yardarm-4: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Lisbon-13: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

I like how the armour follows the same name pattern: Righteousness, Exaltation, Transcendence, Ascendancy and Temptation.

Associated Garden of Salvation weapons also have some tidbits of lore that might help, namely:

Ancient Gospel Hand Cannon:

"These forces have existed forever, but only one of them speaks to us." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Sacred Provenance Pulse Rifle:

"These gifts were not made for us, but we were meant to have them." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Zealot's Reward Fusion Rifle:

"Why not use these gifts we've been given?" —Yardarm-4, Titan of the Kentarch 3

I would really like to learn more about them, and specifically Lisbon because he might be able to actually tell us what happened. He or his Ghost, Piri, who managed to survive last we've seen her. I think the Ghost might be able to give the most accurate version of events. It's interesting that Lisbon was very much against whatever power they received and that was the reason he abandoned his fireteam, which made the other two consider him a traitor to their friendship.

Very intriguing lore story that could possibly be mentioned again in some form. Also as a brighter note, yes, Yardarm literally flew into the Black Garden with an entire ship and crash landed inside. On a less brighter note, we've never seen the remains of a ship in there (to be fair, Black Garden is huge) and it's somewhat implied that they entered through the Vex Gate on Mars which puts the timeline of when they got there into question. The Vex Gate on Mars that led into the Black Garden was destroyed in the Red War. The new gate showed up on the Moon in Shadowkeep (and you can't fly a ship into it because it's in a cave).

An additional note which answers certain things when it comes to Lisbon's fate that I hinted at before: in order to acquire the quest for Divinity, you have to go to the Moon to the Vex Gate for the first time. The gate will open up and a Vex mind will come out. This giant Vex minotaur is called Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. Upon killing this minotaur, you receive "Divine Fragmentation" quest. Details of the quest here. You pick up a Vex core that has strange readings coming from it and you have to decipher it by running it through various Vex technology. Once fully completed, you have to go into Garden of Salvation, do the Divinity puzzles and the weapon will drop from the extra chest at the end.

Why am I mentioning this? Well. Zeteon, Redemptive Mind drops a core that contains information about how to get Divinity. Lisbon was the member of the fireteam that held Divinity and used it to kill his fireteam. There's a quote from Lisbon on the weapon called Accrued Redemption:

"I should never have let it come to this. Now each arrow is a penance." —Lisbon-13, Hunter of the Kentarch 3

Divinity's perks are called Judgement and Penance.

Basically, I believe that whatever deal Lisbon accepted that made him forget his fireteam, free him from the suffering and redeem him ended with him being converted into Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. It's the reason why this Vex in particular had the pieces needed to construct Divinity again. Lisbon was the last person who had it. Becoming the bearer of parts needed for Divinity was both his Judgement and his Penance.

Final note because I love ancient languages being used for the names of things in Destiny: "Zeteon" most likely comes from Greek "zeteo" which means:

to seek, search after, look for

to inquire into, examine, consider

to strive for, desire, wish

Probably tied to Lisbon's search and desire for redemption for what he's done. I think that wraps up his fate quite nicely, although tragically.

#destiny 2 #kentarch 3 #lisbon-13 #rekkana #yardarm-4 #garden of salvation raid #black garden #darkness #vex #ask #long post #anon if you've been wondering what's taking so long for your question to be answered or if i've received the question #this essay is the reason shfksjfhskjfhks

54 notes · View notes

lady-plantagenet · 3 years

Note

What are your top ten novels about the Wars of the Roses? And why?

I think it’s obvious by the length how enthusiastic I was to answer this ask xx thank you for asking me and giving me also an opportunity to make a masterlist of some sorts of all my reviews xx. But you know? I speak like quite the expert but in reality I’ve read very little histfic about TWOTR because I just newly got back into this hobby (about a year ago) and have little time in general so tbh the last three books on this list I do not personally care for but since I’ve read so little novels of this kind they are here nonetheless hhh (so please people, give me no angry asks asking me why I am endorsing PG, I’m not).

1. The Last of the Barons by Lord Edward Lytton-Bulwer

This is quite possibly the best book I’ve ever read in my life. The gap between these books and the rest is a chasm the size of the world and I wpuld genuinely reccomend this book as an actual piece of literature to anyone, not just TWOTR fanatics. It is written in 1840, in quite old timey lingo and it centres around Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick, but in the true tradition of a real classic it is more than just a character drama, it astutely showcases the purpose of Warwick and what he did in the context of his wider world and doesn’t just chalk it up to personal greed. There is also this fascinating subplot about courtship, science and such. Hell, you even get this eccentric ‘natural philosopher’ guy called Adam Warner who tries to make something like a steam engine and gets employed as an alchemist by Jacquetta and Edward IV.

From a historical standpoint it is quite biased as the author himself was a politician (and an actual baron) and tbh I don’t completely agree with his interpretation of history and I can see some of the Victorian inluences slip in, but some of his takes are very refreshing and he clearly consulted the primary sources. I am much interested in his philosophy and life outlook though and while I don’t think his Warwick is the Warwick, I think he (Lytton-Bulwer) understood him like no other novelist could. As for the writing style... here’s an excerpt of a good reads review that I agree with and tells you all you need to know:

“Of course, such a style of writing no longer exists. The language used is essentially foreign to us. But the nobility, the pride of this story work their ways into your bones, your heart. You will yearn for honor once you have left it.“

Basically, go type it into google and see what I mean. You don’t even need to purchase this book it’s all online at the first click on Gutenberg.

Nevertheless, I’ve posted excerpts of it here, here and here =)

2. The King’s Grey Mare by Rosemary Hawley Jarman

This book (unlike the latter) has zero actual historical value. Actually, it sort of does in the way that it hilights certain real events that most people are unaware of when it comes to its protagonist: Elizabeth Woodville, eg the whole Cooke tapestry affair and the whole Desmond affair. Both things which I still stand on the fence about (if you don’t know what I’m talking about send em another ask or pm me). But like, it isn’t political, philosophical or such in any way like the first book, yet you still feel like you are *there* in the 15th century - by the time I finished reading it my heart was wrung dry and I kind of fell into a down for a couple of days because I just wanted to feel the magic again. If anyone would ask me I would give this 5 stars because it perfectly achieved what it set out to do (I can’t expect all books to go above and beyond like #1), it made me feel for the characters who were super complex, was accurate historically and even when it wasn’t it made sense, it got very creative with its themes (which I like to see because I am not interested in reading the exact same story over and over again) and the prose was absolutely magical and brought all the depth to this novel. I’ve read classics with less flowing and poignant prose, yes actual classics!

This book also switches POVs quite a lot (basically it headhops because it’s written in omniscient- but whatever, rules are meant to be broken), so you’ll get to see many of your faves in there, Edward IV, Margaret of Anjou and Grace Plantagenet feature quite heavily. One thing that disappointed me is that it wasn’t really Edward IV/Elizabeth Woodville (at the time I bought it for that), she never really likes him and his love for her kind of wanes towards the end. If you’re not too bothered about that then I say go buy it.

3. The Daisy and the Bear by K L Clark

I put this here because we are already going into shakier territory when it comes to this list. This is kind of the last *really* good, truly five star one. It is a long spoof about TWOTR but god it’s smart! Yet, It does not take itself seriously and has Margaret of Anjou/Warwick the Kingmaker as a crackship and centrepiece and had me in stitches the whole time. I’ve written a long detailed review for it here.

4. Death be Pardoner to Me by Dorothy Davies

This is a novel about George Duke of Clarence. Quite possibly the only novel ever written about him in existence and boy is it a trip - the author claims to have channelled him (she’s a medium). I’ve written a detailed review for it here. I read this last spring and my views have unfortunately changed, the thing is, I’ve come to find out through my research that this was quite possibly a hoax as there are some indisputable inaccuracies (Ankarette Twynyho’s age, the details of Isabel’s death - we *know* she did not die from childbirth, Isabel did not reunite with him after Tewksbury 1471, but right before Christmas 1470). It’s also quite Richardian (the author admitted) and she could have *had* me had she not chose to divulge it in the foreword. Nevertheless, I still like this book because it did get to me at certain points and it’s good quality as a novel, I remember shedding a tear at one point even which is extremely rare for me but I think that says more about my sentiment for the subject matter than the book itself.

5. We Speak no Treason by Rosemary Hawley Jarman (not yet finished, so ranking may vary)

I haven’t finished it yet, so I’ll leave it here for now. This book is a Richardian book about Richard III, but I can’t get enough of this author, I haven’t found anyone to replace her with. The prose is magnificent as usual and I must confess that I’m happy that this book is told through the POVs of three OCs and not Richard, he remains rather elusive and tbf I find the three OCs very interesting and at this point I’m more interested in their stories than anything else. Of course, Richard III is still a fairly prominent part of this novel (even when he doesn’t appear) and it has led to me getting annoyed quite a bit. Given who I am I fumed massively at that one aside that Clarence and Edward have bastards whereas Richard isn’t like that... like are you serious?? At one point the author reassociated the Games and Playes Chesse book to Richard when it was in reality dedicated to Clarence and I got even more annoyed. Leave the poor figure something ma’am? Whatever, as a book about three medieval commoners it’s fantastic and that’s what I pretend it is.

6. Wife to the Kingmaker by Sandra Wilson

Nothing more to add than what I wrote in my (super-long) detailed review on here. This is the case because I read it very recently. This is a novel about Anne Beauchamp 16th Countess of Warwick, it’s ranked higher than Sunne because though it’s less accurate it’s got panache.

7. The Sunne in Splendour by Sharon K Penman

I feel very strongly about this Richard III book and what it represents. I wrote a long detailed review about it on here and a follow-up post on the discussion is here ft my awesome mutual @beardofkamenev ‘s insights also thrown into the mix. Xx

8. The White Queen by Philippa Gregory

This is a step higher than the other two because this book pretty much changed my life. The thing is, I read it translated into my own language by an extremely talented translator and I was also only about 11/12 years old so it was all very impressive to me then. This book about Elizabeth Woodville effectively introduced me to the TWOTR; an interest that has never really left me these past ten years (though at one point (ages 14-19) it was quite wane). It’s not a good book by any standard (I was quite shocked when picking it up at a bookstore, I had found that when read in the original language it lost all its magic), but I owe a lot to it and some people who now endlessly discourse about how bad PG is need to recognise their debt of gratitude and be a bit more respectful, I think. That is of course unless you came into this era via different media, but you got to admit that a massive part of us got to this place through TWQ, though we outgrew it.

10. The Red Queen and The Kingmaker’s Daughter by Philippa Gregory

Exact same commentary as above, just objectively not good books. Flat characterisation, misunderstanding of the era, historical innacuracies which don’t add anything, lack of nuance in prose which often dances too close to *gasp* YA prose *shudders*. But these are lower because I don’t owe them a debt of gratitude as I do TWQ. Funnily enough, they are still better than the series.

#look at rb for tags

38 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

Pinky and the Brain: A Pinky And the Brain Christmas Review or I Just Think Schotzie’s Neat

Christmas Continues on this blog... and getting away from one set of Christmas commissions and into another, I offered my friend Blahdiddy three commissions as a present. The other two we’ll get to eventually, but with Animaniacs on the brain, heh, due to the reboot, he selected two Pinky and the Brains and one Animaniacs for me to cover. And while I intended to cover this one sometime this month anyway, my friend’s recent and sad covid diagnosis meant i’m bumping this one all the way up to the front of the line so he has some christmas cheer during this rough time. So with that in mind let’s talk about pinky, pinky and the brain brain brain brain brain shall we? Of course we can’t really talk about pinky and the brain without talking about Animaniacs. I absolutely love the series, I grew up with it as a kid and reconnected with it as an adult when it ended up on netflix. It was smart, well animated and most importantly really fucking funny. I highly recommend checking both the original and reboot of it out some time if you have Hulu. Speaking of the reboot while I might go on in full about it at some point it’s pretty good, with some creatvie jokes, some nice updates, with Rita Anita Anrita being a great new addition to the warner side of things. It’s only real flaw is it gets a bit reptitious as for the most part there’s only really the warners and pinky and the brain with a few exceptions one of which DAMN well deserved at least two segments and we all know which one that is.

Bring.. this.. to series. The warners and pinky and the brain segments weren’t bad, but as is inevitible in a screwball comedy some just weren’t as good as others and those fell harder when you’ve already seen 2 or 3 better versions of this sort of skit in the season. They did really find their groove towards the end and if you like both Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain, or even just one or the other, it’s worth checking out. But enough about the reboot let’s talk about those labratory mice whose genes have been spliced. Thanks to wikipedia, I now know the duo were based on Eddie Fitzgerald and Tom Minton, who worked with Tom Rutgeter on Tiny Toon adventures, with menton being the one who came up with Narf, even saying it in one episode of Tiny Tunes. During the creation of animaniacs, Bruce Timm, yes THE Bruce Timm, sketched the two, and Ruetger added mouse ears and the rest was history. Maurice LaMarche was the one who added the Orson Welles to the character, as LaMarche saw the Orson Welles in Brain, ran with it and got the part and a long and storied career in voice acting as a result. In a nice and fitting bit of contrast, Rob Paulsen got the part.. because he was already on the show. Not to downplay Paulsen’s clear talent, I just find it hilarious.

That’s about what I could dig up on the behind the scenes of the show. From what I can tell it was greenlit because Animaniacs was a massive it, and Pinky and the Brain was the most popular segment, so it just made sense. The show would likewise be a massive sucess with both adults and kids, and go on for three seasons and what should legally be considered a war crime.

For those of you blissfully unaware yeah, that happened, no no one people actually LIKED from Tiny Toons was in it. And yeah if you want me to talk about it commission it otherwise not going near this one. While I do need to tackle more bad animation... I’ve successfully avoided watching an episode of this show for 22 years next wedsday, I’m not breaking the streak for free.

But some.. things aside I remembered liking the series as a kid but just never got around to seeking it out as an adult. I had nothing against the animaniacs segments and I even still have a stuffed brain doll I got at a garage sale.. the pinky is sadly missing and persumed dead. I just wasn’t as bit into it as I was the slappy bits rewatching animaniacs and didin’t really see reason to watch the show. Watching this though made me realize I was wrong and I probably watch more of it in the future This special is damn good, i’m pleased ot review it and to revive and old childhood memory. So with all the exposition out of the way let’s talk Pinky, PInky and the brain brain brain brain christmas edition after the cut.

This was indeed a special: while it was presumably produced with season one of the show and is packaged with it both on DVD and on Hulu, where I watched it, the special was aired in prime time and even put on it’s own VHS.. which I found out and of course, like with my review of the Darkwing Duck Pilot, had to use as the art for old VHS’ tapes for cartoons.. was really fucking beautiful and it’s a nice break from my traditional screencaps. So we open with a clever Christmas rendition of the theme, frequently sprinkling in bits of other christmas stuff, utterly fantastic. The intro animation is less impressive as it’s literally just the regular intro but with a stock snow effect over everything. In case you thought Ducktales doing that was a new thing. I do not blame the team however, as apparently they only had a week to get the scripts out, so I highly doubt warner was forking out more cash for the animation than they had to. They still forked out enough to make it LOOK really good mind you, something I wish they’d do more often with their DTV Movies but do do with their animated shows still with certain exceptions so good on them, i’m just saying they clearly cared more about money than having a memorable christmas opening. Given a budget to actually make one, i’m sure the animators would’ve come up with something lovely, and i’m sure the same is true of Ducktales and other shows and like i’ve said, i’m highly in favor of shows actuallly doing unique openings for the holidays, especially since Holiday episodes tend to get reaired every year as long as the show is in circulation on the network. Sometimes even if it isn’t. So it’s fully worth the effort to fork out a little extra for this as while you’ll most likely only use it once, you’ll be using the special for years. You can afford to treat yourself networks come on. It’s...

Just like Pinky, Elmyra and the Brain. But onto the episode itself after 80 years. We find Pinky writing his Christmas list to santa, complete with Narf, a gag I like. As usual for a comedy show, I will try to gloss over as much of the gags as possible, to avoid repetttion but yeah this episode is really damn funny and reminded me just how good these characters are. Maurice and Rob just have perfect chemistry. It’s like Tom and Jerry: It’s a very simple premise, that one being “Cat chases mouse and Mouse beats shit out of mouse”, and pinky and the brain of course being “Super genuis mouse and dimwitted but loveable sidekick try and takeover the world eveyr night”. But a simple premise can be used just about anywhere and adapated for anything. To me a cartoon’s premise only has to be as complicated as it needs to be to work. Sometimes you have a vast complex tapestry behind the world like She Ra, Steven Universe or Avatar with lots of planning and ins and outs and deep character stuff.. and sometimes you just have two mice who get into shenanigans because one is a would be dictator who sounds like orson welles and the other’s a loveable british weirdo/moron. Sometimes simple just works.

Anyways, Brain, noticing Pinky’s distracted and replaces himself with a horrifying poorly made doll of himself called Noodle Noggin, which is both an excellent name and not the only time they’d use the name either, as there was an animaniacs short about Brain making himself a fad to endear himself to the children of the future with the same name. It’s just an inherently funny set of words, but also shows Brain’s genius in a subtle and clever way as he never spells it out, but despite sounding kind of ridiculous for such a buttoned up intellectual like brain... he knows that’s the kind of name kids will eat up. His schemes may often fail, but he’s an objectively brilliant schemer and i’ts often either PInky’s incompetence or his own miscalculation of humanity, either over or underestimating them, that undoes Brain. Back to the plot, so Brain’s plan is to distribute noodle noggins around the world, make it the hot new toy, and as always, take over the world. Problem is naturally two Mice simply don’t have the resources to make the billions of dolls. But PInky stumbles upon the solution in the paper: a want ad for elves! Everything about that sentence except “pinky stumbles upon the solution” has not aged paticuarlly well, but point is they have a plan and we have our christmas special. This does bring me to my one problem with the special.. Brain’s weird inconsistency towards Santa. What I mean is he spends the portion doubting Santa can do anything he’s claimed to despite being proven frequently he can. That part is not all that annoying as it’s in character with him and while yes, he is a talking mouse, he’s also a man of science and reason and Santa is the opposite of that. That would be fine... IF it wasn’t for the fact that said magical bollocks weren’t constantly part of his plans. Despite Brain constantly throughought the special doubting Santa... his plans FREQUENTLY rely on everything we’ve heard about him being right. His initial plan here ENTIRELY runs on the fact Santa has a massive workforce to make the toys yet even if that’s true by Brain’s own logic, he wouldn’t be able to deliver them. Later when the boys need to escape, They hide with the Reindeer despite Brain just saying santa can’t be everywhere in one night.. which if he can’t then the odds are slim he’ll wind up at Acme Labs isn’t it? It would be fine if the special acknowledged any of this outside of one bit we’ll get to, but other than that one bit.. they don’t. IT’s just really frustrating and really sticks out since the rest of the special is perfection, so this one failing bit really grates. That being said, it dosen’t last long enough to really drag the episode down as a whole, just to annoy me a bit every so often. It speaks to the episodes quality that the bad part ONLY drags so much because everything else is so well put together. So our boys head to the north pole with the help of a kooky pilot and a santa dummy, this pilot is voiced by Tress MacNeile and is easily one of the best parts of the special. And naturally given their luck, she asks them to take the wheel so the plane instead jerks and causes them to fall out. Luckily they end up near Santa’s workshop and soon apply for temp work with local head of things and gruff type Shotzie, played by Jeff Bennett. And yes that is his name. I like Shotzie: he’s a goateed elf and Bennett just plays him well.. hard to explain honestly I may just like his name and Bennett’s voice for him, one he used before in animanaics for various bit parts and in shows after this, it’s just a voice i’ve always liked.

They get put to work in the mail room, which is the bit I mentioned: Brain earlier scoffed at Santa answering all the letters with Pinky simply suggesting that Santa had his elves go through all of them. Turns out Pinky was right... while he may be a BIT stupid, one intresting thing i’ve found about Pinky after watching the reboot that ironically the friend who comissioned this and I discussed is that he’s not ENTIRELY stupid, it’s just , much like Dan from Dan Vs his knowledge is just random.. he can not know how a lot of things work, but sometimes like in this instance Pinky generally just GETS something. It’s part of why he and Brain are such a good team despite their failures: Brain is all about planning and thought and research, Pinky is about intuition and gut instinct. He just does things and it often works out. This also makes their recently added backstories all the more brilliant as they explain this well: Pinky started life just being told to find the diffrence in cheeses and thus was taught form childhood to trust in himself and his weird brain. Brain was cruelly torturued with an experiment on learned behaviors via electroshock, and was taught to never give up control again, to always know what’s going on and to always control it. It perfectly sums up who the two are and why they are that way. Brain however quickly pivots, as the mail room ends up being the perfect location to start his plans. Since their job is to file away what each person wants Brain simply adds Noodle Noggin to it and plans to put his plans into the workshop. While Santa and Schotzie are suprised and baffled, Santa quickly adds it to the list. However things hit a snag when Schotzie gets supscious when the two try to sneak into the blueprint room to drop theirs off and he accidently yanks off their disguises leading to a REALLY fun chase scene, as the boys end up in a toy wherehouse and thus try out various toy cars: a barbie dream car that dosen’t have a working motor, a toy truck that dosen’t go very fast, and finally an rc car that while fast naturally just means Schotzie can grab it and capture them. It’s easily my faviorite scene of the episode just for how clever it is and as someone whow as a kid around the time this came out, I applaud the accuracy.. granted I didn’t have any of those personally but I had lots of friends so yeah.

So our heroes are interrogated.. and again Brain brilliantly pivots. Schotzie assumes since they have the blueprints their spies for the easter bunny or the tooth fairy or Herschel, the Hanukah Goblin. Why Herschel never got his own Hannukah special trying to stop Pinky and the Brain from using it to take over the world, I genuinely do not know and that’s something the reboot really needs to adress in the future. Seriously Hannukah needs a mascot and it’s either Herschel or the Hannukah Zombie. Kwanza already has Kwanzabot. I want to see more of Herschel the Hannukah Goblin dammit!. I love goblins. Especially this one.

And this one

And most of all this one

I likes goblins. It’s a thing. So anyway, point is Schotize has the blueprints taken in while our boys slip out and sucessfully make their way outside, though they have to find a way home to turn on the mind control device. They see Santa and brain being a dick refuses to let pinky hand in his letter.. but does as mentioned earlier have them pose as reindeer. So our heroes make their way home and in time to be able to activate the device once santa’s route’s finished!

And.. then land directly on the mind control device thing, meaning they now have to scramble to repair it. Oh and Pinky is inconsolable after realizing Santa didn’t get his letter and Brain is a HUGE dick about it. Easily the worst i’ve seen him just far more focused on his machine than his friend’s wel lbeing especially since ALL he needs from pinky is for him to throw one lousy switch.

But we then get easily the best part of the entire special. As Brain scrambles to rebuild his device while abusing his best friend we get a really nice tense sequence as Brain rebuilds while kids all over the world warmly receive noodle noggin. I mean.. it’s not the creepiest doll I’ve seen a kid enjoy.

Also Bill Clinton gets one because the series apparently really likes “Bill Clinton is stupid jokes” Oh you poor innocent dears who haven’t had to suffer through the president being revealed to be a sexual predator, the one after him being even dumber if not a predator, the one after that being easily one of the best people around, and the outgoing one being a waking nightmare whose both a preadator and dumb beyond all comprehension ina dangerous and soul crushing way.

But yeah onto the good part, Brain, for whatever reason, reads the letter.. and finds Pinky asked for nothing. He just wanted to give Brain the world at long last, recognizing his friend really and genuinely means well for it and that he’s worked hard to conquer it. And with that goal in reach, with the very thing he’s always wanted his... Brain instead uses the device to wish a merry christmas. He sees through his friend’s kindess and selflessness that he himself.. has been selfish once again turning something into a world destroying plot and being cruel to his best friend... when all his best friend wanted was to selflessly make sure he finally got what he wanted. It’s then that Brain, for all his cold and cynical logic and superiority complex, realized the true meaning of christmas, which i’ve said before and i’ll say again: it’s about giving, about giving someone something with your heart and soul just to be nice with no expectation of something in return. It’s about being selfless for once instead of selfish. I’ts about love. And Brain loves his friend too much to destroy his faviorite holiday. For once the world can wait.. and for once they all join in saying merry christmas to one another and in love and camradire. And I know not everyone celebrates christmas, there are other winter holidays and not everyone in the world would willingly do this. I know all that.. but the special has such a well meaning message, I really can’t be mad at that or get into the weeds too much> This isn’t some jackass making an entire movie, of which there have been several, saying “There’s a war on christmas” which instead equates to them just bitching about not everyone celebrating HIS holiday. It’s about a mouse for one moment truly being selfless and putting ihs loyal and faithful friend over his greatest want to give him a nice christmas and to do something nice for the world instead of trying to take it. And that.. that’s really damn heartmelting. So we end on the two exchanging presents, with it being a little extra heartwarming as Brain likely already got Pinky something meaning even before his big revelation, he really does care beneath all the dope slaps. Pinky got him a keychain of the world and rather than be frustrated like you’d think.. Brain just takes it in stride. It is christmas after all.. the world.. it can wait. For now it’s just the two of them having one moment in time, this merry christmas. Final Thoughts: If it wasn’t obvious, I loved this freaking special. It’s funny, clever and has one hell of an ending. There isn’t much more to say other than go watch it if you have Hulu.. you will not regret it and a sepcial thanks to Blah for comissioning this. it was an amazing time and is now a competitor for a spot on my best christmas special list. For now though it’s just really good and I say go check it out. Merry christmas, happy holidays and later days.

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #warner brothers #pinky #the brain #santa claus #christmas #blahdiddy #christmas specials #reviews #animation #kids wb

27 notes · View notes

legobiwan · 4 years

Text

It took me 3+ months, but I finally finished Hannibal (the TV show).

How. On. Earth. was this approved for network television? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining but I’m really curious to know what dark magick rituals(tm) allowed this show to slip past stodgy network execs.

Season 2 was the best by far. I definitely enjoyed the other two seasons, but good lord Season 2 was good with Will’s deepening morality struggle and the multiple “back from the dead” fake-outs which cast Will’s motivations into shaky relief. We never quite knew where he stood until the end, and even then...

The cinematography on this show is beautiful. Especially when it comes to cooking, but also contrasting the starkness of the greater DC area in winter and the rich tapestry of Italy’s art and architecture.

There is no character that comes out looking good in all of this. Everyone is kiiiind of an asshole in some regard, which, given this does involve the “good guys” with the FBI, lend a very complex notion of good and bad - frankly, it erases that line, which is a conversation I believe Will and Hannibal even have at some point.

I have to talk about the soundtrack for a moment as it is...peak avant-garde. Like, the type of music I’ve performed in concert with a zillion extended techniques and this type of European/Darmstadt-school “Art Music” being such a central part of a show that has very self-aware pretention is just...A++++.

Along those lines, thank you to whoever got Mads to take some elementary piano lessons. The first time he played on screen I wanted to throw my computer through a window as the on-screen performance was in no way reflective of the music (some Scarlatti-type thing) being performed. They rectified this in later seasons, much to the approval of my musician-bullshit self.

Obviously Hannibal is manipulating Will in Season 1, but there’s also this notion of betrayal by Will’s colleagues in the FBI that leads to his ultimate downfall.

Season 3 was super-uneven. I personally enjoyed the Italy arc and parts of the Red Dragon narrative, but I while I “got” where they were going with the different reflections of reality (in Hannibal’s mind where he was seeing guests in his office and not prison and the multiple realities played out with the Dragon) - they didn’t always work.

That being said - it did do the job of setting up some doubt as to the ultimate ending of the show. Did Will and Hannibal literally fall off a cliff together or was that just a reflection of Will finally succumbing to Hannibal (and Hannibal falling as well, as he is “inconveniently” tethered to Will) and his own baser instincts and falling off a more proverbial cliff? While I read their duo-slaughter of the Dragon as falling in reality, I’m not wholly certain those last few seconds were meant to be interpreted as Will and Hannibal falling to their supposed deaths.

They really snuck in a lot of queer relationships in a story that, on the surface, looked to be a typical (if bloody) procedural. Have to hand it them for that, well-done, people.

This is...I’d like to watch this again, now that I have a handle on the story. I feel there’s a fair amount I missed in a preliminary viewing, and it’s the type of show where I think a rewatch would only improve the experience, especially considering the untraditional narrative devices used in the latter parts of the series.

Good show, superb acting, only points off were for some...ambling, directionless parts of the last season. 9/10

#hello there #legobiwan watches a tv show #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #etc

101 notes · View notes

thoseofgreatambition · 4 years

Text

Ascent || FTB 7

description: George loves you to bits and pieces. He tries to mold himself to fit into your world even as he sees how much it’s changed the people he loves. You, and a few others warn him away. George wonders how much worse could it be than a couple of bribes.

request by nonnie: how about a slightly jealous georgie 👀 nothing too extreme or threatening to your relationship, just him being a tad cautious. plenty of showing you how much he cares and that he fears losing you. maybe a little possessive? “you’re mine.” ugh i’m melting

for the birds

LIAR {PT 1} | 1.9 K

ROSE COLORED {PT 2} | 2.6K

LIAR LIAR {PT 3} | 3.3K

DUTY {PT 4} | 5.3K

FAMILY MATTERS {PT 5} 2.4K

TWO SIDED {PT 6} 3K

BONUS CHAPTER 1

BONUS CHAPTER 2

BONUS CHAPTER 3

taglist: @fainting-fancy @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @stillwater20-blog @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @ickle-ronniekins @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester

George kept looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky. Like you were the one who kissed the sun to keep it alight. It was puzzling really. It put a dizzying pace in your pulse to see how adored you were, even after he found out about what you’d been doing.

You sat cross legged on your bed, silk pajamas cool against your skin as you stared at him while he dozed on and off next to you. A lazy smile on his face. “You’re amazing, you know.”

He chuckles a bit. “That’s nice to hear. Buttering me up?”

There’s a tight shake of your head, and you feel the same threat of tears you’d felt when you’d first made love to him. That being so happy was so dangerous. Feeling your feelings too much always got you in trouble as a child. “Next time there’s an event why don’t you hang back? It’s a nasty crowd George.”

You can see the seeds of self doubt being spread across his face, as tight together as his freckles. His voice is quiet, and full of hurt. “Don’t think I’ll do well enough for you?”

Something hot and wet was falling down your face. “Not that. You’re perfect and lovely. I’m not proud of myself at those. I want you to be proud of me. I don’t want you to see me and stop being proud.”

His large hand gently reached for you, tugging on your lapel until you were tucked in next to him on the bed, his arms holding you close. He felt so warm.

“I’ll always be proud of you, Y/N. You’re my girl. Can’t do anything to make me less proud of you. This all ends in a month or two right? When it’s all over you’ll feel better. Just need to make it through for a few more weeks, yeah?”

Doing your best not to cry further, you nodded your head.

Though you were sure he meant what he said, you doubted that George would keep that opinion after he’d been there for a while.

___________________________________________

You felt a pair of curious eyes following you as you got ready for the day. As you put on makeup to get rid of your dark puffy eye circles. As you charmed your suit so it would be wrinkle free. As you worked on your hair to be perfectly done.

“What’s so interesting about me today, Georgie?” Your feelings still were a little tender from the crying bout earlier in the day.

“I didn’t know you did all this when you got ready for the day.”

There was a dubious look shot his way, “You’ve watched me get ready before.”

He did look rather amazing in his suit. It set your heart in a series of little flutters. “Not for work, darling. This looks like a lot of work, do you ever get tired of it?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment. “Not really. I take my time with it, get to drink my coffee. I like getting ready for casual days in England more, but this isn’t bad.” Holding George’s arm as you slipped into your heels, you gave him a bright smile. “Ready to go?”

There was a nervous smile on George’s face, he’d be meeting your Aunt Alexandra for the first time in many years. She wanted him to be there to see the ‘family business’. You told him that it was okay to sit out on this, that you would stay behind with him but he’d insisted. There was a bit of damaged pride from him as well, the same thing that made him try so hard when it came to making his shop succeed. He wanted to prove himself.

“Ready, darling.”

Like that you apparated the pair of you to Aunt Alexandra’s home. Immediately a pair of tiny dachshunds began barking and yapping at two of you. Just like that your aunt swooped in from the wings and gave you a tight hug, quickly moving on to George.

“Georgie! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! You’ve gotten so much more tall. How are you doing darling? I heard you and Freddie got hurt in the war. Are you both doing better now?”

Immediately he felt swept back to his childhood when she would breeze into the burrow and bring so much kindness into the home.

It was easy to forget for a little bit that she didn’t approve of him dating you.

“We’re doing a lot better. I lost my ear but Freddie got hit by a wall. He went through the worst of it, so I’m just glad he’s up and able to walk around.”

As more pleasantries were exchanged you walked over to your father in the living room and gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting on the loveseat and beckoning George over. He made his way over slowly, taking in his surroundings.

Everything was so light and bright. With marble floors and gilded chandeliers. The loveseat you so casually sat on was clearly made from a dark blue dragonskin leather. He sat down next to you, and wondered how you were so easily able to relax in this setting.

The answer was clear enough, you’d grown up in it.

Your hand rested on his knee, and you ran your thumb back and forth across him. Immediately his pulse seemed to slow down.

He’d expected that you all would get into business, but your siblings Marie and Alexander ran the show chatting about this or that. George felt himself relaxing more and more as time went on. Sipping on the coffee that your aunt brewed for him.

He felt back in his element, making people laugh.

That was until you sighed and leant back into the loveseat and looked at Aunt Alexandra with a wry smile. “So what’s the business today?”

Your aunt immediately shot you a glowing smile. Her legs crossed as she leaned back in her armchair. George was reminded of an illustration he saw as a child of a king on a throne.

“Well, we’re doing wonderfully! The fundraiser went great because of you, Y/N. And thank you George, I heard you did wonderfully with all of your stories.” George felt immediately relieved though for some reason you looked less than impressed.

“The Graves want to bribe you.”

“And I won’t be accepting that.”

Ears around the room seemed to perk up. Still you seemed doubting. “You’ve had me blackmailing people throughout this. Other’s are finding out. Jack’s uncle was talking about what I said to Morris the other day.”

“I need you to be more discreet then sweetie.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as the family meeting went on. Another rally. Another speech. Another fundraising gala for just your extended family this time. The tapestry of your family’s crest that hung on the wall seemed to weigh on your with its presence.

Your brother piped up next, “Who’s in charge of gathering the family?”

Aunt Alexandra smiled at him, “I’ll need you to do that Alex. Since you don’t want to head up the family, you’ll be perfect for this. It’ll seem more casual. We’ll have a cookout or something, a little bit less formal. Y/N, how about we borrow your cabin and call it a vacation home or say we rented it? Then no one will know you live there.”

“No.” you stood firm in your statement. “Absolutely not. There’s a reason I don’t let people over there. I want my privacy. And I think you’ll remember that you agreed to that after me needing to step back from working at the hospital.”

Your aunt’s smile faltered for a moment. You weren’t usually this combative about it all. Her eyes flickered to a bewildered George and reckoned he had something to do with it. Before she could say anything your father chimed in. “Alexandra, we’ll do it at my house. We have a big enough yard.”

A wave of relief came over you. You would forever be grateful for your father.

___________________________________________

It was after the meeting where you collapsed in on yourself a bit. You took George to a nice muggle restaurant, and gave a bland smile and nod when the hostess said the both of you look like CEO’s.

You hadn’t the foggiest of what that meant, but it didn’t matter at the moment.

He seemed just as tired as you did, though his curious eyes were on yours again. “Is it something I’m doing again?”

“What else is she having you do?”

“Huh?”

“Your aunt. You said you’ve been blackmailing people. What else are you doing?”

The cold feeling returned to your fingertips. You wondered if this was the part where he stopped being so proud of you.

Your heart, selfish as always willed you to lie. Your brain told you he was smart enough to puzzle together the truth even if you did lie.

“Morris is the man my aunt almost killed in the duel. She was the challenger, she is against anti-dueling now but he needs to be quiet about it all for her to win. I have a good amount of pull with the politicians.” you didn’t mention it was because you’d dated some of their children, “So I told him if he talked about it I’d see to it he lost his job.”

“Is he a bad man?”

A confused look was shot George’s way. Where would that idea come from? “No. He’s not great. He’s about as dirty as I am I suppose. So I can’t say much about him there.”

You could see George staring at you in a whole new light. Your hands began to go numb. “I’ve bribed a few people. Nothing terribly expensive. Some nice clothes, a broomstick or two, mentioning a promotion... I think I gave someone a car but I can’t remember who.”

George wondered in what world a car wasn’t ‘terribly expensive’.

“I just... Aunt Alexandra gave me a lot of fresh starts when I was younger. You remember my temper. I got into plenty of duels myself-- and I lost every one of them. I think if that weren’t the case I wouldn’t have a future, or a shot at being a healer.” Again, you chewed the side of your cheek. “I love her to bits. Dad’s family is alright, but I don’t see them much. She stepped in a lot after Mum died... I want to help her.”

“Helping her makes you feel bad though, doesn’t it?”

You shot an odd look George’s way. “Of course. I’ve never been politically minded. I’m not good with the speeches or anything. I would have sat it all out if Marie hadn’t needed the help. But there’s only about six weeks left I believe until the voting starts. After that I’ll head back to England and hide away again. I’m just trying to remember that.”

“You could go back to England now.”

“No, I have things to do here.”

George seemed to be saying quite a few silly things at the moment. You weren’t sure why.

Your food came, though your appetite had left you. Quietly, as your confidence seemed to have left you, you spoke to George. “It’s alright if you want to leave you know. I’ll keep you out of things, but I know this goes against a lot of what you stand for.”

“I missed you. And I’m staying. My flight back isn’t for another week.”

He seemed to have misinterpreted you. “No, I mean leave me. I get it.” George was far too innocent for you, and you were quite aware of it.

Now he looked at you like you were the foolish one. “I’m not leaving you. I love you.” His hands grasped your cold ones from across the table. “This will be over soon, you’ll come back to England, and I’ll hide you away with me. How does that sound? No more worrying about these things. You’ll get a job as a healer, do all the research you want, this will all be behind you.”

Once again your eyes began to water, he seemed to have a way of doing that to you. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this for me.”

He kissed the palm of your hand. Smiling into it. “Because I love you. And there’s not going to be a change in that. So stop your crying Y/N. Eat some food, you’ll feel a bit better.”

___________________________________________

George had always had a bit of a jealous streak in him. He had six siblings after all, and a twin to compete with to get any attention. Prior to dating you, he thought he’d outgrown that. Turned out he hadn’t.

Now he’d learned the ways to calm himself down. Remind himself that he was a good man in his own right. Of his own accomplishments and how people loved him for himself. It helped a good bit. Until he found himself in the midst of your crowd of old friends in a bar, and had met a couple of your old lovers.

You were very considerate really. The conversation was light, you held his hand and gave him kisses when no one was looking. It helped to soothe whatever ache he felt. Truly he’d expected that at least one of them would be a prat, based on what he’d read in those gossip magazines his mother loved so much, but all of them treated him rather kindly.

One, Taylor, the quadpot player was especially kind. “It’s nice to meet you. She always talked about you growing up.” he’d approached when you’d stepped away to grab another round of drinks for the group. “I don’t want to make it awkward, I know it might be. I just wanted to let you know I’m happy for you. And I know it can be strange reading so much about your personal life in the gossip rags, but if you keep your head down and enjoy what you can it’ll all turn out alright.”

It was like the wind had been taken out of his sails. He’d worked himself so much thinking that he’d need to prove himself he hadn’t thought about someone speaking to him with so much kindness. “Thank you, Taylor.”

There was a grin from the other man, “Of course! It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Anyways, the only bad thing you’ve got going for you is the whole ‘Quidditch is better than quadpot” thing. That won’t fly in America.” Your friends who’d been listening in burst out into laughter and you chuckled as you walked over with your bottles of whisky and scotch for the table.

“Be careful there Taylor, I think that’s one of the only fights he may pick with you about that. Quidditch is popular everywhere else but here.”

As Taylor sat back down and began to regale the table with another story about his games you wrapped your arms around George’s waist and squeezed him tight. “Feeling okay Georgie?”

His hand squeezed your hip tightly. For some reason, as kind as everyone else was he still felt the jealousy stir inside him. He let out a noncommittal hum. He placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. “As long as you’re mine.”

There was a giggle from you. What a silly thing for him to say. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

#fic; for the birds #my writing #my imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut #george weasley #george weasley headcanon #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut

85 notes · View notes

cryysiswritesthings · 3 years

Text

Beneath the Darkness in My Bones || Chapter Four

Fandom: Inuyasha Rating: Mature/NC-17 Warnings: Horror, Psychological Torture, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Torture, Rape, Parent/Child Incest, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Sexual Assault, Abuse, Non-Consensual Somnophilia Status: In Progress Pairing(s): KogKag (main), BanKag, Oni(gumo)Kag Summary: Horror is all she knows. Darkness is in his blood. She is the other half of his soul, and his calls for her echo long into the night.

Find it On: Tumblr | AO3

***NOMINATED FOR THE BEST DARK FICTION CATEGORY FOR FEUDAL CONNECTION’S 2020 3RD QUARTERLY ANNUAL AWARD!!***

Thank you so much to my amazing readers! You guys rock!

Series: Flowers Grown in Darkness Desecrate You

Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 ||

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #beneath the darkness #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series

The room is dark wood and fogged glass, the canopy above her draped in red. There's a fire blazing in the corner, warming her body for reasons she doesn't understand. She lays atop the blankets, her only covering a robe so sheer she may as well not be wearing it at all. The fabric is cool against her heated flesh, slits on its side letting it pool around her enticingly.

There's a man at the edge of her bed, with long dark hair and hard eyes. He is dressed as she is, in a black silk robe hanging open, revealing pale skin. But where she is naked beneath her silk, he is wearing trousers made to sleep in.

They do little to hide his interest in her state of undress.

"I see you've made yourself ready for me, dearest."

Had she? Her mind is filled with cobwebs, a blurred haze keeping her from her memory.

"I have made myself ready for you." Yes, that must be it. Why else would she be this way?

"Is my wife pleased to see me?"

His wife? So he was her husband then. Then yes, she should be happy to see him.

"I am happy to see you," she tells him. The words are correct, but they do not feel like her own.

"Of course you are." His smile is sharp and wicked. She shivers, though she cannot say why. "Come to me."

She makes to stand, but he slashes her a look.

"On your knees, pet."

Her knees? It takes a moment for the command to make sense. He wants her to crawl on the bed to him. He wants her displayed.

He crooks a finger at her, motioning her forward. She does as she's bid, crawling up the bed on all fours. He lifts her by the chin when she reaches him, making her rise on her knees. He can see all of her.

"I am your husband."

"You are my husband."

"You are mine to do with as I please."

She swallows. "I am yours to do with as you please."

His smile is deadly. "Undress me."

Her hands are shaking as they reach for him, pushing the silk from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She reaches for his trousers next, but his hand on her wrist stops her. Instead he draws it forward, making her fingers circle and tighten around his manhood.

"Use your hands, dearest. Please your husband."

Unsure, she flexes her fingers around him, stroking him through the soft cloth. His eyes flutter shut, a moan of pleasure humming in his throat. He's enjoying it then.

She continues to tug at him, and there is now a growing wetness where his tip rests against the fabric. She circles her finger there, and he hisses through his teeth. His eyes on hers are dark, hungry. They make her nervous.

He reaches to the small table at the edge of the bed, on which sits an uncorked bottle of wine, a small vial, and two full goblets. With one hand he picks up the vial and opens it, pouring its contents into one of the goblets. He recaps the vial and sets it carefully aside, then picks up the now slightly fuller cup, holding it out to her.

"Do not stop pleasuring me. Drink."

He lifts the cup to her lips, tilting it enough to allow the wine to flow into her mouth. She swallows obediently, her hands ever moving. He makes her drink until the goblet is empty, and sets it aside.

The cobwebs have grown, the haze blurring her vision. The man in front of her pushes her back on the bed and crawls over her, making her hold herself open for him. Presenting herself like a sacrifice.

He aligns himself with her opening, his smile full of teeth. Her blue eyes are glossy, unseeing.

"Hello, Kikyo."

He thrusts inside.

It was three more days before his lordship decided to finally leave the castle. In the end, he decided to extend his hunting trip by a few more days in order to tour the local villages on their return home.

This, of course, meant it wasn't only Bankotsu going with him. He'd also decided to bring Jakotsu and Kyokotsu along as well. Jakotsu was known by his reputation of cruelty alone, but Kyokotsu’s massive size was more than enough to use as an intimidation tactic.

The rumors spreading through the castle village that he had cannibalistic tendencies were only an added bonus.

Still, it meant the castle was quiet, and it was safe for her to walk the halls without having to look over her shoulder. The peace let her think of other things, and she found her mind wandering back to what she'd seen in the hidden room the previous week. There was no doubt that whoever had been trapped in that cell was still sitting there. The only question was whether or not they were still alive.

The thought continued to haunt her. If they were dead, there was nothing she could do for them. But if they lived, what state were they in? Were they being allowed food to eat, water to drink? Blankets to keep out the nights growing chill? Should… should she help them?

Her immediate response was yes, of course she should, if only because she hoped some kind soul would do the same if she were in such a position. But not only that, it was the right thing to do despite the potential danger. And to not do something, to not try and help in some way…

It made her feel like her father.

That was what ultimately decided her. The kitchens were in the lower part of the castle, and no one stopped her on the way. There she found a small basket which she filled with fruit, bread, and cheeses. She also made sure to pick up a pouch of water.

A cheesecloth kept her precious cargo from prying eyes, but there were no servants in the halls to stop her. Even so, habit kept her close to the walls and out of the way of any potential passer by, while also letting her peek around corners to ensure she wouldn’t run into anyone she wanted to avoid.

The tapestry that hid the doorway loomed over her, its subjects staring down with leering eyes. But she would not be swayed. Swallowing her nerves and finding her courage, she pushed her way past it and slipped inside the door.

Again there was little light to guide her way. The scones on the walls had not been lit, and would stay that way until Jakotsu returned.

Kagome made her way down the stairs slowly, keeping one hand braced against the wall to guide her. The landing was empty of its noisey bucket, and she finally allowed herself to look at the dungeon beyond her.

Before her was the large cell where she’d seen Jakotsu. Now, however, she could see the smaller walkway to its left, the wall lined with the bars of empty cells. In the corner to her left stood a torture rack, its wooden table covered in old blood. Next to it sat a rusted bucket, but for her own peace of mind she wouldn’t try to see what was inside.

Her attention was drawn forward to the large cell when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Nerves slowed her, but she would not be deterred.

“Hello?”

She waited, but there was no response. Swallowing thickly, she moved closer to peer inside.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“You shouldn’t be here.“

Kagome jumped and her steps paused, unsure now of her approach.

He sighed. “If you stay here, he’ll find you. You don’t want him too.”

“Jakotsu.“ Her eyes went to the floor, fingers curling in a fist over her heart.

“You know who he is.“ The other didn’t sound surprised. “If you know him, then you know what he’s capable of. He’ll do more than hurt you, especially since you’re a woman.“

“No, he won’t.“ The other shifted, and she imagined he was looking through stone to see her. “He knows he’s not allowed to hurt me.”

He scoffed. “You really expect that to stop him?”

“It’s what’s always stopped him.” Her voice grew quiet. “He takes it out on others instead.“

There was a low snarl. “Then what the hell are you doing down here?“

“I… I knew he kept someone down here. I was worried.“

The man snorted. “Just another secret in stone. And this castle’s secrets are better left uncovered.“ His voice was bitter. “Trust me. You can’t help anyone who lives here by finding them out.“

Curious, she stepped forward. “How do you know that?“

“This isn’t exactly my first day here.“ There was a shuffle of noise, chains clanking as the figure moved. “You should get out of here. Before he finds you.“

“He won’t find me. He’s not here.” Cautiously, she stepped forward. She could just make out the edge of an arm behind the bars. ”My father took him on his hunt.“

“Your father?” She could hear the frown, hear the clang of metal dragged on the stone floor. “Whose your father?“

Instinct told her not to tell him. To give a stranger an edge over her was dangerous, foolhardy.

“Lord Onigumo. My father is Lord Onigumo.“

The stranger behind the bars moved, and now she could see all of him in the flickering torchlight. He had eyes like amber and long silver hair, matted with dirt and blood. Ears, canine ears, drooped atop his head.

But he looked emaciated. His skin was covered in badly healed scars; it clung to his bones, making him look like a walking skeleton. It made her sick to think of.

“How old are you?“

She had to swallow hard before she could answer him. “I’ll be one and twenty this year.“

He looked behind her to the stairs, tracing their path. She followed his gaze for a moment and turned back to him. “If you can tell me where the key is, I’ll release you.“

His eyes flew back to her in surprise.

She gave him a nervous smile. “No one deserves to be trapped here. If I can free you, I will.”

He was quiet, searching her expression for any sign of deceit. His shoulders relaxed when he found none. “I believe you. But you can’t help me. Jakotsu keeps the key with him at all times.“

“… I see.” Her eyes fell to the ground, fingers clutching at the skirt of her dress. “I’m sorry.“

“Don’t be.” He tilted his head, watching her curiously. “You said Naraku was your father?“

“I don’t know a Naraku. My father is Onigumo.”

“Naraku, Onigumo. Same guy, different name.“ He moved closer to the bars, bracing his arms against them. ”Your mother must be Kikyo.“

Kagome nodded, though her shoulder’s tightened at the mention of her mother. “Yes, she was. This winter will mark five years since she passed.“

The other shut his eyes, expression tight. “How did she die?“

“I… I don’t know.”

“You’re her daughter, how the hell could you not know?”

She swallowed. “I wasn’t permitted to know. They said… the healers said to know would give me undue stress. So I was never told.”

He scoffed. “Right. More like the bastard killed her and wanted it kept quiet. Didn’t want it getting out.” Amber eyes open, riddled with hearts-pain and an old anger. “The others can’t know. He’d be dead already if they did.”

“I…” His gaze met hers, but she carried on. “I know my father to be capable of many things, but… I do not think he killed her.”

Cracked lips bled as they lifted in a snarl. “You’d defend that bastard?”

Kagome shook her head. “No. I only remember his…. His obsession.” She swallowed. “Knowing that… I cannot think he would rid himself of her willingly. Nor by his choice.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly, leaning against the bars that separated them. “In the end… she’s still dead.”

Her words were a sympathetic whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His chains rattled, and his body sagged. “You didn’t do anything.”

Perhaps not. But her existence could not have made things any easier. “… did you know my mother well?”

He didn’t lift his head. “She was the only friend I ever had. My Uncle sent me to find her. But she wasn’t ready to leave yet, so I stayed. Naraku came not long after that.”

When she told me she didn’t want to get married… I told her I’d take her wherever she wanted to go. Even if it meant never returning to my home.” His voice cracked the longer he spoke.

“We planned to leave the night before her wedding. But someone found out, and I was taken prisoner. Naraku brought me to her. He told her if she didn’t go through with the marriage he’d kill me then and there.”

He scowled. “It wasn’t an idle threat. The men he employed shouldn’t have been able to hold me, but they could. Kikyo knew that, and if they could hold me… well.” He shook his head. “Even if she’d let him do it, she couldn’t escape on her own. So she agreed. Naraku called for a priest and had the marriage performed that night.” Something dark took hold of him, though she could not see it.

“The bastard made me watch him consummate the marriage.”

Kagome bit her lip, her grip tightening on the basket even as she stepped forward. Her pale hand covered his. “You loved her.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. And you said she died, so… at least she’s free of him now.”

“Yes. There is that.”

He finally lifted his head and met her eyes. An ear flicked curiously atop his head, his nose quivering as he inhaled. “You smell like her. Only a little though. It’s nice.”

She finally cracked a smile, amused despite herself. “Thank you, I think.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” He nodded at the basket in her hand that he’d ignored until then. “What’s that for?”

“Oh!” She’d almost forgotten why she’d come down here in the first place. “It’s food. I brought it down for you. With Jakotsu gone, I was worried there was no one to look after you.”

Amber eyes were wide with surprise. “You… brought that for me? What for?”

Kagome looked at him curiously. “So you would have something to eat. I wasn’t sure who knew about your presence here, or if anyone did for that matter. So I thought…”

“I don’t…” he shook his head, swallowing thickly though his eyes never left it. “You didn’t have to do that. Starvation won’t kill me. Just makes things difficult.”

“That’s no reason for you to go hungry,” she said firmly. “If anything, it just means you should eat more.”

He snorted, lips quirking in an awkward smile. “What’s your name, princess?”

“I’m Kagome. What’s yours?”

“Inuyasha.”

#kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series #beneath the darkness

13 notes · View notes

sterling-silvers · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: The High Republic #1 Review

In terms of the comic, the first issue is the definition of a C story – it is a 7 out of 10 because it is average. The simplicity and lack of depth is both the saving grace and condemning damnation of it.

The story follows a new, human Padawan called Keeve Trennis, who is revealed to be on the planet Shuraden, partaking in her final Jedi trial; result of which will be the deciding factor of whether she become a full fledge Jedi Knight. Chaperoning and assessing the trial is her Jedi Master, Sskeer – a Trandoshan – who is sporting one arm (more on that later on).

During said “final” trial, a swarm of giant alien insects – called Ridadi – pop out of nowhere and start stampeding toward a community of fairy like aliens, called Ximpi. Keeve makes an “audacious” choice to abandon her trial in order to save the village. One thing to note, is that she made a utilitarian decision during the course of her rescue, as did not attempt to save one Ximpi who was swallowed whole – she allowed the death of one to save the lives of many.

After relaying the situation those at Starlight Beacon’s, in particular Master Estala Maru, she is told to read the minds of the insects; in doing so, she gathers that these creatures normally using a magnetic homing beacon to guide their migration course – Starlight Beacon has thrown it off course and if Keeve were to fail to stop them here, they would eventually fly to the Beacon, itself.

Using a new lightsaber powered, Force attuned ship – a Vector – Keeve is able to steer the bugs back on course and off of the planet.

As she reconvenes and recounts with her master, he takes her the Starlight Beacon. Thinking she is about to be expelled from the Order for failing the trial, a new Jedi Master, Avar Kriss – who, via Grandmasters Veter and Yoda, most recently was christened as the new Marshall of Starlight Beacon, officially promotes Keeve to the rank of Knight. As her valediction ceremony takes place on the Beacon, itself, we see Keeve shedding an emotional tear of joy.

This is interesting as, I thought it was the padawan’s master that would knight them but, this seems not to be the case. Even more curiously, the Jedi do not exclaim “May the Force be with you” but, “For Light and Life”. At the conclusion of the comic, we see Sskeer alone in his chambers screaming “No!” at the top of his lungs.

As forementioned, this debut issue is the epitome of a C story and as so earns it’s 7 out of 10. This is my first introduction into Cavan Scott’s writing and, so far, it is subpar at best and candidly amateurish at it’s worse. The narrative was very telegraphed at times and makes mistakes that are unbecoming of a writer given this caliber of material to work with. Writers like Greg Wiseman, Kyle Higgins, and or David F. Walker would not be making these kinds of errors – Marvel might need to call them to take over.

In the same vein, Ario Anindito’s art is decent but, could be better. It’s not as crisp as I think it should be and looks like it needed another render. Artists like Dan Mora, Stefano Caselli, and especially Doc Shaner would have delivered an efficient job as opposed to the sufficient one Anindito is giving.

It’s vexing as honestly, there is something there in terms of Keeve Trennis in terms of both her character and design.

I am more than fine with a protagonist that doubts themselves because that is a manner in which we are able to learn with them, and there is definitely an avenue to explore with a newly dubbed Jedi Knight still working on finding her niche in the Order. Reviewers, like Thor Skywalker, are not so keen on her having these kind of thoughts and emotions but, it makes sense to me. One of the eventual downfalls of the Jedi was that they were trying to negate their emotions as opposed to controlling them. Keeve showing self-doubt illustrates her struggle to regulate her emotions but also that allows herself to feel the doubt work through it. Nonetheless, it seems as if we, the reader, have missed an arc and or development with this character – I think it would have been more apt to show her in the Order working her way to the trials as opposed to the last hour of her last trial AND her becoming a Jedi Knight; this is reinforced by the alleged rapport and pedestal she puts Sskeer on – it’s more tell than show and a comic book is meant to show.

In accordance with this self-doubt, she also has the quirk of cursing. This is interesting, albeit jarring because of the era she is in – the High Republic has been presented as the apex of the Order and as so, I thought that meant this would be the time where the Jedi would be the most dogmatic and adherent to their traditions and mentality.

Her design yields the same jarring aspects, once you go beyond the superficial facet. At first glance, it’s very attention-grabbing; young Black woman with half her head shaved on one side, utilizing two lightsabers – holstered on her chest – that she can combine into a dual-sided lightsaber. However, once again, this seems to be out of place given the time period and temperament of the era. Does it make sense for a Jedi in this era to be so bombastic in their look, particularly when it comes to her hair? Seems like a better fit for a time of REVIVING the Jedi Order as opposed to them being at their APEX.

In the Light of the Jedi novel, it is said that Keeve sees the Force as a tapestry – a massive piece of art that spreads across the universe. This is a really nice take on the Force and I hope it gets expanded on with her character in this series – it certainly could attest to aspects of her design, such as her hair. I haven’t really seen Star Wars characters interested in art aside from Sabine Wren, Grand Admiral Thrawn, and Alva Brenne; now we have a character who the Force IS art for her. Granted, this aspect of hers has not been seen and or mentioned in the comic and it SHOULD be as this is the formal DEBUT of this character for many people.

The issue gets some major points off, as well because:

1. Keeve’s uses her lightsaber to not only slow down descent but to stop the fall completely.

This is cardinal sin that follies in the mechanics and use of how lightsabers work. This happens nine pages in and broke my immersion within the issue - immediate red flag.

At best, an argument could be made that because this is set 200 years before the Skywalker Saga these sabers are weaker than their future counter parts and therefore not as potent in terms of lethality but, this is me – the fan – writing for the writer. Star Wars (or its content creators) simply do not get that luxury anymore. Plot holes are to be called out by the consumer and filled in/addressed by the writer; plain and simple.

2. There is a general lack of references and or footnotes to other material – particularly to the current books and comics – that would have given context to some of the events and tools used in the comic. Prime examples of missed opportunities to seed this world cohesively take form in Sskeer’s missing arm, the Ximpi themselves, and the Vectors.

The High Republic, as a whole, was marketed ongoing multimedia project and as so, interconnectivity should be the prime focal point of this serious. Continuity is key ESPECIALLY when they’ve thrown out the old canon and are new canon. The tools are there – USE THEM!!! The book – really Charles Soule in general – is doing the heavy lifting of world building and establishing many of the characters – the least Scott can do is alley oop these layups.

3. As mentioned earlier, Keeve uses a Vector to as the driving force to solve the problem but, there was no footnote and or reference to the fact that this was a special kind of ship. Moreover, the use of the Vector has already broken the canon that has JUST been established for it – Vectors are powered by the Jedi’s Lightsaber, the hub changes color to that of the lightsaber that activated it, it is steered by the user’s ability with Force, and there should be no autopilot and astromech droids there to guide it based on the fact that these innovations are rare within the galaxy in this era.

Why add these parameters if the creators that be are not going to adhere to them?

Ultimately, this issue threatened to be interesting. If this is the modus operandi of the series as a whole… making good on the threat will be the difference between triumph and downfall.

8 notes · View notes

regeek · 4 years

Text

Essay of the East: A Poisonous Song

Welcome to the first part of my essay series on Deltora Quest series 3. This was originally going to be just about the guardians of the Four Sisters, but I realized i couldn’t talk about them without talking about Lief, and the outline got longer and longer, so I’m splitting it into four parts. The first will be about the Sisters themselves, and common themes between the four guardians. The second will be about the guardians individually, and how they each relate to the core theme of their book. The third will be a look into Lief’s psychology, and why the Four Sisters is such a difficult challenge for him personally. Lastly I’ll compare Lief to the Four Guardians and draw conclusions about the themes of the series as a whole.

The Shadow Lord’s plot with the Four Sisters embodies the social and political themes of all of his schemes. The Sisters are beings of pollution and famine. Hidden in the four furthest corners of the land, they sing a “song” that poisons the land slowly. The core of his plan is to kill Deltora so slowly the citizens didn’t realize what was happening, and if they did, convince them not to try to stop it. The idea for it came from his own personal experience, where he killed four sisters on an island because he resented their beautiful singing, only to discover their song kept an enormous beast asleep. It awoke and destroyed the island, forcing him to flee. It was one of the last times the Shadow Lord felt weak and powerless.

The Shadow Lord projected this moment of weakness onto the people of Deltora, seeking to make them all feel as powerless as he did. The Sisters he created are twisted subversions of the girls on the island, and all aspects of this plot involve twisting and subverting the things Deltora values against its people. The Sisters are not quite “creatures” per se, even more artificial than most of the Shadow Lords creations. Like the girls on the island they cannot defend themselves, putting all of their energy into their song. To keep them safe long enough for them to work, the Shadow Lord took measure to protect them. He killed the Dragons, defenders of the Deltoran ecosystem, and enlisted agents to keep watch on them. But he also built up an emotional barrier around them. Everything about the Sisters, from their design, to their location, to the choice of their guardians was designed to make sure that destroying the Sisters would require destroying the things you love.

Let’s look at the individual Sisters themselves, as their designs all have symbolic meaning. The Sisters of the East and South are obviously meant to twist symbols of Deltora. The Sister of the East is a Dragon Egg and the Sister of the South was a mockery of the Gems. The Sister of the West was described as a “jellyfish-like” creature, creamy colored with grey and pink brains, and dwelled inside Doran’s body. I’ll admit I’m mostly inspired by @doomofthehills artistic interpretation, but I think this Sister is meant to represent a human heart- Doran’s heart. I’m not quite sure what to make of the Sister of the North. We know the Shadow Lord likes snakes, but they don’t really represent anything to Deltora in general. The Sister is described as pale, bloated, and lacking a mouth or eyes. Is it just me, or does that sound like a giant earthworm? All of the Sisters are uglier versions of something natural to Deltora, fitting the theme of making the land destroy itself.

The placement of the Sisters is also significant. Despite being restricted to the furthest reaches of the land, the Sisters were all hidden somewhere significant to Deltoran culture. The Sister of the East was hidden in Dragon’s Nest, mocking the graves of the only creatures that could destroy it. The Sister of the North was in the place closes to the Shadowlands, and had the most organized minions looking after it. By comparison, the Sister of the West was totally isolated, on an abandoned island covered in preserving slime, bordering the unknown sea. It was a last insult to its unwilling guardian, showing the explorer the mysteries of lands beyond. And of course the final Sister was hidden right under the royal family’s nose, in the room of their castle most associated with grief. The Shadow Lord also made sure the Sisters would be found in a certain order. First Lief had to go east and encounter the ferocity of the dragons he would need as his allies. Then he had to venture close to the Shadowlands, dogged by the Shadow Lord’s agents. Then he had to go to the edge of Deltora itself to learn a horrible secret, preserved for years. This was meant to push him to his emotional breaking point when he returned home to find that the capital of Deltora itself was rotting at the core.

Each of the Sisters have several common patterns between them. The first is their warning stones, telling a rhyme that gets more personal as each Sister is discovered. I find it significant that the stone at the Isle of the Dead was partially eroded by the surf, as that was the Sister with the least defense. And the one in Del was a personal challenge to the king, and blinded anyone who struck it in anger. It also foreshadows the true endgame, the Grey Tide. The map fragments have similar rhymes with a similar meaning, hinting that there is more to the Sisters than meets the eye, and making the reader question exactly how sure they are about their actions. The Sisters of the East and North warned about their power, while the West and South warned about something even worse. The “song” each Sister sings is the same, unnatural ringing sound, overwhelming any natural creature with fatigue and despair the closer they got. Curiously, Lief was immune to this at first with the Sister of the South, which he first saw as beautiful and tempting. I imagine this is how each of the guardians saw their Sister.

The guardians of the Sisters were unlike any other antagonists in the series, and each had common patterns too. They were each ordinary Deltorans, capable of great power but hiding in plain sight. Interestingly, all four guardians are initially misidentified by Lief. He thought the Sister of the East was guarded by Joyeu, the Sister of the North was guarded by Bede, the Sister of the West was guarded by Ava, and the Sister of the South by Paff’s Creature. In each case the true guardian was somebody already known to Lief, but someone he had dismissed. Each Guardian was also a victim, projecting their own grief and misery onto the whole country. However, Doran twists these patterns. He was dismissed by Lief, but only because he was presumed dead for years. (Note that every time Doran is mentioned it is said that he must have died years ago, foreshadowing the dark truth.) Doran is also the only true victim, put in this horrible position through no fault of his own. The Shadow Lord chose these people to make Deltora complicit in its own destruction, using products of the failures of history to bring its final failure about.

I’d like to talk for a moment about Laughing Jack, who can be thought of as a pseudo guardian. Like the others he is a citizen of Deltora and a product of its failings, and he’s more of an antagonist in Isle of the Dead than Doran. Lief even mentions him alongside Rolf and Kirsten in his moment of doubt. However, Laughing Jack breaks the patterns of the others. He is a willing and unrepentant servant of the Shadow Lord, seeking to increase his own power. He doesn’t blame anybody else for what he has become, and doesn’t feel sorry for himself. So I’ve omitted him for similar reasons to why I omitted Thaegan from my last essay: he’s not part of the tapestry being painted by the other guardians. It’s fitting that the Shadow Lord would enlist a nomad for a scheme requiring his other agents to stay in a specific place. As Lief travels to the furthest edges of Deltora, he is pursued by a man with no home, and no loyalty to his homeland. Laughing Jack travels the land to look for new victims and to escape his past. Unfortunately, following our heroes across the land gave it the opportunity to catch up with him.

Join me next time as we take a deeper dive into four of the most tragic characters in Deltora Quest....

#deltora #deltora quest

24 notes · View notes

waifines · 5 years

Text

If "Timeless" were to do a Season 3...

Let me first say that I am grateful for the wrap-up movie. That being said, would I love more Timeless? Of course. But how! Especially considering that the Finale very much smacked of finality.

Well, here it is:

Season 3 open exactly like the Finale, with the two sets of Lucys & Wyatts. Everyone looks around, confused. This is where the Real Consequences of inhabiting the same timeline come in. And suddenly all of the events of the Finale are spinning across the screen, and the excerpt "Rewind" is playing from Hamilton's "Satisfied."

[.gif by @uusnavi-blog]

Their timelines are in flux. Everything that happened did happen, but they keep getting reset to this exact moment, and will continue to do so until the future-selves leave.

And so, while layering on all the emotional stress of the Finale, the Season 3 timeline is course corrected back into the original plot. (Bonus points if only Lucy remembers):

I think it's pretty clear that Future Wyatt & Lucy were originally meant to stick around for a lot longer, as in an episode or two, but that had to be shaved off in respect to time. (And certainly long enough to properly explain how they went back into their own timeline, since that was definitely Impossible in the series, not just Life Threatening). Parts of a pilot came back the last time they tried. Parts.

Jessica is still pregnant. (That baby was clearly also retconned for time in the film).

[But now we'd have the added bonus of Wyatt being torn between Jessica's unborn baby and Lucy and his twins from the Finale timeline that no longer exist.]

The Golden Gate Bridge does get destroyed at some point, as predicted at the end of Season 1.

Flynn and Lucy, though maybe not endgame given the Finale, have a season-long romance, launching off with the Titanic adventure mentioned in the Journal. [This too could be fueled by Lucy's grief at the erasure of her twins and their mutual loss of family, thus still threading the Finale into the new season 3 plot.] (I mean, it is so heartbreaking to see that the writers loved this plotline enough that they wanted to share it with the fans in the Finale, even though they knew they couldn't make it into an episode. They loved it that much.)

Jiya's visions come to play an even larger role, with the Lifeboat taking the team into the past and Jiya taking them into the future.

Following th same thread, what are the visions and why does Harriett Tubman have them too??

Emma is the Season 3 Big Bad, and gets a lot more fleshed out. For one, we learn about what Rittenhouse did to her to make her "prove her loyalty." A complex villein is always better and I've no doubt that's what Timeless would have given us, had there been more time.

And yeah, all the other storylines that had to be cut for the sake of time. I think the Finale did a fantastic job, especially given the time constraints. But the series Timeless almost did too good a job, making these plot threads unforgettable, even as the tapestry of plot is corded off.

But yes, that's how I would relaunch the series, if the possibility arose. That way all of the memories from the Finale remain, but with the freedom to properly flesh out all the plots charted in the first two seasons.

#timeless finale #lucy preston #wyatt logan #nbc timeless #garcia flynn #lyatt #garcy #waifines #timeless

10 notes · View notes

artemis-entreri · 5 years

Photo

[[ This post contains Part 4 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks (you are here) IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

World Breaks

There's a reason that Salvatore's dark elf books are more popular than his works in his own settings, and that reason is only partly due to the Drizzt books being around longer. A fair number of people who actively like the Drizzt books don't much care for Salvatore's Demonwars books, and I suspect the reason is that the Drizzt books piggyback off of a greater world built by better creatives. One would think, then, that Salvatore would respect the foundation that has helped lift him to his height, but sadly, the opposite is true. Instead, Salvatore seems chagrined by, even resentful of, the fact that what makes his work in the shared world as popular as it is is the fact that the world is a sum of the efforts of many. Salvatore's earlier books were much better, in part due to his significantly more humble attitude, but also due to a greater care in respecting what others have woven around him. With each new Drizzt book however, it seems Salvatore is puffing out his chest more, intent on writing his name in a giant sharpie over the tapestry that many hands painstakingly wove together before. The Forgotten Realms may not have some facets as developed as other fantasy worlds like Middle-Earth, but nonetheless, even while missing complete languages, FR has enough self-consistency to at least maintain the feel of the whole. With each new book however, Salvatore turns his nose up at the Realms a new degree. Even if a reader doesn't care about the world outside of Salvatore's take on it, I would hope that they're reasonable enough to see how disrespectful and petty it is to disregard and, at times, erase the work done by others in that same setting, especially when even the creator of the world himself is not exempt from this treatment.

Blinders Against the Greater World

Salvatore's corner of the Realms has always been very insular, but Boundless takes ignoring of the wider world to a whole new level. To Salvatore, it is as though all there is to the Realms is Faerûn. The planet that is Toril has been reduced to a single continent. Even the great Gromph Baenre, whom Salvatore has fought to elevate to the levels of Blackstaff if not Elminster, doesn't seem aware that the planet is round. When Gromph tells Penelope Harpell to take Catti-brie far away from danger, he states, "send her away, far away, to the ends of Faerun, to another plane, even." This presentation is as silly as the flat earth theory of our world, perhaps more so, because to put it in perspective, if this happened in our world, Gromph basically said something alone the lines of, "take her to the ends of North America, to another dimension, even," when he meant, "take her to the ends of the earth". So, again, there are two possibilities here: one, that Gromph isn't as great as he's made out to seem and actually believes that all of his world is the continent of Faerûn, or two, Salvatore is working very hard to erase the rest of a world that he has no use for. Both possibilities are equally bad.

I think that Salvatore's hubris prevents him from fact-checking, even when it is exceedingly easy for him to do so. Ed Greenwood routinely answers questions from fans about the Realms, only holding back when something is blocked by non-disclosure agreements. Salvatore would be spared that block, and it would be a simple matter for him to just ask Greenwood through the myriad of available instant messaging methods and ask for a quick fact check. It's very evident that he doesn't, however, nor even so much as bother Googling something like "map of Waterdeep", as is evidenced by his incorrect nomenclature of one of the city's wards. Entreri and Dahlia have made their home in the Southern Ward of the city, but Salvatore calls it the "South Ward", despite every map of Waterdeep throughout the editions specifically labeling it as "Southern Ward". Even in the recent D&D module, Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, Volo's Enchiridion notes that, "It is called the Southern Ward, not the South Ward. Waterdhavians are peculiar about this, and if you insist on referring to it as the South Ward, expect to be corrected or thought a fool." I suppose that Salvatore is a fool then, for Dahlia, and most certainly Entreri, wouldn't be foolish enough to erroneously call the area they live in the South Ward, especially since they're performing undercover reconnaissance, which would entail not standing out like a sore thumb as foreigners.

Befuddlement of Earth and Toril

One thing that Salvatore did manage to do better than some Realms authors is that, at least in the past, his dialogue read like speakers in the fantasy world rather than in our world. He's been slipping more and more in the recent books, with Boundless hitting a new low. For instance, Salvatore uses the word "okay", despite it being specifically stated by Ed Greenwood as not existing in Common. The etymology of "okay" is very specific to our world and, just as it's unlikely for Common to have come from Latin, "okay" wouldn't have independently evolved into existence in the Realms. Furthermore, while in Forgotten Realms canon there exist portals connecting different realms in the multiverse, including Earth to Toril, which has allowed for the interchange of language and ideas across worlds, such transmission is rare. Even more unlikely is for an already low probability word making its way into the depths of the Underdark, into a very xenophobic Menzoberranzan, meaning that Jarlaxle actually knowing the word "okay" in past Menzoberranzan is next to impossible. It's lazy writing, Salvatore isn't even trying anymore. The same is true for "salty", which, although is less specific to our world, did come into prominent use in recent times, a fact aligning with Salvatore's usage of it to beg the question of if he's actively trying to dumb down his writing to appeal to a wider audience.

Unfortunately, Salvatore's regression in staying true to Common isn't limited to individual words. In Boundless, there's a glaring instance of the usage of a phrase that is specific to Earth. Specifically, during one of Entreri's melodramatic monologues, while he ponders all the analogies of death, one of the things he specifically thinks is, "the ring around the rosy". While this isn't an exact replica of a line from a well-known nursery rhyme, knowing Salvatore it was most likely a typo of "rosie" to "rosy". There are several issues with the reference. First, it's evident that Salvatore was referencing the hypothesized morbid nature of the rhyme, when it was believed that it was about the Black Death, with the "ring around the rosie" specifically referring to the swollen red rings around the plague victims' eyes and/or the the black circles that would appear on their bodies. The Black Death is specific to our world, with no indication of anything similar having happened in the Realms. Even if there was a plague similar to the Great Plague, it would be curbed way before it developed into a pandemic in a world with as much magic as exists in the Realms. Thus, it's unlikely that a nursery rhyme would develop, especially as plagues are nasty business, bards and the like would much rather extol heroes and heroic deeds. Second, it'd always been weird that a children's song would be so dark, but it was recently disproven that the rhyme is about the Black Death at all. The plague explanation was one concocted a long time after the appearance of a rhyme with no definite origin, and while a number of different theories exist for the meaning of "ring around the rosie", folklorists pointed out evidence such as the plague explanation not appearing until the mid-twentieth century and the symptoms supposedly described by the rhyme not fitting with those of the Black Death. Perhaps most tellingly, the Black Death interpretation is based on the modern (and usually American English) form of the rhyme, which is not the rhyme's original form. This particular phrase that Salvatore uses demonstrates both a world break and a failure in research.

Another world break also happens in that same monologue, specifically, when Entreri thinks, "No existence... no existence... that, so I learn too late, my only heaven." Salvatore could've easily avoided this instance by using the word "salvation" or "peace" instead of "heaven". As it is, the concept of heaven is unique to the religions of our world. In the Realms, there is no "heaven", unless one is referring to Mount Celestia. After death, souls go to the realm of the deity they worshiped in life, and if an individual didn't worship a deity, their soul would go to the deity whose portfolio most closely aligns with how they lived their life. Those like Entreri who reject the worship of any deity would've ended up in the Wall of the Faithless, but even that eternity would've been better than that of the cocoon. Since Entreri is defining his eternal peace as nonexistence now that the cocoon has shown him the potential horrors that await him, the Wall of the Faithless should feel pretty welcoming to him. The Wall is by no means a pleasant fate, for one's soul is eternally mortared into it, but neither is it eternal suffering either. However, there's another world break here in that Salvatore doesn't seem to want to acknowledge the Wall of the Faithless' existence. He'd go so far as to create a nonexistent "demon" that will torment those that it deems evil for eternity. The "demon" could actually not be a demon at all, but its human-faced wasp minions certainly don't seem like the kind of critter that would belong to a goodly creature.

Self-Inconsistency

A consistent problem that occurs in the Drizzt books is the lack of self-consistency. Salvatore often seems to forget and/or mix up which of his characters have done what. This was better in Timeless, but worsened in Boundless again. One example of this that is also a disregard for the shared world as a whole is, "Dab'nay stirred from her deep slumber". Such a simple statement, yet one forgetting something as fundamental as drow having ebony skin. Elves of the Forgotten Realms, which includes drow, don't typically sleep, unless they are extremely injured. Their equivalent of rest is reverie, which they only need half as much of as creatures needing sleep, and it's a state in which they are perfectly lucid. I suppose elves can choose to sleep, but it's illogical that Dab'nay would do so even as comfortable as she feels in that moment. Dab'nay is relatively safe in her hideout, but fundamentally, she is in Menzoberranzan, in the Underdark after all, and there, no place is truly safe. Unless a drow has a death wish, they wouldn't relinquish the advantage afforded them by reverie unless they had no choice, i.e. when they're seriously wounded, which leads me to conclude that Salvatore simply forgot, yet again, that drow don't sleep. It's really a shame, and also somewhat embarrassing, given that one of his more memorable and evocative lines is, "They sat there under the stars and let the Reverie calm them" (The Two Swords). And that's not taking into account the War of the Spider Queen series that he supposedly oversaw, in which reverie is referenced in a non-insignificant way.

Another example of self-inconsistency in Boundless is:

This is deserving of a John Stewart baffled look. Drizzt, Jarlaxle and Entreri were allowed to walk free from Quenthel's dungeons, but Zaknafein was never there, not during Quenthel's rule anyway. I suppose we don't actually know where Yvonnel the Second brought Zaknafein back from, it is conceivable that she resurrected him in Quenthel's dungeons. However, this is super unlikely, because Yvonnel had already left Menzoberranzan behind by that point with no intention of looking back.

Yet another inconsistency in Boundless is Guenhwyvar apparently losing one of her oldest abilities, specifically, her capacity to carry others with her to and from the Astral Plane. This ability initially appeared in the first Drizzt book Salvatore wrote, The Crystal Shard, in which Guenhwyvar whisks Regis away to the safety of her home while the final Cryshal-Tirith crumbles about them. She does this again in The Halfling's Gem, stealing Regis away again right as things were getting hot for him in Pasha Pook's guild. In that same book, she later returns to the Prime Material Plane with other astral panthers to obliterate the wererats in the Thieves' Guild. Just the circumstance of Regis going on a joyride through the Astral Plane not once but twice should've led to Drizzt learning about this particular special and powerful ability of his wondrous companion. However, if for some strange reason Regis was tight-lipped about both of his extraordinary experiences with the panther, the spectacle of a pack of panthers materializing to help the Companions rout their enemies should've definitely drawn enough notice to inspire some question and investigation. It's simply inconceivable that Drizzt wouldn't be aware of Guenhwyvar's ability to transport passengers to the Astral Plane, unless he were so dense as to not notice, or so oblivious as to not wonder. In Boundless, Drizzt demonstrates himself to be either exceedingly forgetful or exceedingly stupid to not think of this most convenient ability of Guenhwyvar's that may have solved the Retriever issue right away. Of course, since what Salvatore "created" isn't a standard Retriever, it’s possible it gained immunity to most everything and incomprehensible cosmic power, but lost its ability to track and travel to other planes? Perhaps that’s its form of an "itty bitty living space"? Yet, in increasing Salvatore fashion, this inconvenient fact is conveniently forgotten, as even Drizzt's most trusted companion Guenhwyvar isn't immune to being nerfed so that the golden boy is elevated to new levels. After all, if Guenhwyvar simply took Drizzt to the Astral Plane and lost the Retriever that way, how could Salvatore make Drizzt do that awesome discorporating thing at the end of the novel?

Perhaps the biggest recurring issue in the Drizzt books is the arbitrary impermanence of death. Even putting aside the fact that the Companions of the Hall are immune to permanent death, always finding some way to come back even if it entails a hundred-year time jump imposed by D&D's edition change, Salvatore seems to blatantly ignore that the resurrection mechanic exists in the world. Resurrection magic might be difficult to access in remote villages as well as being prohibitively expensive for the common folk, but Drizzt and the companions are far from common folk. Bruenor is one of the wealthiest people on the continent, and the companions have allies in advanced, magic-rich cities such as Silverymoon. This isn't accounting for the fact that even in their midst, Catti-brie should be more than powerful enough to perform one resurrection a day. Pikel, too, is represented to be very powerful, and while he might not be able to resurrect, reincarnating a lost friend in a different form should certainly be within his magic arsenal. Why is none of that being employed to bring back Ambergris when she was slain in Timeless? Why was it not used when Pwent was killed, which would've had the bonus effect of also curing his vampirism? The fact that even the endlessly resourceful Jarlaxle doesn't have some sort of death-defeating spell on hand, even during the Spellplague era, is a gaping hole of an incongruity that'll never be rectified. Putting that aside, Salvatore treats death even more whimsically than Realms authors who do acknowledge resurrection magic in their books. It really feels like Pwent is revealed as not dead due to popular request, whereas Ambergris is killed off to build drama. Similarly, I question if anyone still draws any tension from any members of the Companions being in "mortal danger". It doesn't matter that Drizzt can't escape the relentless Retriever pursuing him, because we know that he's not going to die in any permanent sense, and that everything will work out all right for him. This is perhaps not something that can be laid at Salatore's feet though, as it is intrinsic to most novel series (at least those not written be George R.R. Martin).

Dungeon Amateur

Another thing that's evident from the Drizzt books is that, despite Salvatore styling himself as a D&D expert, his actual understanding of D&D mechanics is very poor. His stats for Drizzt are so laughably optimized that a properly min-maxed character could easily defeat him in one-on-one combat while being as much as ten levels lower than him. However, Drizzt has the thickest plot armor of possibly any fantasy character, so there's no need for Salvatore to understand the game system that his books borrow from and are based in. Still, it's very cringe-worthy to see, especially as with each new book, Salvatore is flagrantly disregarding D&D even more. For instance, in Boundless, Jarlaxle's bag of holding is described as being able to “hold a roomful of goods”. I suppose this is true if it was a pretty small room or if it's a room full of not very heavy goods, because bags of holding can't exceed a capacity of five hundred pounds, and if we're speaking in terms of pure volume, sixty-four cubic feet is the limit. Based on the way that Jarlaxle is pulling forth pouch after pouch full of gold from that bag of holding though, Salvatore makes it sound like he's got a dragon's hoard stored in that magical container. Gold and treasure is heavy, so if Jarlaxle indeed wanted to fit a roomful of goods in his bag of holding, he surely must stock some lightweight junk amidst all of those coins.

The above example admittedly isn't all that bad, especially when considering that since multi-classing into monk, Drizzt's plot armor thickened exponentially, giving him a bevy of awesome new abilities even though his previous awesomeness meant that he's high enough level such that he should only have one level to spend into monk. In Boundless, it seems as though Salvatore is reassigning Drizzt's levels, perhaps taking out those levels in those ranger abilities he never uses and putting them into monk, or perhaps simply by removing the level cap for him. With his sole level in monk, Drizzt kicks a balor in the head for massive damage, even though that one level would've only granted him proficiency in unarmed strikes, an alternate low amount of damage (d4), or the possibility for an extra attack. Yet Drizzt is kicking that balor for the damage of all of his fighter levels, as well as being able to remove poison from himself, an ability that monks don't even have anything similar to until level ten in the form of poison immunity.

At times, Salvatore seems self-conscious about the world and mechanic breaks he performs, and appears to try to make up for them. However, the way that he does so is clumsy and inspires one to facepalm. For instance, a guard "crumples to the floor as if she had been stomped by a tarrasque" after receiving a strike from Dahlia's nunchaku. The tarrasque is a creature that is unique to the Forgotten Realms, however it is also fifty feet long and seventy feet wide, weighing a whopping value of one hundred and thirty tons. Any medium-sized humanoid, which the guard that Dahlia strikes is, would be little more than a bloody smear even if the tarrasque gently put its foot on them. Yet, the guard didn't die immediately from such a strike, was even groaning afterwards. The vast ridiculousness of the analogy aside, it's very unlikely that the guard would be alive at all, for Dahlia's un-tarrasque-like strike nonetheless was enough to splatter the nearby Regis with "blood, bone, and brain".

In the same vein as not making sense is:

Since when is "what in the Nine Hells" an old dwarven cliché? As far as I can remember, this is the first time it's mentioned in a Drizzt book, and I don't recall seeing that phrase categorized as such in any other Forgotten Realms novels or sourcebooks. It hardly makes sense to and reeks of poor and lazy worldbuilding, While all "facts" in a fantasy setting are made up, this detail is just so random and doesn't fit with dwarf lore. Dwarven souls can end up in the abyss and Baator (the Nine Hells) as readily as any mortal soul, but dwarves as a race don't mingle with devils as much as, for instance, humans or even elves do. As such, it's unlikely that fear of the hells would come from the dwarves. Besides, Bruenor would certainly know the difference between demons and devils, and would thus know that the lawful evil devils would not be marching aside their hated enemies, the chaotic evil demons besieging Gauntylgrm.

One final piece that makes little sense, a tidbit that breaks both D&D rules and Salvatore's own consistency, is Regis lifting Entreri's cocoon. Regis doesn't drag the cocoon, but actually lifts it, gets it on his shoulders, and carries it across a room. Sure, his legs were shaking, but the feat shouldn't have been possible for him at all. We know from Salvatore's own text via The Sellswords trilogy that Entreri weighs one hundred and fifty pounds. Assuming that's with armor included, although it's unlikely since a man that is five foot five inches tall and as muscular as Entreri is would weigh that fully nude, the cocoon itself should add at least fifty pounds, although more likely much more as it's described as being thick and made of sludge-like material. As a halfling, Regis would weigh around thirty pounds, and from what we've seen, he's more of a dexterity-based character than strength-based. He shouldn't have been able to lift the cocoon at all.

Utter Nonsense

There are a number of things that aren't just inconsistent with the rest of the shared world, they're not even consistent with our world. A carry-over from Timeless is what was supposed to have been a nightmarish fate left to the priestess who failed, Ash'ala Melarn. The climax of the awful punishment was supposedly "when the maggots hatch in the filthy tub all about [her], that [she] can feel every bite and every squirm over the days as they devoured [her]." As I pointed out in my analysis of Timeless, maggots only eat dead flesh. They don't eat live flesh, which is why they can be employed in medical treatments as a form of biotherapy. Because they specifically target dead tissue, maggots are effective in preventing infection that is promoted by the presence of dead tissue. Thus, unless drow possess the capacity to maintain sensation in dead tissue, Ash'ala wouldn't feel the maggots' bites. It seems that Salvatore just kept compounding his mistake, for in Boundless, we're reminded of how Ash'ala is "being slowly eaten by maggots". I suppose that can be true enough if more and more of her tissue is dying and the maggots move on to consume the newly dead tissue, but it's not really a horrific image because, fundamentally, all dead things are going to be eaten by maggots. I get what Salvatore is trying to go for but if the maggots in their world is the same as ours, it wouldn't work the way that he's describing.

Another example of something that just doesn't fit in either world appears during one of Entreri's monologues:

I can't find anything for what "piffy" might mean here. There's an entry in the Urban Dictionary that states that it means "sexy", but that definition hardly fits in this context. There's also an explanation that it's a British saying that means to be conspicuous but left out of an activity, but that hardly fits either. Is this Salvatore's version of Trump's covfefe, or a truly epicly bad spelling of pithy that doesn't really fit either? Perhaps its an attempt to show us that language is "Boundless".

7 notes · View notes

eddycurrents · 5 years

Photo

When Jonathan Hickman was guiding the Avengers franchise, he was writing two titles that roughly played off of one another in Avengers and New Avengers, focusing on the main Avengers team and then the Illuminati offshoot. Hickman’s previous Fantastic Four and FF runs fed into some of the ideas on the titles, as well as the relatively concurrent SHIELD series fuelling some of the broader ideas.

With his open salvo into the X-Men, Hickman is doing something similar, but different, in the interplay between House of X and Powers of X. Without spoiling anything here, I can say that it’s integral to read the two series together. Though they deal with different smaller narratives, there’s a large overlap in bigger themes, characters, and at least one shared plotline. I think it’s almost best at this point to think of the two series as alternating chapters in the same book. Whether or not they converge overall in the end remains to be seen.

Like House of X #1, Powers of X #1 deals with a number of common themes and plot elements to the X-Men franchise, but gives them a different spin. It plays with some of the core ideas that we’ve seen for decades, gives them a bit of a hard science fiction sheen, and careens off in new directions. Arguably this one is weirder, but that goes into spoiler territory that I’ll discuss below. Hickman is planting some interesting seeds here and I’m curious to see how they grow.

RB Silva, Adriano Di Benedetto, and Marte Gracia step up to the challenge laid down by Pepe Larraz in House of X to provide an engrossing, beautiful visual landscape for this new era, pulling it off in spades. It’s tied together as well through the consistency of design from Clayton Cowles lettering and the text pages designed by Hickman and Tom Muller. Interesting infographics and continued use of the Krakoan language abound.

This is an intriguing next step.

As before, there will be spoilers below this image. If you do not want to be spoiled on Powers of X #1, do not read further.

SPOILER WARNING: Below I’ll be discussing the events, themes, and possibility of what’s going on in Powers of X #1 and beyond. There are HEAVY SPOILERS beyond this point. If you haven’t read the issue yet and don’t want to be spoiled, please stop reading now. You’ve been warned.

PREAMBLE | First Impressions

I was highly impressed by House of X #1.

It surpassed my hopes for what would come from a fresh new start for the X-Men and by far exceeded my expectations. Though it played with long established themes and ideas present throughout the franchise, it felt like something fresh and new, incorporating a science fiction approach to the story and pushing the characters into a new direction. Due to House of X easily delivering on its promise, expectations were raised for Powers of X #1.

I’m happy to say that they too were met. This isn’t an ancillary book featuring also-rans that supplement a “main” story in House of X, but an equally important facet of the broader narrative that this new initiative is trying to tell. It continues part of the story from House of X and then goes deeper on a tapestry across time of the plight of Marvel’s mighty mutants. If anything, House of X is the adjunct to Powers of X, rather than the other way around.

Where House of X feels consistent to Jonathan Hickman’s previous approaches to storytelling within the Marvel Universe, Powers of X seems more informed by the freewheeling, limitless imagination of his creator-owned work. I get a similar feel reading Powers of X #1 as I do from reading Transhuman, God is Dead, East of West, and Manhattan Projects. Though it’s still firmly grounded in the Marvel Universe and the X-Men mythos, it goes off in wild directions of eugenics and genocide.

RB Silva and Adrian Di Benedetto provide a similar aesthetic for the line art as Pepe Larraz in House of X, delivering a style that seems influenced by Stuart Immonen, and it continues to be a great look to define this era of the X-Men. The clean-lined style provides a kind of slickness to the art, making the cities of Nimrod and humanity feel cold, perfectly fitting an era seemingly run by machines. The designs for Nimrod, Rasputin, Black Tom, the Hunters, and the multi-headed Sentinel are wonderful.

One of the standout stars of the creative team shines again here with Marte Gracia’s colours. They’re rich and varied, changing primary colour schemes for each time period to keep things unique and visually interesting, and overall just stunning. The colour approach in the present to the flora of Krakoa is incredibly lush.

Bringing it all together again is the lettering and design from Clayton Cowles and Tom Muller respectively. I like the continued use of mixed case to keep it consistent with House of X, along with a nice approach to the word balloons for Nimrod. The text pieces continue to enhance and enrich the overall story and make it feel distinctly like a Hickman-penned comic.

This continues to be one of the best beginnings to a new era of the X-Men.

ONE | Time

Since the announcement of the two series, there’s been speculation about the title for this one since Powers of X is meant to be read as “Powers of Ten”. When House of X #1 was released last week, there was an idea postulated that it was in reference to exponential mutant batches birthed in the Krakoa pods or beyond. While that could still another reason, it feels like its framework is more the time periods that this book takes place in.

We’re given four primary time periods in X0, X1, X2, and X3, following the powers of ten scale of 1, 10, 100, and 1000. X0 represents the past, a time when Xavier was just dreaming his dream of a mutant paradise.

X1 is Year 10 and represents the present in House of X #1. It’s somewhat interesting to see the X-Men back on a ten-year scale from what appears shortly before the original five to the current time. The original five operating in the 2000s is just a weird prospect.

X2 is 100 years from day one, with a war between the few remaining mutants and the “Man-Machine Supremacy” occurring. This appears to be one of the primary periods that we’re going to be seeing action and new characters set in the Powers of X series. It may be from here that we see the prima facie forces informing this narrative.

X3 is 1000 years since the dawning of Xavier’s dream. It’s arguably the weirdest as well, following the fall of mankind.

There’s also a hint right off the bat that there’s something wrong. Wrong with time, possibly, or maybe just wrong with Xavier. While Charles is enjoying a day at the fair, he’s approached by Moira MacTaggert. Who he doesn’t know. That’s ominous for a number of reasons, since a large part of Charles’ youth was spent with Moira at Oxford University and she was his fiancé for a time. It makes you wonder if someone’s messed with Charles’ memories, or if maybe something or someone is messing with the timeline.

For the latter, other than growing new mutants, this could also be one of the reasons why we’re seeing characters who should be dead back up and alive in House of X #1. It might also be why time overall seems to be such an important element in this story.

The nature of the text pieces, the file names and numbers, and the importance of it in the X1 period (and what looks like possibly a similar quest in the X2 period), it kind of makes me wonder if Moira is a time traveller herself. It’s possible that X0 is before Charles met her at university and therefore doesn’t know her at this point in time, but I think that compresses the timeline of events even further than we’re already squashing the periods between X0 and X1.

In X2 there’s also a curious exchange as Xavier receives the data procured by Sabretooth, Mystique, and Toad in House of X #1. I’m not sure if the confusion was intentional as a hint that something else was going on, or if we were meant to infer that Magneto was manipulating the drive to get it to Xavier, but it at least appears that Xavier is using telekinesis. Xavier doesn’t have telekinesis as a power.

It makes you wonder if something has changed with Charles, giving him new expanded powers, or reinforcing that maybe this isn’t even Charles. With the people being grown in pods and the rise of composite mutants in the future, it makes me wonder if the eugenics tests started even soon. Not to mention that we still haven’t seen Xavier’s face in the present.

TWO | Space?

In X2, we’re given kind of a bleak outlook for how many mutants are left remaining in the 22nd century. Roughly 10,000 mutants living in the Shi’ar Empire and 8 mutants living on Earth. Yeah, that’s a small population. It kind of boggles the mind as to what’s going on between the mutants and machines on Earth since that’s barely a resistance.

There are some interesting questions raised here about the first wave of “Dawn of X” once House of X and Powers of X are over. This seems to be more of an idea seed for what’s coming next, especially with the previews for New Mutants and Excalibur that seem to be sending various X-teams into space again. Even the forthcoming X-Men series looks like it might have ties to intergalactic derring-do.

There’s also a mention of Empress Xandra that’s sure to perk up some ears. Xandra was introduced by Kelly Thompson and Oscar Bazaldua in Mr. & Mrs. X and is supposedly the daughter of Charles Xavier and Lilandra Neramani.

THREE | Days of Future Tenses Yet to Come

What’s a horrible mutant future without a Days of Future Past framework? The X2 period uses familiar elements from many of the dystopian futures that we’ve seen over the years in X-Men comics.

There are elements here from many alternate futures including traditional Sentinels, Nimrod, hounds, and such, but it somehow feels fresh. Although it’s a bleak, dystopian world where practically every mutant is dead, there’s still a small thread of hope. Given what we see later that hope is probably futile, but you wonder where this is heading.

There is so much world and character-building that feeds into the construction of the X2 period, including the new elements of Krakoa that were introduced in House of X #1, that it feels like framing this simply as another alternate future that’s going to be worked out and fixed by the end of the series is a little naïve.

It could be a vehicle for introducing Rasputin into the world, a Chimera mutant based on the DNA of Kitty Pryde, Piotr Rasputin (with the possibility of some Illyana in there too, since she’s got a soulsword, but it may be that just one of their genetic stock can yield both mutant powers. Though the soulsword is magic not mutant), Gunther Bain, Laura Kinney, and Quentin Quire. And we could well see her transplanted elsewhere when “Dawn of X” begins.

The hunters are kind of neat. We see a couple of them with their masks off and they seem normal, but who’s to tell. They might be human, they might be machine, they might be both, we’re still unsure as to what the deeper state of humanity happens to be in this time period. Much of the early landscape we see in the Nexus is battleground, full of destruction and debris, but the area around Nimrod’s tower looks to be a built up futuristic city. Who lives there? Or maybe what lives there?

I also quite like the design of the hunters. They remind me of the Hellfire Club soldiers’ design (and by extension some of the Reavers) with a few tweaks to make them more fit Nimrod’s design and the singular lens to make their asymmetry feel a little creepy. I’m curious if we’re supposed to think that these hunters are the new Reavers, or if maybe there’s some connection to some form of the Hellfire Club.

Now, Omega seems to be Nimrod’s superior. He defers to her and seems to get her blessing in order to enact his archival experiment from her. We don’t know if she’s still Karima Shapandar, but it seems like she might be, the only difference is that she’s now red. Bigotry also appears to have become a more apparent part of her personality, using one of the common dismissive phrases of “you people” when dealing with Clyobel.

You have to wonder what happened to her prior to her reactivation in House of X #1 that has changed her so dramatically from her time with the X-Men. And what shaped and honed that hatred even further into the future.

FOUR | Flawed Design

There’s a kind of nihilism that’s baked into the story. It comes with the territory of a horrible future for Marvel’s mighty mutants, but it extends to some of the characters and situations throughout this issue as the world-building informs us of what’s going on in the X2 period and of what led to parts of the current situation. It seems like failure is going to be a theme for Powers of X, failure of the dream, failure of systems, failure of communication and trust, failure of legacy. It would seem depressing, but it’s endlessly fascinating the way that it’s presented.

For starters, handing over any kind of breeding programme for the continued survival of mutants over to Sinister is insane. Even with mutant leadership apparently missing when it happened, it’s still insane. Sinister is a self-serving mad scientist, so it’s no wonder that it blew up in everyone’s faces. It also makes you wonder what other schemes he had in mind, and whether or not his “execution” actually took. I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw him, and another generation of his own personal mutants, before the story runs its course. He always seems to have a back-up plan, not to mention another cloned body just ready to be activated.

Giving up and defecting to the Man-Machine Supremacy after deliberately sabotaging the fourth generation of his breeding pits to destroy Mars feels a little too simple for Sinister.

But that flaw isn’t limited to Sinister. We see it in the Man-Machine Supremacy’s breeding programme too at the Khennil (referred to in the text piece as the Man-Machine Ascendancy). Obsolete and ill-considered eugenics seems to be part of man’s purview as well in how it created the original hounds (presumably the ones we know and love like Rachel Summers) and then the subsequent “black brains”.

There’s also a theme of betrayal throughout. In that it’s part of the genetic make-up of the Khennil hounds, that it was part of Sinister’s plan with his fourth generation brood, and there’s the suggestion that mutant leaders were “disappeared” through betrayal.

The final, and ultimately fatal, flaw comes in the future with the failure of Nimrod’s experiment started in the X2 period brought forward to the end in X3’s Mutant Library. This one’s likely not purposeful, rather degradation of systems through age, but it’s the one that leads to the end of mankind and the mutant race with the idea that it’s not possible to bring them back.

Though, I wouldn’t be surprised that this is the problem that this series is trying to fix.

FIVE | The Four Horsemen

One of the interesting things I found among the X2 time period was who survives. Among the 8 who are still living, you’ve got representatives of Sinister’s breeding programme, from a standard composite in Rasputin to an outlier priest class in Cardinal, but then you’ve got a group of four. I find it particularly interesting that they’re introduced in the form of a group of four because it gives certain connotations.

The four aren’t named in the story, but they look like Magneto, Wolverine, Black Tom, and Zorn (the Ultimate Universe brother to Xorn that Hickman and Rafa Sandoval created in Ultimate Comics: Hawkeye). I mean, it’s entirely possible that these four are more composites or clones grown by Sinister or someone else, especially since it’s 90 years from “now” and they all seem relatively well put together, but these are four characters that arguably have a tenacity for longevity. Hell, Black Tom can pretty much regrow himself like Swamp Thing.

But back to the four. It gives another possible reason as to why these existing characters are still alive in the future. They could be new representatives of the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse.

I mean, there’s a number of people that Wolverine could be mentioning as the “Old Man”. It could be Xavier. Could be someone else. But like Black Tom, we’ve been seeing Apocalypse popping up again in numerous covers and solicitations (after all he’s on the cover for House of X #2 at that).

It also potentially ties into all of the religious symbolism and meta-narrative that Hickman has been seeding throughout House of X and Powers of X so far. From Xavier creating a new Adam and Eve beneath a Tree of Life, Magneto emphasizing the coming of new gods in Jerusalem, the possibility of Krakoa creating all sorts of plant golems, Nimrod’s tower, and now the end times as portrayed in the book of Revelation.

Also, one of the file names for the text pieces includes “(APOC_build)”.

SIX | The Garden

The end to Powers of X #1 has an interesting parallel to the beginning of House of X #1. Where the latter had Xavier seemingly hatching his Adam & Eve out of the Krakoa pods, in X3, following the seeming collapse of mankind, there’s a place called “The Preserve” where the Librarian references some kept around similar to dinosaur bones in a museum.

There are some oddities, though, as when mining Nimrod’s database, the Librarian seems to be searching for personalities, sad to find that they’ve degraded. It makes you wonder if the Preserve is a place to house relics, or if maybe they’re trying to breed a new race of mutants. Also, who or what the Librarian represents at this point is anyone’s guess.

SEVEN | A Drawing of Three

In the opening sequence between Moira and Charles, there’s another interesting thing as Moira recounts briefly that she had a fortune-telling. From that we draw a traditional three card spread. There’s a number of ways that you can read them, but two are most prevalent. In the first reading, card 1 is the past, 2 is the present, and 3 is the future. In the other, card 1 represents the context of the question being asked, card 2 represents what the person asking should focus on to affect or change the situation, and card 3 represents the potential outcome. (Now, I know there are countless other ways to read the cards, including card 2 representing the querent and the other two influencing it, but we’d be here all day if I broke down all possible interpretations to just read the spread.)

Given that it is a timeline question, though, in a story about time, I think it’s interesting that all three cards pulled are interpreted through the future of the X2 time period and the characters there. (Also somewhat odd in that all three are Major Arcana.) And it that, it makes it even stranger as a timeline question that would normally take a past, present, future reading.

I personally tend to use Aleister Crowley and Lady Frieda Harris’ Thoth Tarot when I do personal readings, including Crowley’s book on further meanings and connections, as well as Lon Milo DuQuette’s commentary and analysis in the beautiful Understanding the Thoth Tarot, so my frame of reference is probably different given the celestial twist and changes made (along with tons of attributions and connections according to Hermetic Kabbalah). I’m also a large proponent of people only doing readings for themselves, bringing their own interpretations and influences to the reading and their understanding of the symbolism, connections, and such. So, if you disagree with anything I write here, feel free to throw it out and do your own work.

Anyway, the drawing of The Magician as the past, as represented by Rasputin is interesting. Especially in Hickman’s statement of “one foot in two worlds”. This could be representative of two things, the past (as in she’s a composite of different mutants from the past) and the future, or it could be referring to her soulsword and the fact that she represents a magical world and a mundane world. It could be reading Rasputin as simple as a literal magician. The Magician card itself typically represents communication, wisdom, craft, and skill. As representing the past, it could be interpreted as that the previous timeframes were where all of the skill, determination, and communication came from. That all of that X-magic is behind them.

The card for the present is The Tower, as represented by Nimrod’s tower. Hickman incorporates some of the symbolism of the biblical tower of Nimrod, the Tower of Babel, here in a symbol of “collapse and rebirth”. The Tower card, often also referred to as the Blasted Tower (depending on your perspective on the Tree), often represents combat, strife, ruin, and a destruction of plans. It certainly makes sense for the present of the X2 time period as it’s rife with conflict caused by the war between the few remaining mutants and the Man-Machine Supremacy.

The final drawing for the future is The Devil, as represented by Cardinal (I still want to call him Redcrawler). Like Rasputin, this could simply be down to the character correlations (in that the Nightcrawler genetic stock that Cardinal draws upon is descended from that “demon” mutant offshoot). The card itself is often read to represent blind impulse, unscrupulousness, temptation, and obsession. All of that seems at odds with the Cardinal character that we see in Powers of X #1, so it’s kind of hard to gauge. If it represents the future, it could be that some sort of recklessness on the part of the few remaining mutants leads to a complete collapse (as we seem to see in the X3 period). Or maybe our priest isn’t necessarily what he seems.

At its most basic, the spread seems to be telling us what we can discern from the comic itself, of a period of a kind of golden age, followed by a collapse and a period of strife, before temptation possibly leading everything astray, but part of me thinks that’s too simple. I haven’t gone into attributions, and whether or not the presence of the cards together are well or ill aspected, so there might be something there that sheds a different light.

Or Hickman could have an entirely different meaning behind any of this.

CONCLUSION | All the Small Things

Between the first issues of House of X and Powers of X, I’m impressed by their depth. It could well be a case of overthinking and over-analyzing the story, the text, and the imagery, of reading too much into the ideas, but this work from Hickman, Silva, Di Benedetto, Gracia, Cowles, and Muller lends itself to be scrutinized.

It can be enjoyed, very much so, on a surface level as a great science fiction adventure story, and absolutely should be. It’s entertaining fiction as a groundwork, but that it can be studied for clues and other meanings can be a large part of the fun of a work like this. It gets imaginations running wild trying to see how or if the pieces fit, almost like a puzzle or a treasure hunt.

Powers of X #1 leads us further down a rabbit hole that this new era of the X-Men is taking us down and it’s an exciting ride so far.

d. emerson eddy thinks he thinks too much some times.

#Examinations #X-Men #Powers of X #1 #Jonathan Hickman #RB Silva

15 notes · View notes