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you-didnt-see-that-cuming · 4 years

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Shy Glances | George Weasley x Reader

Summary: George Weasley was quite possibly the most perfect man to ever exist. He’s smart, funny, charming, and incredibly handsome. Pansy Parkinson has known about her roommate and best friend, Y/N’s crush on George for while, watching her do nothing about it. Pansy decides that it’s time for her to take matters into her own hands and quite literally pushes the two of them together with the help of Fred Weasley. All they really did was speed fate up a little bit.

Warnings: Smut towards the end

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: This took me a while to finish, it was a request from an anon so I’m hoping that I did their vision justice! This ended up being over 28 pages so it’s a nice long one for you guys!

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Ever since Umbridge had taken over teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, spirits at Hogwarts were not exactly high. The only things that managed to put a smile on anyone’s face were the Weasley twins’ ridiculous pranks and the weekend trips to Hogsmeade. Occasionally, a loud explosion would go off in a nearby hallway, followed closely by the shrieking of Umbridge and the smiles of students who had witnessed whatever had happened.

Despite the twins being identical, Y/N had always had a crush on George. Fred always seemed to be the one to start the chaos that followed them around, but there was something different about George, he was more compassionate, he genuinely cared about other people. The Hogsmeade weekend before the beginning of the Christmas holidays was the subject of almost everyone’s conversations. It had snowed for almost two days straight and Christmas decorations were already being erected around the castle, only adding to the general feeling of excitement.

Y/N was feeling excited for a whole other reason. The Hogsmeade trips were some of the only chances she had to see George. Being in different houses and years complicated things, and staring throughout mealtimes wasn’t exactly subtle.

The morning of the trip to Hogsmeade, Y/N and Pansy were woken up abruptly to the sound of feet running down the hallway towards the common room.

“Damn! What time is it?” Pansy grumbled. She wasn’t exactly a morning person and interrupting her sleep was not a good way to get on her good side. She stretched her hand out to the bedside table and blindly felt around for her watch. Bringing it up to her eyes, Pansy suddenly turned her face into her pillow and screamed in frustration.

Y/N tried to blink the sleep from her eyes, staring up at the velvet green canopy above the bed. It was dark in the room, the heavy curtains that had been drawn the night before, blocking out the sunlight from the windows at the top of the high ceiling. The only light currently in the room came from the crackling fireplace in the corner across from their beds and the strings of fairy lights that they had taken from the Great Hall to liven the place up. Rolling onto her side to face Pansy, who had now waved her wand to light some of the lamps that were scattered around the room, Y/N yawned loudly and stretched her arms over her head.

“It is absolutely disgusting that we have to be awake this early, absolutely no respect for other people,” Pansy continued grumbling about her disturbed sleep as she swept the covers dramatically to the side.

The fire began glowing a little brighter once Pansy’s feet touched the rug covered floor. Y/N soon swung her legs off the bed before sliding out from under the heavy comforter. Pansy flicked her wand and the curtains swished open. It was snowing heavily, and by the looks of it, it had been snowing through the night. There was already a substantial layer of snow on the bottom of the window sill.

“C’mon, we better get going before everyone leaves without us.” Pansy had already pulled on a pair of jeans and was sliding a black turtleneck over her head. Y/N walked over to her trunk and began pulling items out.

“What should I wear? I was thinking a sweater, I want to stay warm.” Y/N held up a cream fisherman’s sweater for Pansy to look at.

“Ooh, you need to wear that one, you always look pretty in it. George is going to love it on you.” Pansy smirked at that last bit, dodging a rogue pillow that Y/N threw at her head.

“We don’t even know if he’ll be at Hogsmeade today,” Y/N looked down and began fiddling with the hem of the sweater she was holding. “Besides, I heard that he was interested in Alicia Spinnet, they’re always at Quidditch practice together.”

“Just get dressed will you? You’re being ridiculous. I’m going to brush my teeth, I’ll wait for you in the common room.” Pansy pulled a sherpa jacket around her shoulders and a knit hat before she swept out of the room leaving Y/N to herself.

Y/N sighed and pulled the sweater over her head. Pansy was right, she did always look good in that sweater, especially when she wore it with something green to make her eyes pop.

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

Pansy was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Y/N finally walked into the common room.

“Agh! It’s about time! Let’s go, the last group is leaving in a few minutes.”

The two girls hurried out of the common room and up through the stairs of the dungeons. Once they had reached the courtyard where the last Hogsmeade group was congregating, Pansy pulled Y/N close to her side and whispered into her ear.

“Listen, I spoke to some people and they said that George is definitely going to Hogsmeade today. This is your chance to actually say something to him!”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond to Pansy when her eyes fell on George Weasley jogging into the courtyard next to Harry Potter and his brother Ron. He was laughing at something Harry had said as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back carelessly. He was in a maroon sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his wand loosely grasped in his left hand. He began twirling them across his fingers before Y/N forced herself to turn around.

“You alright? You look like you’re about to be sick,” Pansy asked. She hadn’t seen George walk into the courtyard yet.

Y/N shook her head and straightened her back. She put a smile on her face and turned to Pansy.

“I am absolutely fine!”

Pansy had a frown on her face as she studied Y/N’s reaction. Once she had seen George over Y/N’s shoulder, her face dawned in realization.

“You absolute idiot, I thought you were dying for a second, what’s wrong with you?” Pansy lightly punched Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N began making excuses when Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out around the courtyard.

“Could I have everyone’s attention? Now, this is the last trip to Hogsmeade before the winter recess and I expect everyone to be on their best behavior. I don’t want to have to send an owl to anyone’s parents after today so let’s not ruin a nice holiday,” She gave a pointed look towards George, who only smiled brightly in response. “Alright, remember to be back at the castle by 6 o’clock, promptly!”

People began filing out of the courtyard and walking down the path to get to the main road that led into Hogsmeade. Pansy looped her arm around Y/N’s, pulling her close into her side.

“I want to stay warm, I wasn’t built for cold weather.” Pansy was shivering, even through the heavy jacket she was wearing. She looked down at Y/N’s outfit with a hint of jealousy. “Ugh, I wish I had thought of wearing corduroy trousers, my legs are freezing. I like that color on you though, house pride and all that.”

Y/N was wearing some green corduroy pants, the cream sweater she had pulled from her trunk, and one of her Slytherin scarfs that her mother had knit for her a few years before. She unwrapped the scarf from her neck and placed it around Pansy’s shoulders.

“Here, wear this if you’re so cold then.”

Pansy smiled and squinted her eyes shut.

“Ooh, thank youuuuu! You know I love you right? This is why we’re best friends.”

“Why, because I give you my clothes when you’re cold?” Y/N asked, laughing a little.

“Yes, was that not clear from the moment we met?” Pansy’s serious tone didn’t match her smiling face. Hogsmeade was slowly coming into sight down the hill.

“C’mon, I want to get some Fizzing Whizbees and Chocolate Frogs, we can go get a butterbeer to warm up a little after that,” Pansy started running down the hill, pulling Y/N along as they ran past the rest of the group and made a bee-line to Honeydukes.

Honeydukes was one of the best places to visit in Hogsmeade. There was no better sweets shop in all of England, the entire place was filled to the brim with different assortments of candies and chocolates. For Christmas, the entire place was decorated in red, white, and green decorations and the air smelled like gingerbread and caramel. Needless to say, it was difficult to not be in the Christmas spirit once you walked into the shop.

Y/N was looking through the different flavors of licorice ropes when Pansy began drawing her attention to the two different types of chocolate frogs they had that she was pretending to be interested in.

Pansy’s eyes glittered in the way they usually did whenever she was planning something mischievous, but before Y/N could say anything, Pansy’s hands collided with her shoulders and shoved her backwards.

Y/N stumbled back a few steps before she crashed up against someone.

“Oof!” Y/N felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “Oh my god, I am so so sorr-” Y/N stopped apologizing as she turned around and looked up to see whose chest it was that she had just slammed into. To her surprise, she was soon staring into the eyes of George Weasley.

George had a surprised look on his face before a mischievous smile took its place. Now that Y/N was this close to him, she could smell his cologne. It was intoxicating. Notes of evergreen and birch smoke wafted across his chest and Y/N felt her knees go weak.

“Oh you don’t have to apologize, I should have been watching where I was going,” George’s eyes narrowed a little, the smile still present on his face. “I don’t think I know your name. I’m George, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh, my name is Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as the two stared at one another before Pansy suddenly appeared next to Y/N.

“Hey, are you ready to go? I want a butterbeer.”

“Um, what?” Y/N asked, a little dazed. She didn’t get an answer to her question before Pansy was dragging her by the arm towards the door. Y/N looked back at George, only to find him staring back at her, a confused smile on his face. The two made eye contact for a second before the door slammed shut and he disappeared from view.

“Oh my god! What the bloody hell was that?! I shove you into him, hoping you’ll take that moment and seduce him with those bedroom eyes you make at him all the time, but no! Instead, you stare at him and become fucking Bambi!”

Y/N gaped at Pansy who was still dragging her down the street.

“Wha- I do not make bedroom eyes at him!”

Pansy gave her an exasperated look.

“Now I really do need a butterbeer, and you’re paying.” Pansy sighed before they walked into the Three Broomsticks.

After Pansy had gotten two steaming mugs of butterbeer, the two of them sat down at an empty table in the middle of the tavern. Madam Rosmerta had obviously spared no expense with the decorations and had put up evergreen garlands and red bows across the walls and beams. It was easy to feel comfortable and at home in the Three Broomsticks.

The two girls were chatting aimlessly to distract themselves as they sipped on their butterbeers until the entrance to the tavern blew open. Their eyes were drawn to the door as the Weasley twins walked in, followed closely by Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. They were shaking snow off of their heads and stomping their boots when Y/N felt Pansy’s hand squish her cheeks and turn her head towards her.

“Hey! You need to keep it together this time, alright?” Pansy let go of Y/N’s cheeks and went back to her butterbeer as if nothing happened. Y/N was rubbing her cheek when someone cleared their throat.

Standing next to their table, was George, who was towering over the two of them with a kind smile on his face.

“Hey,” His voice was soft and reminded Y/N of melted caramel and velvet. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye back in Honeydukes. I think I’ve seen you around Hogwarts, you’re in my brother’s year, right?”

“Oh! Yeah, I am, we’re in the same Potions class together I’m pretty sure. He’s really nice.”

The two of them stared at one another for a few seconds before Pansy finally broke the silence.

“So! Y/N here was actually just telling me about how much she liked your most recent prank on Umbridge with the firecrackers in her office.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Fred Weasley appeared right next to George.

“Does she now? Well, I can tell you for a fact, that George was the brains behind that one.”

Fred and Pansy shared a knowing look with one another while Y/N and George both shyly made eye contact.

“Um, yeah, I thought it was really clever of you guys, I heard that Umbridge was trying to get rid of the smell of it for weeks. She still smells like smoke sometimes in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

The twins smiled and laughed a little at your response.

“Yeah, apparently Umbridge spent four hours trying to get rid of it before she gave up,” George said, a little bashfully.

Fred and George pulled two chairs up to their table and the four continued talking, especially George and Y/N. By the time it was almost time to head back, the two were heavily invested in listening to the other’s voice. The entire walk back to the castle, George and Y/N both fell into a comfortable conversation that ended far too quickly.

They were talking about their favorite books when they reached the entrance to the Great Hall.

“Unfortunately, this is where I have to leave you, Ms. L/N,” George said in a solemn, posh voice. Y/N smiled.

“I suppose so Mr. Weasley. Until we meet again.” Y/N gave a shy little curtsy in response. George grabbed Y/N’s hand and swept into a deep bow before kissing the top of her hand.

The two then parted ways, heading to their respective house tables where they continued to sneak glances and stares at one another through the rest of the night.

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

A week later, Y/N was still thinking about George. Occasionally, their eyes would meet from across the room in the Great Hall or as they passed by one another in the hallways. It was difficult to think about anything but George.

However, on the last few days remaining before the winter holidays started, George stopped showing up around school. In fact, all of the Weasleys seemed to have disappeared from Hogwarts.

By the time the Hogwarts Express came to take everyone back home for the holidays, Y/N had given up on looking for him. Pansy was good at distracting Y/N by coming up with different plans to see each other before school resumed. This distracting continued up until they reached Platform 9 ¾.

The first three days of the break were peaceful and relaxing, a much-needed change from the O.W.L exams preparation the professors at school had them doing. On the fourth day, Y/N received a large barn owl carrying a letter. It had crashed into one of the closed kitchen windows during breakfast, completely missing the open one right next to it. After making sure that the owl was uninjured and able to stand back up on its feet, Y/N looked at the letter that the owl had been carrying.

The front of the envelope was addressed to Y/N in a messy scrawl of blue ink. Once she had opened the letter and scanned to the bottom of the page to see who it was from, her eyes widened.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back, this is important.” Y/N quickly excused herself from the table and ran to her room where she leaped onto her bed in order to read the letter thoroughly.

Dear Y/N,

I hope your holiday is going well! I know I had to leave pretty suddenly before the break and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye or even spend a lot of time with you. Maybe we could spend a Hogsmeade trip together when we get back?

- George Weasley

Once Y/N had read through the letter another three times, just to make sure she had actually read it correctly, she turned and screamed into her pillow.

After laying there for a few seconds, contemplating what to do next, she quickly ran over to her desk and pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from the drawer. Dipping the quill into the open inkwell that was sitting in front of her, she began writing a letter to Pansy.

Dear Pansy,

I have just received a letter from George Weasley! He has asked me to spend a Hogsmeade trip with him once we get back to school. How do I respond?! What do I say?

-Y/N

Y/N blew on the page to dry the ink and quickly folded the letter into thirds before shoving it into an envelope and closing it with a wax seal. In green ink, she wrote Pansy’s name and address before rushing back into the kitchen. She would need to send the letter by the family owl, Athena.

“Mum, I’m going to borrow Athena, I have a letter I need to send to Pansy.” Y/N didn’t wait for a response before she opened Athena’s cage and let her hop onto her wrist. She held out the envelope and the owl took it in its beak.

“Take this to Pansy, alright? Make sure she writes back immediately.”

With a muffled hoot, Athena flapped her wings before taking off and soaring out through the window and over the treeline.

Only a few hours later, Y/N received a response from Pansy.

Dear Y/N,

I was going to send a Howler with Owlexander, but Mum said I couldn’t. Apparently, Owlexander would get too spooked if the Howler went off mid-flight. SAY YES!! Tell him that you would love to spend a Hogsmeade trip with him and that you are looking forward to it. Also, ask about how he is doing and stuff like that if you want to keep receiving letters from him during the holiday.

-Pansy

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

Once it was time to return to Hogwarts, Y/N was filled with dread and excitement. On one hand, she would be seeing George for the first time since they had started writing letters to one another. On the other, Umbridge and the other professors would be piling on the homework and O.W.L.s preparation to the point that Y/N probably wouldn’t even be able to enjoy spending time with George.

Y/N didn’t see George until they were disembarking from the train once they had arrived at Hogsmeade station. He was standing with the rest of his siblings, as well as Hermione and Harry. When the two had finally made eye contact, Y/N gave a shy wave to George. However, once George raised his hand to wave back, Ron’s voice spoke loudly.

“Is that the Slytherin girl you fancy, George?”

Y/N had to stifle a giggle as George’s face went red and he quickly elbowed Ron in the stomach. Y/N felt Pansy’s hand close around hers, pulling her off towards the carriages that were waiting to take the students back up to the castle. Once they had arrived at an available carriage, Y/N began looking around for a familiar glimpse of copper hair but was quickly yanked in. Pansy was yet again ill-prepared for the cold winter weather and was shivering so hard that the seat was almost vibrating.

“Close the door, I want to keep as much of the warm air in.” Pansy’s sock-clad feet were pushed up against the small metal furnace in the middle of the floor. She gave a smirk as she leaned back against the cushioned seats. “You can invite Weasley to join us if he happens to ‘walk’ by.”

Y/N continued looking out the window, hoping for even the smallest sign of George, but the fogging of the windows only made it more difficult to see anything through the crowd of black robes.

Soon enough, the carriage was filled with some girls from Ravenclaw who had managed to get a last-minute seat before the carriages began up the path.

Pansy noticed Y/N’s defeated look and lightly poked her leg.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, you’ll see each other in only a few minutes, then you guys can stare at each other all through dinner.”

Throughout the feast, Y/N and George made eye contact several times which was closely followed by fierce blushes. Their glances couldn’t have been more obvious, and by the time Professor Dumbledore had cleared their plates and dismissed them from the Great Hall, both Pansy and Fred were shoving Y/N and George towards one another so that they could finally talk.

Their paths finally crossed when they walked through the large wooden doors that guarded the entrance to the Great Hall. George pulled Y/N aside and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Can I walk you back to your dormitory?”

Together, they took the long way down to the dungeons, talking quietly.

“How was your holiday?” Y/N asked once they had started the descent into the dungeons.

George gave a strained smile in response.

“It was alright, I’m sure you must have heard about my dad and everything.”

Y/N felt a surge of sympathy, her parents had come home from working at the Ministry with the news of what had happened to Mr. Weasley.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry that you all had to go through that. I’m glad he’s alright now, Mum and Dad said that St. Mungos had discharged him.”

“Yeah, we were all really relieved to hear that he was going to be okay. But what about you, how was your holiday?”

“It was alright, nice and relaxing, you know? But it could have been better.”

George had a confused smile on his face at her last comment.

“Oh? How so?”

They had finally reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room when Y/N turned to answer him.

“It would have been better if I had been able to see you.” Y/N then entered the common room and left George with his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise and a vibrant flush across his cheeks.

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

Sitting in the Astronomy Tower late at night was one of Y/N’s favorite ways to distract herself from the stress of assignments and exams. On nights when Astronomy classes weren’t being held, Y/N would lie on her back and watch the night sky through the enchanted ceiling. Focusing on finding constellations in the silence and stillness was meditative.

It was crisp in the tower, and Y/N choice of sleep shorts and one of Pansy’s silk pajama tops didn’t do much to fend off the cold breeze. Y/N was lost in thought when a sudden knocking on the side of the door alerted her to another person’s presence. She turned to see George leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest. He was wearing some plaid pajama pants and a loose, black t-shirt. He looked really good in casual clothes like this. The corner of his mouth was turned up slightly in a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” Y/N said in a soft voice.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” George asked, taking a few steps into the room.

Y/N smiled and shook her head.

“Not at all.”

A comfortable silence surrounded them for a brief moment.

“So what brings you up here this late at night?” George asked, now leaning against one of the window sills.

“I like to come up and watch the stars, it’s a nice way to relax after a long day.” Y/N looked at him quizzically. “I could ask you the same question, what are you doing up here?”

George laughed quietly before pulling out a piece of parchment from his pajama bottom’s pockets.

“I received an owl at my window with this letter.”

George unfolded the parchment and read aloud.

“Y/N is up in the Astronomy Tower by herself. Go for it.”

Y/N turned to hide the blush that was forming across her face. There was no doubt in her mind that Pansy had sent that letter, she was the only one who knew where Y/N had gone to.

“You know, I wanted to ask you to Hogsmeade earlier, before we left for the holidays.” George was looking at his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I was too scared to ask you when we were in Hogsmeade, I didn’t think you would say yes.”

Y/N studied George’s posture closely. His shoulders were curled in, he seemed to be trying to make himself look as small as possible without being too conspicuous.

“Well now you know that there is nothing to be scared about,” Y/N hesitated before pushing herself away from the wall she was leaning on. “Come and help me get some blankets from the closet, I’m pretty sure Professor Sinistra keeps some extras in there.”

George had a bemused expression on his face, but followed Y/N to a small closet door. Inside the closet were scrolls of parchment, planetary charts, and astrological drawings for Professor Sinistra’s classes, some dusty telescopes, and rolls of blankets that were used for cold nights.

Spreading the blankets on the floor, they laid down next to one another, staring at the sky above them. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the stars were bright, the perfect night for stargazing. They watched the sky silently before Y/N broke the silence.

“That constellation over there is Perseus,” Y/N was pointing to a cluster of stars above them, “I always loved hearing his story in class.”

“Why’s that?”

There was a beat of silence.

“He was one of the only Greek heroes who actually had a happy ending. That’s all any of us really want, a happy ending.”

“Well, what was Perseus’ happy ending?”

Y/N smiled to herself.

“He got the girl and married a princess.”

George was quiet for a moment before he responded.

“Yeah, that does sound like a happy ending.”

Y/N felt George’s fingers brush against the back of her hand. She opened her palm and felt George’s hand clasp hers, their fingers intertwining together.

“You know, if you had asked me during that first Hogsmeade trip, I would have said yes.” Y/N spoke softly. It was quiet between them once again and Y/N turned her head to the side.

George had turned onto his side to look at Y/N. The usual mischievous smirk was gone, replaced instead by a look of relief and a gentle smile resting on his lips.

Y/N’s eyes flitted down to his mouth before looking into his eyes once again.

George’s other hand came up to her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before stroking her cheek. His thumb traced down her cheek and around the outline of her lips, parting them slightly.

Y/N softly bit down on his thumb, a smile behind her eyes. George withdrew his hand a little before gently tilting her chin towards him. Y/N raised her hand to caress his cheek and pulled him into a soft kiss.

His lips were soft and warm, and she felt herself melt into his embrace. The kiss felt sweet and comforting, almost like warm honey running down her throat. She hadn’t realized how pliant she had become in his grasp until he moved his hand to the small of her back and around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. Y/N could feel the warmth of his chest pressing against her own, fending off the crisp coolness that had filled the tower.

Her hand that was resting on his cheek moved to the back of his neck and she tangled her fingers through his hair. A low moan resonated from his throat and he gripped her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Her heart was racing and she felt a spark in the pit of her stomach that was growing more ravenous by the second. George pulled back a little, breaking the kiss before he started kissing down her neck, slowly tracing a line to her collarbone.

Euphoria couldn’t even begin to describe what Y/N was feeling as George’s hands slid underneath her shirt, his hands warm and comforting.

With a sudden burst of bravery, Y/N took their still clasped hands and guided them to her sleep shorts. George froze for a second before slowly drawing back.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you into anything you don’t want to do.” His face had a nervous expression painted across it.

“I’m sure. Are you?” Y/N studied his face, his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure.”

George pulled the sleep shorts down Y/N’s legs, who kicked them off carelessly to a corner of the tower. Y/N felt a shiver course down her body once her legs were fully exposed to the night’s air.

George pushed himself up, his legs straddling Y/N’s waist, and pulled his shirt over his head in one, seamless movement. His body was toned, no doubt from the hours of Quidditch practice, and the way the silver light coming through the open windows glanced off his body made it look like moonlight was made just for him.

George’s head was cocked to the side, as if he was considering what to do next. His eyes looked heavy and dark, a stark contrast to their usual bright and lively expression.

“Why don’t you take that off for me?”

He nodded to the sleep shirt that Y/N was still wearing. Y/N’s hands moved slowly, undoing the buttons carefully. After the shirt had been completely undone, George brushed the fabric off her shoulders. He paused for a moment, looking at Y/N, before he cupped the back of her head and pulled her into another kiss. There was something different about him now though, this kiss felt more passionate and heated. Y/N’s hands were embracing George’s cheek and the back of his head, once again tangling themselves in his soft hair.

George’s hips were slowly grinding down into Y/N’s, setting off sparks deep within her stomach. Her reaction to his touch made her reflect for a moment, no one else had ever had this kind of effect on her before, no one else made her swoon just by looking her way, and certainly no one had made her fall apart under their touch.

Y/N’s hand traced down George’s neck, down his chest, and down to the waistband of his pants. He seemed to understand what she was asking and wordlessly pushed the elastic band down, kicking the pants somewhere haphazardly. The sparks Y/N had felt in the pit of her stomach earlier were coming back in full force.

George pushed Y/N’s legs apart and slotted himself in between them, pulling her hips closer to his face. There was a smile behind his eyes as he pressed a kiss to each of her hip bones, never breaking eye contact.

“You know, I have been wanting to do this for ages,” George began kissing up the inside of her thigh. Y/N threw her head back, her eyes closed as she reveled in his touch.

Y/N didn’t have time to respond as George’s thumb found and slowly circled her clit. A low moan escaped from her and Y/N threaded her fingers through the fringe on his head. Y/N could feel his smile against her thigh.

“But don’t worry, I’m about to make it up to the both of us.”

His thumb drew back suddenly, and Y/N was about to groan in protest until she felt his tongue take its place. Her grip on his hair tightened between her fingers. Y/N’s breaths were shallow now as she tried to keep her voice down. But with each passing moment, she found it more difficult to keep the sounds at bay.

George’s tongue expertly moved, making Y/N fall apart with each passing moment. It was almost as if time didn’t exist, all that mattered was the pleasure that Y/N was experiencing and that George was the one making her feel this way.

Y/N felt the pressure in her stomach begin to rise and grow in intensity. Each breath was now a gasp for air as George became more fervent with his movements. His hands were tightly gripping her thighs and waist, pushing them down so that she could not writhe around. Her leg began to shake and Y/N had to bite down on her hand to stop the loud moans that were threatening to escape from her.

“I-I’m going to-” Y/N couldn’t finish her sentence, but George seemed to understand. He increased his relentless pace, not giving Y/N a moment to fall from the high she was about to experience.

Her vision went white and her back arched as the feeling of euphoria became all-consuming. With one final gasp, Y/N’s orgasm faded into a muted throb in the core of her stomach once again. Her grip loosened on George’s hair, her hand sliding down to his cheek.

The mischievous knowing smirk was on his face again, his tongue resting between his teeth.

“That was-,” Y/N took a deep breath.

“Amazing? Wondrous? Phenomenal?” George had a proud tone to his voice.

“Aren’t you smug? I was going to say mind-blowing but you don’t seem to need an ego boost.”

Her hand dropped from his cheek and rested on her stomach, which was rising and falling with every deep breath she took.

George pushed himself up onto his arms and moved so that his face was only inches from Y/N’s. Her hands came up to his bare waist, where they then slowly moved up his back, tracing over the lines of muscle, and finally to his shoulder and the back of his neck. Her fingers threaded through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, tracing light patterns that sent shutters down George’s spine.

“You,” George leaned down and kissed the tip of Y/N’s nose, “are so,” a kiss on her left cheek, “incredibly,” a kiss on her right cheek “beautiful,” and finally, a kiss on her awaiting lips.

“Are you ready?” George’s voice was soft, a vague expression of concern on his face.

“Yeah, I am.” Y/N pulled his waist closer to hers, giving George the permission he needed to continue.

George slowly entered Y/N, moving carefully as to not make any sudden movements. Once his hips were flush with Y/N’s, he paused, giving her a moment to adjust to the sudden pressure. Y/N let out a content sigh, which George took as a sign to move, and he slowly began pulling out.

His hips began to find an easy rhythm and Y/N pulled him down into a heady and meaningful kiss. Every movement was slow and deep, Y/N’s hips raising to meet George’s with each thrust. The cold breeze that was washing over them went unnoticed, the heat from their bodies shielding and keeping them warm. Y/N could feel George’s muscles flex with the rise and fall of his chest and the rolling of his hips which only added to the electric feeling in her core.

Y/N’s back arched as George drove into the very spot that made her fall apart, soft moans falling from her parted lips in concurrence with George’s quiet grunts. With each thrust forward, George kissed along the line of Y/N’s neck and down to her chest, his lips grazing over her collarbones.

“D-don’t stop,” Y/N gasped, tensing as his cock somehow drove deeper into her than it had before. Her request elicited a breathy laugh from George’s mouth.

“Does that feel good sweetheart?” his voice had a teasing tone to it, she could hear his smile in his words.

“Yes, yes it feels so good,” she moaned loudly, not caring anymore about keeping quiet. George pushed himself up in response, his hand tightly gripping onto her waist as he drove into her, pulling her down onto his cock with force.

‘Oh my god, right there,” Y/N continued babbling praise, her mind going blank. Each breath was a gasp for air, her legs were trembling violently as she began to approach her high once again. Once George’s calloused fingers came down to her clit, she felt her orgasm crash over her once again, loud moans falling from her mouth.

Y/N felt herself tense around George and his hips began to stutter, the steady rhythm losing its pattern as he began chasing his high after Y/N’s. It only took a few more stroked before his orgasm finally washed over his body, his toned arms supporting his upper body as he fell forward.

They were both panting, trying to catch their breaths in the wake of their climaxes. George carefully pulled out and laid down beside Y/N, his arms trembling slightly. Y/N turned to face George and rested her head against his chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. The only sound within the tower was their heavy breathing as they took a few moments to recover.

George’s fingertips brushed the tops of her thighs, following the curves and dips of her waist and hips. His hand finally came to rest on her lower back, where he began tracing aimless patterns. The light patterns sent exhilarated shivers down Y/N’s spine, keeping her in a state of bliss. If heaven was anything but this, she didn’t want it.

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

After they had magically cleaned up after themselves and put the blankets back into the closet, they walked down the spiraling staircase from the Astronomy Tower, hand in hand. They were surrounded by a comfortable silence, the only sounds being their footsteps on the stone steps and the occasional whisper from the portraits on the walls.

George noticed the hint of a smile that was resting on Y/N face. When they had turned the corner to an empty hallway, George nudged her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What are you smiling about?”

She shook her head, smiling.

“I’m just really happy right now.”

“Me too,” he responded, squeezing her hand reassuringly. A smirk suddenly appeared on his face, “how long did you actually like me then?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush with heat.

“Well I’ve always liked your pranks and I’ve always thought you were attractive, but I think it was the Yule Ball where I realized that I liked you. I don’t know if you remember this, but you asked me to dance. No one had ever asked me to dance before,” she glanced up at George’s face, which was now dawning in realization.

“Oh yeah! I remember that, Fred dared me to ask the prettiest girl in the room for a dance. I asked McGonagall but she said no, so I asked you instead,” a teasing smile was on his face now, “Have you really liked me for all that time?”

“Yeah, I think Pansy became so fed up that she had to start intervening.”

“Is that why she shoved you into me that day in Hogsmeade?” George laughed, “I think Fred was getting fed up as well, he’s practically been shoving me towards the Slytherin table every day.”

They crossed through the entrance hall towards the grand staircase, where they would descend down to the entrance to the dungeons. A gust of cold air blew down through the halls from the Quad, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine. George pulled her close into his side and they continued, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders.

They descended the steps to the dungeons and past the Potions classrooms and down one final set of stairs to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Most of the time, the cold and wet feeling of the dungeons before walking into the warm and cozy common room was unsettling for Y/N, but she didn’t mind it as much when she was standing next to George.

“I had a really nice time tonight. I’m glad you came up to the tower,” Y/N said, turning to say her goodbyes to George.

“I had a nice time too,” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Y/N looked up to the hair that was falling across his forehead and tucked it away from his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then? At breakfast?” she tried not to sound too hopeful, but it was difficult to not look forward to the next time they saw one another.

“Yeah, I will. And then maybe I can take you out on a real date?”

“I would love that.”

They both leaned forward for one final kiss goodbye, then Y/N turned to the stone wall and uttered the password. The wall dissolved away and she walked through, looking back at George. As they brought their hands up to wave goodbye, the wall reformed and became solid between them once again.

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

The common room was pretty much empty, with the occasional cat stretching out on the plush velvet couches, and the fire in the fireplace now a pile of crackling logs. Different patterns of light were dancing around the room, shining through the transparent ceiling beneath the Black Lake. The only thing that could be seen through the inky darkness was the rippling moon, which was hanging brightly in the sky. Even the lake seemed to be asleep at this hour.

Y/N quietly tiptoed up the winding stone staircase to the girls’ dormitories where she shared a room with Pansy. She attempted to silently slide the door open, trying not to wake anyone, but her efforts were abandoned as soon as Pansy crashed into her, a barrage of questions pouring from her mouth.

“Was he there? What happened? Why were you up there so long, I thought Filch had caught you for sure!” Pansy was pulling Y/N by the arm to her bed, insisting that she answer every question that was thrown her way.

Once Y/N was situated on the bed, she began to tell Pansy about everything that had happened in the tower. Once she had gotten to the part where they kissed, Pansy let out a gasp and her hand flew over her mouth in shock.

“So he admitted that he liked you and he kissed you under the stars?” her voice was a whisper this time, her eyes rounding in shock.

“Mmhmm, but wait, it gets better,” Y/N giggled, leaning forward to continue her story in hushed tones. Pansy swooned at all the right moments and gasped encouragingly whenever a new detail of Y/N’s night with George was brought up.

It was almost sunrise by the time they had finished talking about George and sleep was pulling at their eyes.

“We better get some sleep now before we have to go down to breakfast,” Pansy yawned loudly, stretching her legs out before walking over to her bed. She looked at her watch as she crawled under the covers, “we should be able to get a few hours in before those damn first years wake us up again.”

Y/N pulled the covers back and slid between the cool sheets, thinking about the next time she would see George and what she would say to him. The fairy lights above their heads dimmed slightly and the fire in the fireplace slowed to a soft crackle.

“I’ll see you in the morning then. Good night,” Y/N began to draw the velvet curtains around her bed closed. There was a smirk on Pansy’s face as she began to close her curtains as well.

“Oh, you definitely had a good night,” Pansy ducked, laughing loudly as a hairbrush was thrown her way, narrowly missing her head.

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

Once they had gotten a few good hours of sleep, the two of them walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Y/N was fiddling with the hem of her sleeve nervously as they entered the entrance hall.

“Oh my god, will you stop futzing with it? Just act normal, you’ll be fine,” Pansy whispered, hooking her arm around Y/N’s. They finally walked through the large doors that entered into the Great Hall and were greeted by the loud chatter and clattering of silverware against plates. The hum only grew louder when Slytherin’s Quidditch team walked into the Great Hall wearing their emerald green Quidditch robes.

“I completely forgot, there’s Quidditch today!” Y/N remarked to Pansy as they sat down. Pansy was already filling her plate with some bacon and scrambled eggs.

“What do you mean ‘you forgot’? They’re playing Gryffindor, I would have thought you’d have the Gryffindor Quidditch schedule memorized.”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Y/N finally caught a glimpse of fiery hair walking through the entrance and over to the Gryffindor table. George and the rest of the Gryffindor team strode into the Great Hall to cheers and applause from the Gryffindor table. They were wearing their scarlet Quidditch robes, a stark contrast to the black school robes everyone else was wearing. George was carrying a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine in his hands which he slipped underneath his robes.

It was nearing the end of breakfast when George stood up and walked over to the Slytherin table, stopping in front of Y/N.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Y/N nodded her head slightly.

“Yeah,” Y/N’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She stood from the bench and followed George out into the entrance hall. Y/N could feel people’s eyes on her as she trailed behind George, it wasn’t every day that a Gryffindor walked up to the Slytherin table to talk to someone, let alone pull them aside for a private conversation.

George pulled her behind a pillar so that her back was against the stone wall. He pulled the wrapped parcel up and held it out for her to take.

“I was hoping you would wear it at the match today,” George said as Y/N carefully untied the twine holding the brown paper together. The paper fell away to reveal a red and gold scarf.

“I know we’re playing Slytherin and all, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

Y/N brought it up to her nose and breathed in, the scent seemed to envelop her senses. She glanced up at George’s face, a smile resting on her lips.

“I would love to,” Y/N wrapped the scarf around her neck, tossing one end over her shoulder, “how do I look?”

George cupped her cheeks and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Wonderful. Really wonderful”

Y/N walked back into the Great Hall still wearing the scarf. She sat down next to Pansy again and casually grabbed a croissant from Pansy’s plate, the corners of her mouth upturned slightly. Pansy leaned forward, her elbow leaning on the table and an amazed look on her face.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” a smile was growing on Pansy’s face as she stole a few glances at the scarf.

“Oh nothing,” Y/N paused for a moment, the croissant inches from her mouth. She had a look on her face like she was contemplating something amusing before she spoke again, “I’m just really excited for Quidditch today.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #Harry Potter #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson x friend!reader #wingman!pansy parkinson #mutual pining

1K notes · View notes

wtfevenismypage · 4 years

Text

Maroon

request: Hey, could you do a Spence request where you're all at Rossi's mansion for the weekend for poker, pasta and cigars. Spence is getting Rossi's place ready with him, and the guys and won't shut up about how much he fancies you, and the guys all encourage him to tell you and you're at Emily's with the girls getting in the car for the weekend. They know how you feel about him, and how he feels about you. One evening, you're all super drunk and Spence blurts out his feelings for you. 🥰💕🥰

Warnings:Strong language, Pure fluffieness

A/N: This idea was absolutely adorable! I had a lot of fun writing it down!

Spencer wasn’t exactly subtle about his feelings towards you, anytime you were around, all he could focus on was you, the way your nose scrunched up when you laughed, the face of euphoria you made when you eat McDonald's after a long day, the frustration that exuded when you had a disagreement with Hotch (you’re the only one with the balls to argue with him) but he ended up ordering you to give up.

The only person on the team who didn’t know about Spencer’s love for you, was, well, you. You were too busy trying to keep your eyes off of him to notice his endearment for you. You had the same issue Spencer had, only you noticed how he tended to dart his tongue over his lips when he got nervous, or when he smiled at the sight of Henrey or Jack, the way he stuttered when he rambled around you, or the passion in his eyes when he talked about his mom.

Spencer didn’t exactly appreciate when the other members of the team teased him about his love for you, so when he got trapped with the men, getting ready for a party at Rossi’s mansion he tried to keep silent as to not drag attention to himself.

It didn’t work.

“I wonder if Y/N will wear a dress or a suit?”

Morgan spoke out, smirking at how Spencer’s cheeks turned bright red at just the mention of your name alone.

“I think she’ll wear a dress, you know she loves them, even if she wears suits to work. what do you think Reid?”

Rossi asked, all eyes turned to a blushing Spencer who was making fruit punch. He was avoiding eye contact, stuck at the thought of you in a dress, or a floral suit you would wear to a bar, either way you were stunning to him.

“She’ll wear a suit, she’s more comfortable in them, a dress makes her feel too fancy, she admires the idea of wearing dresses, but she doesn’t wear them because she doesn’t want people to view her as too feminine for being an agent. So she’ll wear a suit, most likely a black coat with a floral dress shirt and floral pants.”

He didn’t even notice the wide smile on his face that slowly spread as he spoke about you. He was lost in thought until Morgan and Hotch’s laughs brought hime back to the present.

“Dude, you are whipped for her.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, stammering as his voice goes up five octaves.

“Shut up Morgan! I’m not!”

“You are! You’ve been staring at her for years! Every time she’s in the same room as you you just stare like a lovesick maniac! I mean come on man! You gotta tell her!”

“Reid, do you love Y/N?”

Spencer doesn’t even know how to answer Hotch’s question. Did he love you? He knew he liked you at least, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit he was in love again. He hadn’t said it since Maeve... However, just by thinking of you again, he was sure.

“I do...”

--At Emily’s apartment (the girls)--

“I do! I love it so much! Thank you Penelope!”

Penelope had purchased personally designed dresses made for each of the women, yours was a simple, dark maroon silk dress, it ended right above your knees, flowing freely around your cleavage.

“I knew you would like it!”

“It kind of reminds me of that red suit that Spencer wore to Rossi’s party at that one bar that one time, remember that?”

The girls look at you confused, No one has ever remembered every outfit Spencer has worn, except for Spencer.

“You seriously don’t remember? C’mon! That was one of his best looks!”

“I beg of you just confess your undying love for him tonight.”

You click your tongue. The girls were more straight-forward with you than how the men were with Spencer, yes they teased you endlessly, but they also begged you to confess your love to him constantly. Sometimes they would even text you on the jet when you were sitting right next to him.

“Can’t. You see, Spencer’s an intelligent man, he would know that I’m lying.”

Groans all around the room. You, unlike Spencer, are great at hiding your feelings for the man as long as the man himself is no where to be seen. However if he was around, you became a rambling mess, Spencer just thought you were embarrassed that everyone was insisting you liked him.

“C’mon Y/N, you may be able to hide it when Dr. Genius isn’t around, but honey oh honey you do not see yourself when he’s around. You get all blushy and flustered and it’s adorable and it’s killing me that you won’t admit it!”

“I’m very sorry for killing you my dearest Penelope, but I can’t. Even if I did like him, which I don’t, I don’t even begin to compare to him in any way. He wouldn’t go for me if I were the last girl on earth.”

Your mood clearly decreased to a sad lump of emotion, your back slumping as you lean against a wall, looking down at your heels. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop loving him.

--At Rossi’s mansion (tha bois)--

“Oh my god we finally got him to admit it! You love Y/n Y/L/N!”

The men at Rossi’s mansion (which were somehow finished with getting the party ready) wouldn't stop messing with Young Dr. Reid. The poor man couldn’t even sit down without being teased.

“We finally did it boys! We got him to admit it!”

“Now we need him to tell her!”

That made Spencer’s head shoot up, confess to his friends that he loved you? Sure, why not. Tell you?

Abso-fucking-lutely not. He wasn’t even remotely ready for that.

“No. No! I’m not doing that! I can’t! Hotch, tell them I can’t!”

Hotch chuckles at the state of the fully grown man, the usually calm doctor had literal tears staining his eyes as he begged Hotch to stop Morgan and Rossi.

“Okay okay, leave Reid alone. The party hasn’t even started and He’s having a mental breakdown.”

A small ding rings out in the laughter of the men, Rossi pulls his phone out.

“Looks like the ladies are on their way over, finally, apparently there was a tiny issue so they might be a tiny bit late.”

--In Emily’s car (the ladies)--

“Intoxicate me now, with your loving now, I think I’m ready now...”

“I THINK I”M READY NOW!”

You and the rest of the women aggressively shouted the lyrics to Toxic while on the way to Rossi’s mansion. After your half-assed love confession to your girls, you had a nervous breakdown and broke out in tears for a solid ten minutes.

Penelope managed to get you up though, lifting your spirits with the power of Britney Spears.

JJ’s phone rings, and she pulls it up to her ear.

“Hey Hotch! Her outfit color? Why? Yeah it’s maroon, how did you-”

She pulls the phone away from her ear, looking at the rest of the dancing ladies. Y/n and Penelope were screaming random song lyrics while Emily records it, chuckling at the scene unfolding before her.

You weren’t even drunk yet and you were already excited, poker nights at Rossi’s were the best. He would select one person (occasionally two) to help him cook pasta, and cooking with him was super fun. Music would play in the background, making you drag random team members to the ‘dance floor’ and forcing them to dance with you.

They did end up enjoying dancing with you however, but they’ll never admit it.

“We’re almost there!”

--Rossi’s mansion (the entire team)--

“Oh boys! The party has arrived!”

Penelope yells out as the four of you walk in, champagne and beer resting in your hands. The others were probably in the kitchen, sat at the island as Rossi gets the ingredients for pasta out.

“We’re in the kitchen!”

You follow the sound of music and laughing Hotch to find three of four male team members sitting down. Spencer was missing. His absence immediately smacks the smile off of your face, looking around blankly for him.

“Where’s Reid?”

Smug, shit-eating smiles spread across everyone’s faces as you set the beer down, grabbing a handful of chips from a bowl and shoveling them down your throat.

“Pretty boy’s upstairs getting dressed. You gonna go join him?”

You fake a gag as a blush crawls up your neck. They didn’t know how much you actually wanted to.

If only I could...

You smirk before sitting down next to Hotch, bringing your hand to his hair and ruffling it around, laughing as he grimaces.

“Hotch, you should try new hairstyles. The ol’ sweep back look ain’t doing you justice.”

“I’ll wear my hair as I want to thank you very much. Now stop messing with it, as soon as Reid gets down here, he’s announcing who’s helping him cook.”

You giggle and pat the counter excitedly, looking at the ingredients Rossi’s pulling out.

“Those don’t look like ingredients for pasta Rossi...”

He looks up at JJ’s question, smiling with a wink.

“It’s not pasta. tonight we are making a classic Italian pepperoni pizza.”

‘ooooo’s and ‘aaaaaaa’s fill the room. Pizza sounded wonderful, especially considering all of the drinking you planned on doing tonight.

“We’re having pizza instead of pasta?”

Your head turned to the stairs to meet the excited voice of mystery. Your lungs froze as you meet Spencer’s eyes. He was wearing that damned velvet red suit that made you so excited.

It was as if the world had stopped when the two of you saw each other. He was adjusting his hair, but his hands pause when he sees you, he couldn’t stop the smile that spread when he noticed the colors of your outfits matched. It all clicked as to why Hotch and Morgan yelled at him to get back to his apartment to retrieve the suit.

Meanwhile you were struggling to tear your eyes away from him, you didn’t notice the matching velvet pieces, instead you noticed the stars in his eyes, the way he paused at the bottom of the stairs to smile at everyone, the happy smile that reached his starry eyes.

Neither of you noticed how everyone else snickered, or how they actually pulled their phones out, it wasn’t until Emily was shaking your shoulder and Morgan smacked the back of his head that you two snapped out of it, acting as if nothing happened and simply looked back at Rossi.

“Yep. And my helper will beeeeeeeeee...”

His finger moves around the room rapidly, before landing on you.

“Y/N.”

Groans and clapping fill the room as you walk to the other side of the island, wrapping an arm around Rossi.

“Alright, now the rest of you. Out.”

You say. laughing as they all leave, but you miss the way Spencer’s eyes travel over your body a final time before walking into the room with all the cold drinks.

“Alright,” you start, looking at Rossi with a wide smile, “Let’s get started.”

almost twenty minutes later you and Rossi were putting the uncooked pizza in the oven, the hooting and laughing of already-drunken FBI agents making you and Rossi laugh.

“Y’know, I’m shocked that Reid decided to drink. He never drinks around us.”

You say, smiling while watching the pizza darken. More accurately, Reid never drank around you in fear that Drunk Spencer would say something dumb. Or worse, that Drunk Spencer would confess his love for you.

“Yeah that is pretty weird.”

Rossi looked at you, you were laughing while watching him, a wide smile on your face as Emily and Spencer dance drunkenly together.

“So, just between you and I,” You turned to meet Rossi’s gaze, watching his shit-eating smirk spread, “How do you feel about the kid?”

You freeze up at the question, letting it bounce around in your brain as you watch Spencer laugh happily. Your heart ached at the sound of his gorgeous laugh. Like, it physically hurt.

“I love him... Oh god... I’m in love with him Rossi.”

You giggled a giggle of pure fear as you finally admit your love to yourself and to someone else. It felt scary, it felt so real all of the sudden.

“You finally admit it huh? Well, you should go after him before some other girl who isn’t nearly as brilliant as you sweeps him up.”

You laugh and shake your head, doubt swimming in your brain.

“Nah. There’s no way he would go for someone like me. He has three P.h.D’s and is literally a genius. meanwhile I can barely remember what I ate last night. It won’t happen.”

Rossi sighs. How dense could the two of you be? You two were in love with each other, yet you were so fucking blind.

Meanwhile in the other room, everyone was trying to get Reid to confess his love to you. He was like a drunken puppy that tried his best to listen to commands, but just couldn’t.

“Just go up to her and tell her you love her! I’ll steal her away if you don’t.”

That was Emily.

“Nooooooo! Don’t touch her! I love heeeeeeer!”

Spencer cried out from the floor. He was laid out like a starfish with an empty beer can in his hands. He didn’t know why he started drinking, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.

“Then gooooo!”

Spencer stood reluctantly, groaning as they all pushed him towards the kitchen.

You and Rossi watched in shock as Spencer ran into the kitchen, breaking out into tears when he met your eyes.

“Woah woah woah... What’s wrong Spencer?”

You ask, mama mode taking over at the sight of his tears. However you really weren’t expecting what happened next.

“Y/N!”

He yelled out before running into you, falling onto his knees before you while clutching your lower back and resting his head on your tummy.

“Wha-”

“I looooooooove you! ‘m in looooooooooooove with you!”

You froze up, not noticing how everyone was recording this from the couch, Rossi clamping a hand on your shoulder. You just kept petting his hair as he sobbed against your stomach.

“Hey, Spencer, bud, why don’t you stand up and tell her properly?”

He listens to Rossi’s advice, standing on his feet and grabbing your face in his hands before leaning in.

“What-”

He cuts you off with his lips, melding the two of you together as everyone cheers and claps. You were momentarily frozen, but you quickly kissed him back. You were eager to take whatever love you could get from him, even if he doesn’t remember in the morning.

When he pulls away, you simply stare in shock as he tries to pull you away from the kitchen, your gaze flashes over to Rossi, who simply ushers you off with the young genius.

“C’mon! We gotta get out of here!”

You giggled and laughed the entire train ride back to Spencer’s apartment, cuddling in his bed the entire night.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen in the morning, you only knew that you were spending tonight in his arms.

“Hey Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

He smiles against your skin, pulling you closer against his bare chest. He was warm against your semi-cold skin, making you smile into his neck.

You really didn’t want this moment to end ever.

1K notes · View notes

raphidae · 4 years

Note

AliHaku for the ship meme! OwO

I’m honestly so stoked that you sent me this ask, I have missed Alihaku and will do my best to do them justice!

Who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter?

Alibaba is the werewolf, and Hakuryuu is the hunter.

Alibaba lives with a small pack in Balbadd with Kassim, Mariam, Hassan and Zaynab, and as of the beginning of the tale has no idea he’s the prince of Balbadd.

Hakuryuu is the youngest prince of the Kou Empire and has no chance at the throne, so he has unofficially been given the title of royal supernatural hunter and been assigned to investigate and contain (however euphemistically that means depends on the means of containment Hakuryuu is told to utilize) whatever supernatural forces occupy the lands they conquer.

He resents the job, and the brothers who have assigned it to him, more than he can say.

Kassim, of course, will always have that revolutionary spirit to him, so when Hakuryuu notices the local werewolves begin to whisper of an uprising against the Kou Empire, he is told to contain it with extreme prejudice.

However, the first werewolf he actually speaks to ends up being Alibaba, who saves him from another werewolf from a rival pack, and Alibaba, being the friendly and naive sort, welcomes Hakuryuu into his home while they both nurse their wounds.

Over the weeks it takes for them to recover, they get to know each other and genuinely fall for each other… and then Hakuryuu finds out two things: one, Alibaba’s the leader of the revolutionary forces rather than Kassim, who he initially suspected, and two, Alibaba is the lost prince of Balbadd.

Also, as it turns out, Kassim had turned the young prince Alibaba into a werewolf to save his life after Al-Thamen’s initial attack on Balbadd five years prior to the beginning of this tale (and the werewolf bite had the unfortunate side effect of amnesia).

After calling Kassim out for not telling Alibaba of his true heritage, Hakuryuu learns from Kassim that Al-Thamen is a still a strong presence in Balbadd and would have killed werewolf!Alibaba within the week had Alibaba returned to the palace.

Therefore, Hakuryuu allies himself with the revolutionaries, and they eventually overthrow Al-Thamen and create a far more equitable alliance between the Kou Empire and Balbadd… one bound by a wedding between Alibaba and Hakuryuu.

Who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman?

Hakuryuu’s the merman prince, and Alibaba’s the fisherman who stumbled upon this prince in search of revenge.

Hakuryuu has to nurse his wounds after a failed attempt to retake his kingdom from his mother, who’s possessed by an evil spirit within the ocean.

Alibaba nurses him back to health, finding a cavern Hakuryuu could hide in and chatting with him during a pit stop he takes every day.

They fall deeply in love with each other, but Hakuryuu is told that in order to gain an alliance with the country Alibaba is from, he must marry their royalty.

Alibaba promises to help any way he can, but is taken away by the guards before he can do anything.

The guards drag him to the palace, and Alibaba expects to be executed, only to find a glimmer of happy recognition in the king’s eyes: turns out Alibaba is King Rashid’s illegitimate son.

Alibaba asks his father if he has specified which royal would marry Prince Hakuryuu of the Deep, and Rashid says he hasn’t; Alibaba immediately volunteers for the position, and Rashid sighs in relief; he hadn’t been looking forward to asking either Ahbmad or Sahbmad to part with their lovers for an arranged marriage.

Hakuryuu is resigned to killing either the royal he is assigned to marry or himself rather than gaining the alliance through a loveless marriage, so imagine his shock when the royal he’s to be wed to is the fisherman he had fallen madly in love with.

After a joyous reunion, they are swiftly wed, and Alibaba and Hakuryuu work together to regain Hakuryuu’s kingdom and even save Hakuryuu’s mother from the evil spirit that had been possessing her.

Who’s the witch and who’s the familiar?

Hakuryuu’s the witch, and Alibaba’s the familiar.

Alibaba’s a familiar who can shift into various animals, most often either a cat, a salamander or a golden retriever.

Hakuryuu specializes in life magic, and he uses his powers to create various remedies and prosthetics for people.

Alibaba’s dog form is often used as a therapy dog, and he is beloved by all Hakuryuu’s patients.

Alibaba’s human form, however, is most beloved by Hakuryuu himself.

Who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict?

Hakuryuu’s the barista, Alibaba’s the coffee addict.

Being a barista is Hakuryuu’s first job after graduating college, and his family has pointedly told him to use it to improve his social skills.

Hakuryuu does come to like his job, especially when he’s allowed to bake some pastries for the shop, and especially whenever one of the regulars shows up.

Alibaba comes to the coffee shop every Monday through Friday at 2:47pm on the dot, near the end of Hakuryuu’s shift.

Much to Hakuryuu’s surprise, it’s the one thing on Alibaba’s schedule that he religiously follows (he’s generally late to everything else on his schedule, but never for Hakuryuu’s coffee and final batch of fresh madeleines for the day).

Turns out Alibaba is an up-and-coming wholesaler for fabrics and other decorative items for clothing, and Hakuryuu is shocked by the world Alibaba speaks of and brings him into afterward.

They eventually find themselves chatting after Hakuryuu’s shifts end (at 3:15pm), and Hakuryuu sees to it that Alibaba better manage his time, while Alibaba helps Hakuryuu loosen up and make friends.

Eventually they recognize their feelings for each other and ask each other out. Eventually.

But wait… there’s more! Under the cut, of course!

Who’s the professor and who’s the TA?

Alibaba’s the professor, Hakuryuu’s the TA.

Alibaba is a brilliant but scatterbrained international economics professor who regularly goes off tangent with stories of “the absolute best muhammara I have ever tasted in this small restaurant in Syria”, soldiers who could carry a tune better than most opera singers he knew, and of course his many romances with people around the world, all embarrassingly failed.

Hakuryuu is the equally brilliant but extremely disgruntled TA who has to keep Alibaba on track.

Much to Hakuryuu’s surprise, Alibaba and his classes remain extremely popular even with his ramblings. He initially suspects that it’s because he’s an easy A, but after the first round of graded essays that resulted in only 1 A and 2 A- in a class of 100, Hakuryuu’s mind is changed.

Alibaba helps Hakuryuu with his doctoral thesis from time to time, and Hakuryuu learns why Alibaba consistently rambles in his classes (and why even though he’s only a year older than Hakuryuu he’s already on the brink of getting tenure): he tells the stories to remind the students that yes, we are dealing with international economies, but there are people, real life human people, at the center of them all.

Hakuryuu and Alibaba fall deeply for each other, but they don’t date until after Hakuryuu finishes his doctorate and becomes a fellow professor.

Then they become rival professors… and hilarity ensures.

Who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)?

This can honestly go either way with the two of them, especially since they’re both princes in canon, but I think for the sake of this ask, Alibaba’s the knight and Hakuryuu’s the runaway prince.

Hakuryuu and Alibaba ran from their country once Hakuryuu’s father was violently overthrown, and they end up taking care of each other on the road.

They find their way to Alibaba’s home country, where they recover with the help of Prince Kassim and Princess Mariam (they both love Alibaba as a brother).

Hakuryuu initially clashes with Kassim, but eventually they come to an understanding and an alliance, which helps Hakuryuu retake the throne a few years later.

Alibaba is torn between his love for Hakuryuu and his love for his home country at one point, but that ends up being resolved when the terms of the alliance between their countries are laid out: Hakuryuu and Alibaba are to be wed, and if Kassim finds out that Hakuryuu has hurt Alibaba, war will quite literally ensue.

Alibaba then chides Kassim for being an overprotective king.

Who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent?

Alibaba is the teacher, and Hakuryuu’s the single parent.

Hakuryuu and Morgiana were previously married, but after having their daughter Ymir, they came to the realization that their marriage was more lavender in nature than either of them anticipated.

Therefore, they divorced on the most amicable of terms, and Hakuryuu gained primary custody of Ymir (Morgiana and her girlfriend Myron happily see Ymir on weekends and holidays).

Alibaba is the drama teacher at Ymir’s high school, and the plays he puts on are… extremely ambitious for the funding they get.

Ymir is a very talented albeit very shy actress, and Alibaba is one of the only people who can bring her out of her shell. The friends she makes in her drama class are the only other ones who see her outside her shell.

Hakuryuu initially doesn’t see the point in her taking drama as an after-school elective when mock UN, mock trial, or any sport at all would get her noticed more quickly by better colleges, but Alibaba angrily insists he sit in on one of their rehearsals.

Hakuryuu is pleasantly surprised to watch an expressive, passionately talented, and most of all happy Ymir rehearsing on the stage.

“You notice it too, don’t you? Your daughter is an excellent actress, and I think she could make it big with the right support.”

Ymir and the students also notice something… a possible spark between the drama teacher and Ymir’s dad…? Cue the fan fiction.

The whole class cheers when after Ymir graduates senior year with a full ride to Tisch School of the Arts, Alibaba and Hakuryuu finally get together.

Who’s the writer and who’s the editor?

Alibaba is the writer, and Hakuryuu is the editor.

Alibaba originally got discovered through his excellent Adventures of Sinbad fan fiction, and Hakuryuu is there to “help him transition from fan fiction writing to original writing”.

“You do realize that I know how to write, right?” “I wouldn’t be here otherwise, Alibaba.”

After tense beginnings, they eventually get comfortable with each other, and they also grow fond of each other.

Hakuryuu helps Alibaba with his world-building and time management, and Alibaba helps Hakuryuu with editing his other projects from time to time… Alibaba’s character work is excellent, after all.

Alibaba’s novels are eventually published to rave reviews, and Hakuryuu is saddened at the prospect of having to let him go… at which point Alibaba immediately asks him out on a date and all is well.

#alihaku #hakuali #this was so much fun to write #but wow that took me a couple hours LOL #these will take quite a while #but send them my way anyway #magi the labyrinth of magic #OMG I just realized... no crossovers this time!#OMG RAPHIDAE CAN ACTUALLY CREATE STORIES WITH NO CROSSOVERS #IT'S A MIRACLE #dodo rambles

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neni-has-ascended · 5 years

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A question about "Complete Turnabout"

@athena-cykes-ace-attorney:

Hello Nenilein,

I’d been reading “Complete Turnabout” recently and noticed that there haven’t been any updates for a long time. I’ve also played through the beginning of the game. I’ve been getting into writing fanfiction recently and I just wanted to ask if you’re ever returning to writing Ace Attorney Fanfiction. Did Spirit of Justice just completely drive you out of the fandom and the fanfiction? Or are you just done with that part of your writing?

Hello, sorry for the late reply. So, let’s get into this.

I’m a super flighty nature. It often causes me to start projects and then jump to the next, not taking into account how the new project might divert my attention away from the old projects, especially because I find it hard to even force myself to keep my attention on the old project if I have new ideas. It’s a problem I’ve honestly been working to overcome, especially because I never really abandon old projects. I mean it, I still have every single tiny, useless thing I’ve ever started working on in my Dropbox and occasionally randomly pull them up and make new additions to them or edit them, even if the thing has been dormant for years. Complete Turnabout is no exception there,

The big problem with getting back into actively finishing the Fanfic is... Well, there’s several, actually. And yeah, Even though I still actively think about the fic a lot (like with a million other things), it makes it hard to go back. Here they are, most important to least important:

1.) Complete Turnabout no longer matches my current style of writing and doesn’t reflect my skill level.

The Fic represented a huge turning point (ha ha) for me in my “career” (using the term losely) as an author, since this was where, influenced by an important person in my life, I threw out everything I thought about writing before and gradually came to use a completely different style of writing, one which I’ve kept developing to this day. CT reflects a huge part of this transitional phase in my writing. The thing is, I haven’t stopped progressing as a writer ever since I last actively wrote on it. There’s so many things I’ve started and stopped doing, so many techniques I’ve learned and a lot of humor I found funny back in the day now only makes me cringe. It’s not like I find all of CT entirely unreadable now. But the first 10 to 15 chapters are garbage. Unadulterated and absolute trash. You couldn’t force me to write like this anymore these days. So if I wanted to go back to finishing it, I’d feel myself compelled to rewrite half the fanfic from scratch, which would be a massive undertaking and would clash with my already almost non-existence time management abilities.

2.) The in-fic Court Record is fundamentally broken.

To me, a huge part of the fic was the reader’s ability to guess along while reading and feel as if they could actually move around through the settings and throw evidence at places and people like in the series proper. Unfortunately, my inability to update the CR properly has turned this into a mess I was deeply ashamed off at latest by chapter 25. If I wanted to go back and continue the fic I would HAVE to rework this feature of the fic from ground up, maybe even program a little web-page to make it work for everyone or something. I want to do that one day, but right now I am a creative garage stuffed to the brim with unfinished arts and crafts projects and I need to take some time to clean myself out and finally get things in order.

3.) OMFG Spirit of Justice

Yeah, as you correctly guessed, that game was like... the straw that didn’t just break the camel’s back but put the camel into a coma that only the most advanced veterinarian science could possibly retrieve it from. It wouldn’t be so bad if I just didn’t like the game, I mean, there’s a ton of stuff I don’t like in Gyakuten Kenji 2, and I still use its characters and concepts quite prominently and passionately. No, the problem is what Spirit of Justice did to friggin’ Apollo! That friggin’ game messed up his character timeline and underlying motivations so badly, I have no idea how to write around this bullshit stuff anymore. I have no idea what the writers were thinking there, all I know is that this is DEFINITELY not the kind of thing Shu Takumi envisioned when he wrote Apollo’s character. The character was envisioned to be young, passionate, but down-to-earth and an everyman. Spirit of Justice turned him into a fully fledged DanganRonpa character, and not the “Ultimate Luck” type. I have no idea how to work with this!!

4.) I really want to do everything ever, now, immediately, all at once, god, give me 20 arms and 5 more brainssssss

As some people following my antics for some time might have realized I have a teeeeensy problem keeping my priorities straight and tend to start, like, 5 new projects every month. I’m working on a TobyFox-multiverse themed comic right now, wrote a script to an A Hat in Time adaptation comic, I have an ongoing Kingdom Hearts fanfic retelling an alternate universe version of Birth by Sleep, I am working on a Youtube Series about the meaning of the Tarot Arcana as used in the Persona games, I sew 3 Cosplays a year and take part in various nerd competitions, I am working on my final University thesis on the application of religious themes in JRPGs, I have been writing on a novel for 3 years, have started working on several different video game projects with friends (all but one abandoned right now), started and abandoned a web-novel project, I draw, I stream, I play Trading Card Games on Weekends, I am actively looking for a job, and, damn for some dumb reason just a year ago I thought getting myself a pet would be a great idea, too!

If it were up to me, I’d finish all these things. Every last one of them. But as it is, I’m forced to set priorities. Right now, I am working hard to at least bring the most important/recent of these (One of the game projects, my novel, the comic project and my Master’s Thesis) to a satisfying finish. After that, I will pick other ideas back up and work on them. But I really, really, really need to learn to not just start things, but also end them.

It’s been a journey, and it will keep being a journey from here on out. But I’m glad there’s people who love what I do. Making people happy with my creativity is my dream, and I’ll fight to keep making it happen, no matter how much effort it takes.

I thank you for being happy with what I’ve made so far. I thank you with all my heart. Here’s me praying that I will make more things in the future that will make you just as happy. And here’s me praying that I will be disappointing people less by not finishing the things that made them happy in a timely fashion.

That’s what I had to say here. I hope it helps. I am sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear. Honestly, it’s not what I like to hear from myself either...

Still, I thank you, so much,

Many Greetings, Nenilein

#Complete Turnabout #Ace Attorney #Neni Replies #submission

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riley1cannon · 5 years

Text

Superbat Fic--conclusion

And here we go, the conclusion...

™ Idiots in Love

(One @dcbingo completed.)

Duck, Duck, Goose: part two

The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement…

Why not the Hedgehog Portent of Doom? The Unhelpful Giraffe of Algebra? The...the Ungulate of Awkward Conversation?

About out of steam, Bruce yanked off his third necktie, displeased with all of them, and left his collar open. This was no day to be concerned with four-in-hands or half-windsors. The goose was here. The goose was here, and it was too goddamn late.

He had made peace with it a long time ago. That kind of match, the kind his parents had found, wasn’t in the cards for him. It wasn’t so bad. If Selina...Talia...others weren’t the one, they were still good company, and he had no regrets when he looked back. He’d put the idea from his mind, convinced himself the goose really was an urban myth, one of the more ludicrous ones at that, and had been one hundred percent fine with that.

Right up to the moment Clark Kent appeared on his radar and made that conviction crumble like a sandcastle smashed by a tsunami.

Would anything have changed if the goose had appeared the first time they met? He’d thought about that, later, when Clark was gone and everything involving him was a brutal moot point. Maybe, if the goose had appeared at the gala and gone after Luthor, he and Clark might have bonded over that. He couldn’t see any other opportunity for the goose to have intervened. Later, when Bruce had been blinded by anger, only thirsting to mete out vigilante justice on Superman--later would have been too late.

If it was meant to be, where the hell was the goose when Clark came back? Like it couldn’t have waddled out of the Russian landscape and done its job?

And all right, that may not have been the ideal time, but there had been other opportunities. Half the reason Bruce was at the farm that day, watching the movers unload the truck, watching Clark come over to join him, was because he’d thought this could be it, this could be the time. Even while he admitted to buying the bank, he had kept an eye out for the goose. It was a farm. Farmers raised geese, right, sometimes? When could there ever be a better time for it show up?

There had been chickens scratching in the yard, and as they had all sat on the porch late into the evening Bruce would swear he’d heard a duck quack somewhere nearby. No goose, though. Not one solitary honk in the night.

So that was that. If the goose couldn’t track him down on a farm in Kansas, it wasn’t meant to happen. End of story and back to reality. Wanting Clark--that was reaching far too high. Any idiot could have told him that. The one in the mirror should have known that going in, right from the start.

Clark and Lois--that was the match of the century, any century. And, all right, maybe they were going through a rough patch right now but it would work itself out in the end. Couples broke up and got back together all the time, and they didn’t need a goose to help them get there.

Mind made up to carry on as usual, Bruce grabbed a coat and decided a walk up to the manor would be just the thing to banish these thoughts and the mood that went with them. The restoration was making good progress, and the Justice League headquarters would be good to go soon. That was something real. That was something he could manage and direct.

Alfred was preoccupied with something in the kitchen--looking up how to cook a goose, Bruce hoped--and only nodded to him in passing. There was no sign of the goose, actually, not a feather to be found. Already in a better mood he let himself out of the lake house and set out for the manor at a brisk pace.

It was a good day for a walk. Quiet, with crisp notes of autumn in the air. He didn’t miss the humid heat of summer, and was not looking forward to the bitter cold of winter. These few weeks of autumn, though, were as close to perfect as anything could get. Fallen leaves, crimson and gold, rustled underfoot, and he paused to watch the breeze gather up a batch and whirl them along the footpath. He turned up his coat collar against the chill in that breeze and cast a look at the sky. It was gray and overcast, but any chance of rain was supposed to be remote. His feelings wouldn’t be hurt if it held off indefinitely. Patrolling in a thunderstorm wasn’t one of his favorite things, either.

Picking up his pace, he was in view of the manor now. The constructions workers had cleared off for the weekend, leaving the crane and other equipment behind. Once the restoration was complete, he and Alfred would see to the interior--well, perhaps enlisting some help to speed things along. He couldn’t really see Arthur getting into the spirit of the thing, and Diana would mostly likely appoint herself overseer, but Barry and Victor might like to pitch in. And Clark…

Great: he so did not need that image popping into his head. There it was all the same, his imagination whipping up a picture of Clark, in nothing but skintight jeans and a hardhat, swinging a sledgehammer.

Damn it to hell…

A rustle of dry leaves provided a welcome distraction and he glanced around, trying to isolate the sound, fingers slipping into a pocket of his coat and curling around a batarang. Probably a squirrel or something, he had about decided, muscles relaxing, just as the goose stepped into view and screamed at him.

Officially done with this, Bruce growled, “You want a piece of me? Well bring it on,” as the goose came at him. He flung the batarang at it. It dodged, circled behind him, wings flapping, darting in to bite at his leg. He shook it off, grabbed another batarang. It flew right at him, forcing him to stumble and faceplant in a pile of leaves. He pushed up on his arms, kicked out at the goose as it danced around him, flapping its wings and honking. He didn’t come close to connecting. He rolled away, came up in a crouch, and waved the bird to come at him. “Come on, you bastard, come and get me.” It darted forward, he saw his chance and went for it, and got both arms around it, beak facing away from him as he held it tight against his body. “You’re the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement? Good for you. I’m the goddamn Batman.”

“Bruce? What are you doing?”

Oh for the love of… He looked up to see Clark--Clark, fully clothed, right down to that plaid jacket--walking toward him from the manor. The goose, seizing the moment’s distraction, squirmed free and scooted over to greet Clark with a plaintive honk. Frowning, Clark scooped the goose up into his arms and cradled it to him, soothing its ruffled feathers as he petted it and spoke to it. Bruce had had no idea a goose could look smug, but there was no other description for its expression as it looked over at him right then.

Taking a moment to brush leaves off his coat, and snag the useless batarangs, Bruce shoved his hands in his coat pockets and went over to join Clark--and the goose. “How much did you see?”

“Enough.” Satisfied the goose was unharmed, Clark set it down. It settled down to preen, evidently intent on nothing more than getting every feather back exactly so. “You’ve got twigs in your hair,” he said, reaching over to pluck at them.

Bruce stood still and endured Clark touching his hair, finding a leaf stuck in his collar and removing that as well. He was tempted to say it hadn’t been what it looked like, but he was pretty sure it had looked like he was trying to strangle a goose, so… “Why are you here?”

Head cocked to the side a bit, eyebrows drawn toward each other, Clark contemplated him for a moment before giving those broad shoulders a shrug. “We’re not going to talk about the goose?”

“What do you want to know about the goose?”

Another shrug, then, “Do you have some grievance against geese?”

“I’m fine with geese. They’re delicious.”

Clark and the goose chastised him with a look.

Nothing else happened. Bruce didn’t know why, for just a split second there, he had thought it might. “It was stalking me.”

Clark gave him an unreadable look, unreadable except for a glimmer of something that suggested Bruce might be in need of a trip to Arkham. “Okay,” was all he said, however.

They walked on in silence for awhile--Bruce, Clark, and the goose--and Bruce hoped that meant they were done with the subject. “Did you want something?” he asked as they neared the manor. Ordinarily he didn’t mind Clark just dropping by, but just at this moment it felt a lot like his face was being rubbed in what he could never have.

An unusual diffidence radiated from Clark. It was in his voice, a cautious note, as though he was crossing into dangerous territory. “I wondered if you had plans. Maybe we could,” there was something uncertain in his shrug this time, “have a movie night. Or something.”

A movie night. Or something. Thoughts racing at warp speed, Bruce fought not to let any of it show as he asked, “What about Lois?”

“What about Lois?” Clark stopped and turned to face him, one hand catching him by the shoulder. “Lois broke up with me. I told you that.”

Just to see, Bruce tried to move away. Clark exerted just enough force to keep him there. “You’ll get back together. You’re meant to be with her, Clark.”

“Lois doesn’t think so, and I agree with her, with all her reasons. So does the goose,” Clark finished, jerking his chin at it.

So did the… Bruce shook his head, as though that might jostle things together so they made sense and nobody stood around talking about how a goose concurred with developments. It didn’t work. “Clark, it’s just a goose.” And damn it, he refused to acknowledge it had just rolled its eyes at him.

“It is not just a goose, Bruce. I knew that when it came up to me on the ferry.”

When it-- “You’ve seen it before?”

“Just today, on the ferry. I followed it out here but then it took off.”

“You...know what it is?”

“Believe it or not, we have heard of the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement even in Kansas. I never saw it with Lois, though, and wondered why. Now I know,” he said, brave like Superman now as he looked at Bruce, hope shining in his eyes.

Only a monster would want to crush out that hope, and Bruce found he didn’t have it in him to do that. Not today. He looked at the goose, took in its smug self-satisfaction. “If you’ve fucked this up,” he warned it, “you’re going to be Christmas dinner.”

“Bruce, quit picking on the goose and kiss me.”

“For the last time, I am not picking on the damn goo--” Clark tugged him close and shut him up with a kiss.

Well, that worked, too.

~~~

Taking a moment’s break from chopping wood, Alfred glanced over at the footpath to the manor. Movement caught his eye, and he watched as the goose waddled into view. Passing him, it looked over once as if in acknowledgement, before proceeding on down to the lake.

Alfred watched it drift off, vanishing into the mist rising off the water. Dare he hope? he wondered, holding his breath as he looked back up the path, and letting it out with a soft whoosh of relief as Bruce and Master Kent came into view. As he watched, the two younger gentlemen stopped and Bruce turned to Master Kent--even from this distance, Alfred would swear Bruce was smiling--and drew Master Kent into a rather passionate embrace.

Well. Alfred looked away, struggling to maintain his composure. “Well done, goose, well done,” he murmured, smiling to himself as he gathered up the wood and disappeared back into the house.

#superbat #superbat fic #clark kent/bruce wayne #dcbingo2019 #soulmate AU #soulmate goose of enforcement

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mercurygray · 7 years

Text

Due to a scheduling error, I seem to have crammed all of my ‘Treat Yo Self’ moments into a single weekend: I’m going to a formal dinner tonight with some friends, a play downtown tomorrow afternoon, and last night I took myself to the movies to see Wonder Woman.

Spoilers below!

Going to the movies is a treat for me on any occasion, and going to see a movie opening weekend even moreso - usually I wait until it hits the bargain theatre in town . But there are a lot of people men who wanted this movie to fail, so I felt like I had an obligation to prove them wrong - that there were people women who like movies like this one, who will pay to see it in a theatre and who will talk about it to their friends afterwards. So I pre-bought a ticket, and last night I went and enjoyed a great movie in a nearly totally full theatre. (And not totally full of women, either.)

I’ll be honest - I’ve been looking forward to this film since they announced it was going to be set in World War One. Unstoppable superhero in unwinnable war? Sign me the heck up. I think, therefore, it should be noted that I went into this movie with slightly different expectations than everyone else. I wasn’t attending as a Wonder Woman fan - I was going with a different agenda. And at the end of the film, I couldn’t help feeling a little…adrift.

Usually by the time I make it to the movies I’ve sat through three weeks of Tumblr posts going on about how this was the best film ever, and my reactions are tempered accordingly. This, of course, was going to be a different experience.

Verdict: Wonder Woman is a solid film and stands on its merits as a thoughtful action movie (more on that later), but it wasn’t a movie that made me walk out of the theatre on fire for the story.

I loved the world-building at the beginning of the film, especially meeting baby Diana and watching her learn. She didn’t just magically sprout into a superhero overnight - she put in her time practicing, and practicing, and practicing, and it took a long time for her to get as good as she is. (Also, while we’re on the subject, a great round of applause for Gal Gadot, who totally embodies Wonder Woman the same way Chris Evans seems to totally embody Captain America.) I liked the slight friction between her and her mother, Hippolyta, but I would have liked to see more of the other lessons the Queen of the Amazons wanted for her daughter - statecraft, justice, maybe even the healing arts. Most of the Amazons we saw in depth were the warriors - but there were others in the background, too. Diana’s great strength, when she goes into the modern world, is that she has a great empathy for others and recognizes their own talents and contributions outside of the theatre of war, but we don’t necessarily see the roots of that in her time on Themyscira.

I also really loved the build of her relationship with Steve Trevor. Maybe some of that has to do with the way Steve is written, but he allows her to exist as she is (somewhat naive, in a simultaneously very informed, matter-of-fact way) without trying to teach her - or make fun of her. They banter, and it’s funny. From the minute he’s fished out of the water, you know that Steve wants her - but he never pushes in, and from that distance grows to sincerely appreciate her depth of spirit and all of her talents. So that was great, full marks to Chris Pine for making that happen. (I do have to say, I did spend a significant chunk of the film imagining Diana saving Jim Kirk from whatever crazy planet he just landed on.)

I just finished reading Paul Fussell’s The Great War and Modern Memory, a critique of the way the literary record has shaped our understanding of World War One. In it, Fussell discusses many of the overriding literary themes of the writing in this period and how they occur in poetry, memoir and novel form. The idea that this war re-shaped how we think of war as 'sweet and right’, to paraphrase Wilfred Owen’s famous line, is very present in this film. But more than that, Wonder Woman discusses the idea that at the end of the day, no one really knows exactly what 'sweet and right’ will be, who will define it, or who that definition will belong to. Steve and his friends aren’t just saying that The War is Bad, but that it has complicated their lives and moved them to a place they don’t understand. World War One was an idealistic war - people went into it thinking they were beyond war, and when they weren’t, that this would magically be The War to End All Wars and solve humanity’s problems. So, too, does Diana enter - except that she comes in at the end when all the idealism has drained out of the primary participants.

One of the things that really blew my mind was the twist at the end about the true identity of the god Ares. We the audience have an idea that she won’t find Ares on the front lines as we watch Diana try to power her way through Northern France, but that she actually does find him - and in the person of Sir Patrick - well. That was a huge take-away for me.

Sometimes War is a man in a uniform - and sometimes he is a man in a suit selling you reasonable sounding lies. That’s a thoughtful action movie right there.

So while we’re on the subject of The War, here’s what I realized I was missing, why I wasn’t on fire at the end of the film: more women.

I love World War One because it’s one of the first conflicts in which women participate, openly and freely, in many, many branches of the armed services beyond the nursing corps. They come from college campuses, from suffragette rallies, from offices with professional credentials, with skills they’ve spent lifetimes building and skills they just learned yesterday. They drive cars, bandage wounds, organize relief efforts for orphans, slave over hot stoves making donuts, knit socks, teach men to walk again, sculpt new faces, type reports, answer telephones.

And to this, to all of these great, courageous pioneers who are re-shaping the idea of what women can do, we’re going to add a superhero who walks through battlefields and breaks other glass ceilings?! Heck yes!

And then I didn’t see a darn one of them in this movie apart from a few nurses in the middle distance and some sobbing refugees on roadsides.

Apart from Etta, Steve’s great but seriously under-utilized secretary, there are no women in the modern part of the film, and I think that does it a great disservice. We the female-identifying, media-consuming public love Wonder Woman because we see her as an invitation to be something greater than ourselves. We know that we can’t be daughters of Zeus with the power to throw a tank across an airfield, but that we each have our own strengths that we should use for the betterment of the world. How much stronger would that message be if Diana, coming off of the field of battle, runs into a nurse or a YMCA worker at an aid station who looks up at her in wonder and tells her she’s done a great job saving all these men, only to have Diana, (realizing what her mother was trying to tell her in all those lessons I didn’t see earlier) smile at her and tell her that her work passing out cups of coffee and managing intake forms is amazing, too? I would have liked to see that glimmer of hope and shared sisterhood in there, too. Here are the new Amazons, the chauffeuse and the doctor and the YMCA girl, going boldly where women don’t go because they thought it was the right thing to do, and because Diana reaffirmed that they could.

And perhaps that little YMCA girl builds Diana up a little, too, as she sits and wonders what place there is for a warrior when there is no war to fight. There’s where we, the audience, should see ourselves in this film- not stuck at home or sobbing on the roadside, but doing our bit.

So, when you go see Wonder Woman, take some friends with so you can talk about it afterwards. And maybe afterwards swing by the library on the way home to pick up a book by Lettie Gavin or Dorothy and Carl Schneider to learn more about women in World War One. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

#wonder woman #merc reviews movies

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mikkeneko · 7 years

Text

Road Trip to Freedom (Fenris&Anders&Isabela)

I would have liked to post this to AO3 and link it here, but apparently AO3 doesn’t feel like accepting new works today, and I want to publish before FenBalentines is officially over. Argh.

Written (unofficially) for the FenBalentines weekend, an event for celebrating Fenris and Isabela. I cheated a bit and slipped Anders in there too, but hopefully it still counts. Well... also there's no actual sexy times or even explicit romance in here, but it's intended that it will develop into that later.

ROAD TRIP TO FREEDOM

Timeline: Mid-Act III, following Alone.

Pairing: Past Fenders/F!Hawke, developing Fenris/Isabela/Anders

Summary: When Hawke sells Fenris back to Danarius, he's resigned to his fate. He didn't expect anyone to follow after him to try to rescue him, yet around a bend in the road stands a familiar silhouette.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, dick Hawke.

( Read on AO3 )

Everything was collapsing. Fenris still couldn't quite believe what had happened to him. One day he'd been a free man, an independent and even well-off mercenary in the Free Marches city of Kirkwall, with a house and money and friends of his own; and by the time the sun had set on that day, he was a slave again. How could it all have happened so fast? It hadn't taken a day; it hadn't even taken an hour. In truth, it had taken only a handful of moments, a few handful of words. "If you want him, he's yours. He's no use to me."

From anyone else, those words would have infuriated him, driven him to lash out and claw and fight for his freedom -- but it had been Hawke. Hawke, whom he had trusted and admired and... and befriended, or so he'd thought. She'd helped him, once, and he'd devoted himself to her in return -- never quite bringing himself to think of her as a replacement master, but he'd followed her as unquestioningly as though it were so. He'd lent her his strength, watched her back, abided by her wishes even when it went against all his sensibilities to do so -- even when it meant tolerating and even helping blood mages and demon-riddled criminals. But then, he was every bit as illegal, wasn't he? An escaped slave. When Hawke had turned on him the floor had collapsed out of his world, and his strength ran out with it. There was no point in fighting any more, no point in struggling or striving any more. He couldn't have hoped to win against them both, Hawke who was fast and strong and cunning and unrelenting, and Danarius who was... everything. Instead he had submitted, capitulated, fallen back into his role as a slave just as though the past seven years had never happened at all. It had been easy. So easy. And yet, he still woke up every morning since then believing, wishing, hoping that it had all been a bad dream, that it hadn't been true. For just a moment, before the rattle of chains warned his ears and the cuffs and collars were yanked taut. The metal was good steel, cold and unrelenting, and the wishing and believing in the world couldn't change that. They had been a week at sea, sailing straight from Kirkwall around the Nocen Sea to dock at a tiny port village outside Qarinus. It would be a day's walk to the city where, from what Danarius had said, they would find his pre-arranged horses and wagons. From there they would travel by caravan back to Minrathous, and there -- Fenris knew -- the true nightmare would begin. Danarius traveled with a small retinue, for a magister; half a dozen bodyguards and as many lackeys and servants -- some of them slaves, no doubt, although Fenris was the only one wearing chains this trip. The only one disobedient enough to require them.

Danarius hadn't hurt him, other than the discomfort of the chains and the misery of the ship's hold, but he didn't mistake it for a mercy. Danarius was distant and cold, barely addressing Fenris at all; but from what he'd overheard of his master's plans for him, once they returned to his estate and his laboratory…

The procession rounded a bend in the road, and then jerked to an uncertain halt. Fenris, his eyes trained on the ground, didn't see what had caused it at first; he only heard the confused cursing and shuffling of boots on the ground as Danarius' retinue slowed to a halt.

"Who is that?" he heard Danarius ask, his voice irritable. "Get him out of the road."

With the last daring he had left in him, Fenris rolled his eyes upwards, to peer at the unexpected obstacle without lifting his head. His vision was blurred, but he saw a dark silhouette of a man standing in the road in front of them, a wide-set stance to block the path.

Dark clothing, black on black. Boots so old and tattered their form was barely recognizable. A staff in one hand, a familiar blur at the shoulders -- what --

Fenris barely managed to keep from reacting. It couldn't be, it couldn't be -- and yet if it was, then his recognition could spell disaster. But he couldn't stop the sudden speeding of his heart, the dryness of his mouth and throat even as he strove to keep his breathing silent.

"Halt," the dark figure said, and the voice was otherworldly, almost earthshaking; Fenris knew that voice, although he'd only heard it a handful of times before. A chill ran down his spine; that was not Anders.

Danarius' guard captain stepped forward at the magister's command, one hand threateningly on his sword hilt. "Oi, vagrant!" he called out, arrogant and rude as only a servant in full awareness of his master's powerful backing could be. "Clear the path for your betters! A magister approaches!"

"Patrician or peasant, I stand aside for no man," the deep, rumbling voice answered. Fenris dared to raise his head just an inch, enough to pull the familiar silhouette into focus. The familiar, annoying face of the mage was transfigured by blue fire, pooling in his eyes and cracking through his skin. "I am Justice, and I cannot allow this atrocity to proceed."

"Justice, eh? A Fade spirit… but corporeal? Some kind of abomination?" Danarius muttered, sounding intrigued. Then he shook his head, dismissing the matter, and gave a negligent wave of his hand. "Let us pass, demon. I have no business with you."

"I will not," Justice said, and those three words had the unshakeable quality of a mountain. He raised his staff, pointing towards Danarius' party, and Fenris flinched when he realized that the abomination was pointing at him. "You have among your party a free man, bound in chains. Release him, and we will have no further quarrel."

Danarius scoffed. "Fenris is my slave, and I may bind him however I choose," he said, laying a hand on the back of Fenris' head to stroke his hair. Fenris shuddered. His hand dropped, and his voice turned icy cold. "I am well within my rights as a magister and a property holder of Tevinter. As a creature of Justice, you must respect the law."

"Laws are made by men, and men's hearts hold great evil," Justice declaimed. "If a law is evil, then I am not bound by it. To disobey an unjust law is itself justice."

"Bah! If you're going to be a stubborn, stupid little wisp, then so be it." Danarius scowled, and turned his head to address the rest of his retinue. "Guards! Dispose of this husk!"

Fenris felt the skin of his back break out in a sweat, adrenaline racing through veins and muscles too sluggish to respond. A handful of guardsmen, Tevinter trained or not, would hardly be a warm-up to Anders' pet demon. But they would keep him occupied, keep Danarius out of reach while the magister unleashed his full magic.

As the guards began to move forward, Justice waited with cold, passionless patience. But before the first man could get within range of him, Anders suddenly raised his staff, then slammed the butt of it back on the ground.

A wave of air and energy rushed forward, and Fenris felt a sudden, cold shock as the lyrium in his brands responded. There was a momentary flare of ice, and then -- nothing. Numbness, deadness, as though the living lyrium in his skin was no more than inert metal.

Beside him, Danarius shouted, his voice a strangled mix of consternation and outrage. "You -- how dare you!" he screeched. "You --"

He never got to finish whatever it was he was going to say next; an angry tirade, an accusation, or a spell. A shadow had separated itself from under the trees while all eyes were on the spectacle of Justice in front of them, and in that moment it came close enough to pounce.

A dark human figure landed on Danarius' back, one leg wrapped around his waist and its arms around his neck. The magister stumbled forward, but not far; a merciless hand gripped his hair and yanked it back, and then a blue-steel blade flashed across his throat. Fenris flinched involuntarily as the blood sprayed forward, warm flecks of it hitting his skin.

Danarius jerked once, gurgling horribly out of the new mouth in his throat as his hand claws desperately at the air. Then he sighed, slumped forward, and the light went out of his eyes.

Dead, Fenris thought, still too stunned to process it.

Dead.

"And that's how you do it," a familiar, slightly out-of-breath voice said, as Isabela disentangled herself from the crumbling body of the magister. "A knife to the throat kills a magister as dead as any man, once those pesky shields are out of the way."

Cries of consternation rose up from Danarius' guards, and they wavered in sudden uncertainty as to whether they should be advancing on the mage, or falling on the killer who had appeared so abruptly. That confusion spelled their downfall; Anders and Isabela hesitated not at all.

They attacked from both directions, smooth and coordinated with the practice of many battles fought side by side. Fenris watched them butcher their way through Danarius' henchmen with a numb disbelief; so slow were his thoughts to catch up to the situation that it did not occur to him to help until all of their enemies were dead.

He was still staring, forgetting to blink or even breathe, when a familiar face filled his vision. Fenris started back, remembering to breathe at last -- and promptly starting to hyperventilate. Blue lights still licked along the edges of his jaw and pooled in his eyes, before disappearing into a concerned frown that wrinkled his brow.

Anders' hands on his shoulders pulled him into a sitting position, then moved over his head and neck and back, checking for injuries in a practiced manner. His scowl deepened when he found the places where the manacles had chafed Fenris' skin raw; healing magic welled from his fingers, but the relief was only temporary while the heavy metal continued to cut into healed skin.

"Isabela," Anders called over his shoulder, to where Isabela was looting the corpses with practiced efficiency. "Can you open these?"

"Sure thing, Anders. You do your thing and I'll do mine." Isabela actually stopped mid-loot and came over to the two of them, crouching in the dust of the road as lockpicks appeared in her dexterous fingers like magic. She worked open first one lock, then another, a frown growing on her full lips as she peered into Fenris' face. "What's wrong with him?"

Anders placed a hand on his forehead and tipped his head up to the light, looking intently into his eyes and feeling the sweat-beaded skin. "Drugged, I think," he said. "Fermented blood lotus, by these symptoms. He'll be all right after a night's sleep."

Isabela made a disgusted noise, her face twisting. "Drowned man's lullaby," she said. "Old slaver trick, to keep cargo docile in the hold."

"Docile. Not a word I ever thought I'd associate with Fenris," Anders said sarcastically, and Isabela slapped the side of his head, though not as hard as Fenris would have. "Ow! Do you mind?"

At last Fenris found his words. "You came for me..." he said, his voice faltering and sticking in his throat.

"I gambled and lost my captaincy once already because I couldn't abide slavery, Fenris," Isabela said quietly. "And that was for a lot of strangers. I could hardly do less for a friend, now could I?"

Anders paused, hand still on his forehead. A flicked of blue played in the depths of his eyes. "Justice has some very strong objections to slavery. He would never have rested if you were taken." He hesitated a moment before adding, "And neither could I."

"But you..." Fenris shook his head, feeling his limbs and muscles quiver. "You hate me. And I can't stand you."

"I don't like you very much most of the time either, true. But that's not the point," Anders said with a scowl. "I wouldn't condemn my worst enemy to a life of slavery, let alone a friend. Damn, Fenris, after six years in Kirkwall together I thought you would have understood that!"

"I…" Fenris swallowed, at a loss for words. He'd never considered Anders a friend, nor thought the mage considered him one. They worked together, protected each other, even passed time together when nothing else was pressing -- but Anders couldn't have been a friend, because he was nothing like Hawke.

The truth was that he had measured all other friendships by the yardstick of Hawke; how much like Hawke they were, how closely their treatment of him echoed her. She was his friend, he had reasoned, and deduced out from there that that was how friendship was practiced. He'd never had any other friends; how else could he have known?

"Touching declarations of friendship aside," Isabela said dryly, "I think we should take this reunion elsewhere. We need to make camp if Fenris is going to get his good night's sleep, and I don't want to do it in the open road surrounded by corpses. Corpses put me off my feed."

"Right." Anders nodded. "Back to that overlook, then?"

The two of them helped him to his feet; he almost stumbled, walking without the unbalancing weight of the manacles. Isabela's arm slung about his waist supported him, and Anders' hand on his shoulder guided him, pressing him to a stop for a moment as they stood in front of Danarius.

"Anything you need to do here?" Anders said quietly. "Take a token, piss on his face, anything? Something that will prove to you later on that it wasn't a dream, that you know for sure that he's dead?"

And Fenris was dizzied by the sudden moment of sympathy, of mutual understanding. How did Anders know? "No," he choked out, after a moment's consideration. "Just… just burn it all."

Anders nodded, and Isabela slipped from his side for a few minutes work of dragging the bodies into a pile. The three of them retreated down the road to a safe distance, and then Anders raised his hand and called down fire.

Fenris watched for several minutes, until the brightness made his eyes burn. "Thank you," he said softly, and Anders nodded.

The campsite they guided him to was well sheltered, and Fenris' hard-won survival skills approved; there was a raised earth ridge and a screen of trees to shelter them from view, but they could see over the edge of the steep hillside down to the road where it wound between the hills. In the other direction they had a clear view right down to the harbor and the water beyond, now fading from sight in the failing light.

There was a horse, and a tent, and a scant set of cooking gear, but little else; Anders and Isabela had been traveling light. The two of them steered him to a seat in front of the firepit; Anders relit the fire while Isabela pulled the blanket from the tent to drape over him. At any other time Fenris would have bridled at the coddling, but now he huddled into the warmth gratefully. He owed them a debt he could never repay; he would not insult them by scorning their kindness now.

"How did you get here so fast?" he asked, once the fire was roaring and water was heating over it; for stew or for tea, he wasn't yet sure.

"Thank Betsy here for that," Anders replied, jerking a thumb at the horse. "Also thank the Warden-Commander for making me learn how to ride, back in Amaranthine. Where Izzy learned, I don't know."

Isabela smirked at him. "If I could ride my first husband's mood swings," she said, "I've yet to meet any horse that can throw me."

Anders rolled his eyes. "It was actually Varric who got us the horse -- how he found it on such short notice I don't know," he said. "Isabela got the ship's manifest out of the dockmaster, so we knew where you were headed and approximately when you'd get there. Still, we almost killed poor Betsy getting over the passes in such a hurry."

Isabela pursed her lips. "I'm still not sure how we didn't," she admitted. "I've seen horses founded under less."

Anders smirked. "Healer, remember?" he said, wiggling his fingers. "There are advantages to having a mage along."

"There are that," Isabela agreed. "Without your little anti-magic runes, I never would have gotten close enough to that blowhard to sink the knife in."

"Thank y --" Fenris said, breaking into their practiced banter. His voice faltered, failed through the second word. He cleared his throat, then tried again. "Thank you. Thank you both. I owe you… my freedom, most likely my life. Certainly any part of it that's worth living."

Anders turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for a long moment; there was another flicker of blue in those eyes, but Fenris was not frightened of Justice any more, not after the demon had stood for him against Danarius. "Thank all of you," he added, and Anders relaxed and nodded his thanks.

Isabela smiled. "You're welcome, sweet thing," she said. "And we'd do it again."

He didn't doubt they would. "You said Varric helped you, helped you get the horse. Did -- anyone else in Kirkwall aid you in this? Did… did…"

Anders and Isabela exchanged a glance. "Merrill offered to come, but the horse couldn't have carried three," he said quietly. "

"Aveline sent well-wishes, but she wouldn't leave the city," Isabela said. Her voice was soft, her eyes sympathetic. "Donnic, too. That's all, I'm afraid."

"Did -- did Hawke…" The name died in his throat; he knew it was foolish, but a part of him still couldn't help clinging to hope. Maybe there had been some mistake; maybe Hawke had had a change of heart and had tried to make up for it. Maybe…

"When I left the Hanged Man, Hawke was already drinking her way through the money that magister gave her," Isabela said, contempt thick in her voice.

Anders shook his head. "Hawke has been in a downward spiral ever since Leandra died. Going the way of her uncle Gamlen, drinking and gambling her way through her fortune." His voice took on an acid tinge. "It's like a disease, that addiction to drink; I'd have helped her if I could, but she made it clear she didn't want any help from the likes of me."

Fenris dropped his head into his hands, his eyes beginning to prickle and burn. "I... I always thought that if anyone would fight for me, it would be Hawke," he said, voice shaking. "If Hawke didn't, then who would? If Hawke didn't…"

Isabela sat down beside him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the contact, then leaned into it, helpless in the face of her sympathy. The shock was finally beginning to release him, of his capture and subsequent rescue, but that just left room for the overpowering anger and grief to creep in, seizing his chest and flooding his head.

It was humiliating to weep like a child, especially in front of Anders; but what did he have left to lose? Who did he have left in the world except these two? He'd pinned everything he'd had on Hawke; he'd admired her, followed her, loved her. But she had betrayed him, his own sister had betrayed him; he'd been saved by the man he thought hated him and the woman he thought cared for no one but herself. Every expectation in his life had been upended. A mage and a non-mage had betrayed him, and a mage and a non-mage had rescued him. Danarius was gone, and so was Hawke. There was nothing left to flee from, and nothing left to go back to.

He felt Anders sit down at his side, and on the other side of him Isabela leaned in, pressing her soft body against his. The pair of them bracketed him, held him, comforted and protected him, and he could do nothing but lose himself to them. A part of him, buried and smothered under a lifetime of brutalization, yearned towards the contact with a strange familiarity. He couldn't remember his mother, but he felt sure that this warmth, this softness, this comfort was what it must have felt like, once. He didn't think he'd ever known his father, but this strength, this protectiveness, surely that was what such a man ought to be like.

At length the storm quieted, the tears dried and the shaking ceased. He felt ravaged, but also clean, like a hurricane storm had come through and scoured out his insides. Isabela was swaying slightly, humming some sea shanty tune; Anders reached forward to stir something, and came back with a mug of steaming hot tea.

"I don't know what to do," Fenris admitted at last, in a broken voice. "I… I never planned for this, expected this. What do I do now? Where can I go?"

"You know, we've got a horse and a boat," Isabela said encouragingly, "so it's more a matter of where can't you go, if you put your mind to it. I guess the question is, where do you want to go? Home? Back to Kirkwall?"

Fenris shook his head. "Kirkwall is no longer my home." It came out rough, painful, but true. Danarius' mansion had never been a home to him, and the rest of the city would be forever tainted by Hawke's betrayal. "Anywhere. Anywhere but there."

"Well, I'm game," the pirate said cheerfully. "And may I remind you once again, Danarius had a boat. A boat that is now ours, according to the sacred laws of the sea."

"What law of the sea is that?" Anders said, sounding amused.

"If we kill them, we get to keep their stuff!" Isabela quipped, and Anders chuckled. Then she sobered. "There's nothing to keep me in Kirkwall either, not now that Castillon is dead and the Qunari are dealt with. If I've got a ship, I can go anywhere. Assuming I've got a crew to go with me."

Fenris nodded, feeling relieved. That was a plan, a way forward, even if it was an unfamiliar one. "Will that be enough of a crew?" he asked.

Isabela shrugged. "I guess that depends," she said. "On whether Anders plans to go back to Kirkwall, himself."

Fenris thought that was likely. Anders had his clinic, and the Mage Underground that the rest of them weren't supposed to know about. Although from what he'd heard that had been dismantled, mostly, by a push from Knight-Captain Cullen and Meredith. Surely the mage would --

"I'm in," Anders said unexpectedly. Both of the others looked at him in surprise.

"Really?" Isabela said. "I thought you were all-in for your grand cause. Body and spirit."

Anders shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I guess… I still am?" he said. "I still believe the mages deserve freedom. I still want to work towards that. But… Kirkwall's a lost cause, I see that now. The Knight-Commander is insane and the Grand Cleric is worse than useless. I'm not going to get any traction there. As hard as it is to look at all the blood and sweat I've poured into that pit of a city… I think it's time to walk away. Try again, somewhere else, somewhere where there's still hope of making a difference."

"You… seemed very set on your course, in Kirkwall," Fenris said cautiously. Personally he thought that Anders had been irrationally obsessed, but the last thing he wanted was to stir up old fights.

"Yes, I suppose I was." Anders blinked. There was a strange look on his face, uncertain, almost lost. "I… I don't really remember, any more, why it seemed so important that I stay in Kirkwall, that I see it through there and nowhere else. It made sense at the time… I guess? I'm not really sure. When I think back on it, it… it was like I was walking through a fog. Breathing in chokedamp. Now that I'm further away, I can… see clearly again.

"I want to keep trying. But somewhere else," he said firmly, the set of his jaw determined. "I still believe that I can make a difference, find a peaceful way to change people's minds. But not in Kirkwall."

Isabela let out a cheer that rang the air of the dell. She punched the air in a victory gesture that made the rest of her bounce. "Yes! Years ago I tried to get Sparklefingers the mage as a part of my crew and now, finally, finally I've done it!"

"Funny how fate turns, isn't it?" Anders said wryly, his smile a bit shaky.

Isabela ignored the quip as she lurched forward, dragging Fenris along in an embrace that encompassed all three of them. She hugged them tight, planting a sloppy kiss on Anders' cheek, then on Isabela's."Just look at us now," she crowed. "A warrior, a rogue, and a mage. A classic team of adventurers!"

"An escaped slave, a wanted pirate, and a possessed apostate, you mean," Anders muttered. "More like a classic passel of criminals."

"A ship, a fortune in coin, and an open sea," Isabela continued, her enthusiasm undimmed. She turned towards the edge of the overlook, where the horizon faded into the darkening water. "Gentlemen, the world will be our oyster!"

Anders laughed and hugged Isabela back, pulling Fenris along for the embrace. And Fenris had to admit -- in the slowly warming pieces of his shattered heart -- that he didn't mind the closeness. No, he didn't mind it at all."

"Well then, gentlemen," Isabela said, standing up and brushing off her leggings. She reached out a hand and pulled Anders to his feet, his lanky height contrasting with her generous curves. "Shall we be about it?"

The two of them shared a smile, and without a word they each extended a hand to him, one fair, one dark. Fenris looked up at them both, and felt the same smile starting on his own lips.

He took their hands, and together they raised him up.

~the end.

#mikke fic #dating age 2 #anders #fenris #isabela #fendersbela #fenbalentines #dick hawke

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vividlilyart · 7 years

Photo

Life in prism. Lilac-breasted roller.

So we’ve accelerated past the end of January already. Days have been long grey ones. Dense oppressive cloud cover that mutes the colours of colours of the environment and dampens the spirit a little. “Not long till spring now” they say… It can’t come quick enough, being slightly over the greyness. It’s a consolation that I’ve managed to keep riding throughout, the hope being that all of those winter miles will pay dividends when the pace picks up later in the year. I’ve been a little more complacent about mileage and speed however, as long as I’m out. Call them glory miles or smug miles, rain, hail or shine, at least I’ve turned the pedals. It’s been reassuringly dirty; wearing a mud spattered face like it’s a badge of honour has been a regular occurrence.

I fit painting into after work hours. Usually a 8pm start, sometimes later, or the weekend if don’t have to work or be anywhere else. I’m working on my 6th piece this year, which is more something that I’m just doing for myself. Some are finished, absolute. Others need work and I’m biding my time thinking about them. Always better to consider, than to rush ahead and overwork something I think.

I also have a new commission. A market scene in Hoi An, Vietnam, which I’m looking forward to starting. I’m just biding my time and considering what medium to use and how to go about it.

I now live under a dense layer of canvas, paper and paint. I’m in the process of making this known to the wider world - hopefully I should have a website up and running within the next couple of months. I’m not the type to deliver sales pitches, so when you’re trying to drive a business on your own given that, hopefully a website will help. So to all those who have asked, yes I do sell my art and the answer to many more of your questions is a hesitant yes, unless of course it is illegal, related to anything bad, politics or religion.

And on that note, I’ve been working on something over the last couple of days. As much for myself, which gave me free reign to play around a bit. Having started with animals as subjects and having an extensive personal library of reference photos, I’d always promised myself it would be a subject that I would return to. I discovered a Pebeo resin/glaze medium a while back and have been itching to have a go with it. As long as you mix it to the correctly and to the right consistency, it’s fine. Oh and don’t use your decent paintbrushes to apply it. Don’t get it on your skin. Oh and make sure it’s covered over during drying. I think that covers the dos and don'ts. It’s fairly expensive, so follow mixing guidelines to avoid wastage as it doesn’t keep - just in case anyone has the urge to try it for themselves.

It gives a nice glossy sheen when used as a glaze and a clear relief effect when used in a denser application. You can paint under it and over it, giving it plenty scope for creative experimentation. Pebeo also have paints that are designed to work alongside this product.

The photos don’t necessarily do the final effect justice, but it has popped the colours on the bird sufficiently and provided a nice smooth, almost invitingly tactile surface.

Just by the by, for anyone interested in the species, I will post some information later. Throw a little education into the mix too. ;)

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thechasefiles · 6 years

Text

The Chase Files Daily Newscap 1/10/2018

Good MORNING #realdreamchasers! Here is The Chase Files Daily News Cap for Monday, 1st October 2018. Remember you can read full articles by purchasing Daily Nation Newspaper (DN), via Barbados Today (BT) or Barbados Government Information Services (BGIS).

DUMPERS WARNED – More illegal dump sites are cropping up and Government will be taking a hard line stance against the perpetrators and even the owners of the items. This has come from public relations officer with the Sanitation Service Authority (SSA), Carl Padmore, who was speaking in the wake of the recent discovery of another illegal dump site in an open lot at Charnocks, Christ Church. “We believe that enforcement is very much on the cards because Barbados cannot hold any more dump sites,” he said. Padmore’s comments came in the wake of one by the Deputy Chief Technical Officer in the Ministry of Transport, Works and Maintenance, Philip Tudor, who said the illegal dumping of large items in watercourses and gullies contributed to flooding during heavy rain events like the passage of Tropical Storm Kirk last week. (DN)

CLEAN UP THE BLOCKS – The dismantling of the negative elements on blocks is the right thing to do, if there is to be change in Barbados’ gun violence problem. However, director of the Criminal Justice Research and Planning Unit, Cheryl Willoughby, said this alone would not work without solid community programmes. Speaking on Voice Of Barbados’ BrassTacks Sunday yesterday, Willoughby threw her support behind Reverend Dr Lucille Baird who, two years ago, made similar comments. “A lot of persons came out strongly against that position that she took and I was very supportive of her,” Willoughby said. “We need strong law enforcement within these communities. Break up some of the negative activities that we are seeing happening in these at-risk communities,” she said. (DN)

RATTLED BY GUNSHOTS – Children were scampering and crying for their mothers, while cricketers on a nearby field dropped flat. That was the scene yesterday evening around 4:45 when gunshots rang out in Harrisons, St Lucy. It was the second time in less than 12 hours that the peace of Sunday was shattered in the northern parish. According to residents, about five gunmen in masks unleashed a series of rounds in the rural community. They assumed it was an act of vengeance to get back at the person(s) responsible for the death of Dexter “Hyper Hype” Lashley, of nearby Crab Hill, No. 2. (DN)

UPDATE : POLICE IDENTIFY MAN SHOT IN CRAB HILL – Police have identified the male victim who was fatally shot this morning.He is 40-year-old Dexter Rohan Lashley of Crab Hill #2, St Lucy. Police were called to the area to respond to a shooting and discovered Lashley’s body about 25 metres away from this home. Anyone with information about the incident should contact Police Emergency at 211; the Crab Hill Police Station at 310-7700/01; Crime Stoppers at 1-800-8477; District “E” Police station at 419-1737 or the nearest police station. (DN)

POLICE INVESTIGATE SUDDEN DEATH AT WEST TERRACE, ST JAMES – Police are investigating a sudden death at West Terrace, St James. The victim is a male. (BT)

MOHAMMED’S HAT-TRICK PUTS WINDIES IN FIRM CONTROL OF SERIES – Anisa Mohammed’s spectacular hat-trick here yesterday paved the way for an easy West Indies victory as the women grabbed a commanding 2-0 lead over South Africa in their five-match Sandals T20 International Home Series. The 30-year-old Mohammed, the all-time leading T20 wicket-taker, grabbed the ninth hat-trick in women’s T20s off the last three balls of the innings to help limit the Proteas to just 101 for eight in their 20 overs. The Windies then made light work of their run chase, cruising to 102 for the loss of just one wicket, thanks mainly to an unbeaten 79-run second wicket partnership between Natasha McClean and captain Stafanie Taylor. But the spotlight belonged to Mohammed, who bamboozled the visitors with her mesmerizing off-breaks on her way to picking up five wickets. Hayley Matthews had been the early destroyer, dismissing Lizelle Lee and Sune Luus for ducks to leave the visitors in trouble at 4 for two. Spirited responses from captain Dane Van Niekerk, who top-scored with 36, Chloe Tryon (21) and Mignon Du Preez, who made 27, led a brief fightback as they rallied the score up to 82 for three. However, it was Mohammed’s fourth over, and last of the innings, that turned the game on its heels, as she struck four times in five deliveries. She accounted for Van Niekerk with the second ball of the over, before deceiving Marizanne Kapp with her spin to have her stumped by wicketkeeper Merissa Aguilleira for 14. Mohammed then bowled Sarah Smith and Masabata Klaas, both without troubling the scorers. Following the dismissal of Matthews for 17, the pair of McClean and Taylor carried the Windies to an easy victory. Mclean finished unbeaten on 42 from 46 balls, while Taylor scored 35 not out off just 30 balls, as Van Niekerk used seven bowlers in an attempt to find a breakthrough. (DN)

FOGGING SCHEDULE OCTOBER 1 TO 5 – The Vector Control Unit of the Ministry of Health and Wellness will continue to concentrate its efforts in Christ Church next week, as it seeks to control the mosquito population in the parish. On Monday, October 1, the team will fog Rockley New Road, Ventnor Gardens, Golf Club Road, Bynoe Road, Rendezvous Hill, Rendezvous Gardens, Amity Lodge with Avenues and surrounding areas. On Tuesday, October 2, the areas to be fogged are Dayrells Road, Rockley Terrace, Rockley, Blue Waters, the Garden, Peronne Gap, Golf Club Road, Rendezvous Hill, Brewster Road, Worthing with Avenues, Bamboo Road, Beckles Road, Harmony Hall, Top Rock and environs. On Wednesday, October 3, the team will spray Warners, Primrose Avenue, Flamboyant Avenue, Hibiscus Avenue, Orchid Avenue, Briar Hall with Avenues, Warners Terrace, St Lawrence Gap, Paradise Village and environs. The areas to be fogged on Thursday, October 4, are Highway 7, Hastings, Rockley, Casa Blanca, Rendezvous Hill, Worthing Main Road and surrounding areas. On Friday, October 5, the team will work in the Graeme Hall Swamp and its environs. The fogging exercises will be carried out between 4:30 and 7:30 p.m. each day. Householders are reminded to open their doors and windows to allow the spray to enter. (BGIS)

DESIGN PRIZE UP FOR GRABS – Yasmine Tempro-Parris, Melissa Browne and Monique Mackay proved that their flair for eye-catching designs was more than enough to hold off a field of 7 challengers and advance to the final phase of The Ashley Furniture\Smart Homes Magazine Design Challenge in association with Harris Paints. Last Sunday, the Ashley Furniture showroom was transformed into a space where the crop of designers showcased their aesthetic design prowess in a ten minute “Mini Design Challenge”. After receiving different themes such as rustic, farmhouse, glam, modern and more on which to frame their design, the contestants had to use art, throw pillows, rugs, furniture and accessories from within the store to bring their spaces to life. These spaces were evaluated by Ashley Furniture marketing manager, Janine Hinkson and Josee Atkinson of Blue Print Management. Contestants were then given additional time to make changes to their spaces based on their feedback before the three finalists were chosen by a judging panel. A passionate finalist Melissa Browne who studied psychology and is actually pursuing interior design as a career choice was elated at being named one of the finalists to move on to the last phase. “The creativity it never ends with interior design,” Browne said. “I want to assist as many people as I can with my designs so they can be both functional and aesthetically pleasing.” Browne along with Tempro-Parris and Mackay will get the opportunity to design the homes for three different couples. After being named all three ladies were ushered off to meet with the homeowners so start on their design process which began immediately. For Tempro-Parris, being named as a finalist was the confirmation she needed that she was going in the right direction in terms of her career. “Last year I started my career in interior design,” she revealed. “I saw this challenge as the perfect chance to step out of my comfort zone because it provided a lot of opportunity for me to learn and grow.” Along with Ashley Furniture & Blue Print Management the three design finalists have sponsors Harris Paints, La Belle Vie and Abeds to assist them as they transform the homes they’ve been assigned. For Mackay, she is absolutely thrilled to be going on in the competition. “This is where I feel I excel,” she said. “I love working with the client, getting to know what they want, giving them that type of customer services along with the chance to put a piece of myself into my work.” The finalists had a brief time to bask in their elation because they were quickly whisked off to meet with the homeowners to discuss the scope of their interior designs for their individual homes. This redesign process took place over the past week and the winner will be determined next week Sunday. This week there will be voting on social media, with the hard work culminating on Sunday, October 7, when the final winner is announced. While the designer who takes first prize will walk away with a prize package that includes $4 000 cash, an internship at Ashley Furniture & a feature in Smart Homes Magazine there are prizes for all three designers. The second prize winner takes home $2 000 and the third prize winner receives $1 000. Finalists also have the chance to win additional prizes for best mood board and entry video, along with a $1 000 furniture voucher from Ashley, a weekend stay for two at the Rostrevor Hotel and home and contents insurance from ICBL. Readers can follow the action on the Smart Homes Magazine Facebook page and the Holiday Edition of Smart Homes Magazine, which hits newsstands in October. (DN)

KYA KNIGHT PENS WINNING TOURISM ESSAY – Kya Knight of the Deighton Griffith Secondary School captured the essence of Barbados, and future of this island’s tourism product, in a page-and-a-half, to win the 2018 Florida Caribbean Cruise Association’s (FCCA) Essay Competition. Minister of Tourism and International Transport Kerrie Symmonds made this announcement recently during a brief ceremony at the school. Showering the 13-year-old with praise, Minister Symmonds said: “Kya captured in a clearly succinct manner all that I have been trying to get across to the people of Barbados. “All of us in the Caribbean have sea, all of us have sun, and all of us have sand. We must now look as a country to identify those things that we do differently, what makes us special, what makes Barbados stand apart from everywhere else in the Caribbean.” In her essay, Kya urged visitors to go beyond the sea, sand and sun into Barbadian cane fields and villages to play a game of dominoes, drink coconut water or sour sop punch, to ‘lime’ with the people, enjoy local fruits and experience the culture of Barbados. The Tourism Minister declared that Kya’s essay should be “a compulsory read for the business community and young people in Barbados” as it represents where the island’s tourism product needed to be. “She understands what I can’t get big business in Barbados to understand… that is that the tourism package and the tourism attractions of Barbados go beyond a shopping experience. It goes beyond a ride in a taxi or large coach. It is about experiencing Barbados and all that we do as Barbadians. It is about meeting with our people, eating, drinking with our people…,” he insisted. After speaking, the Tourism Minister invited Kya to read her essay to fellow students, teachers and her parents, Kelly Ann and Dwayne Knight, who were also in attendance. She received a resounding applause. Kya won a trip for two on Carnival Cruise Line, US $3000 and various industry prizes. US$3000 was also awarded to the Deighton Griffith Secondary School. The competition was facilitated by the Barbados Tourism Product Authority, under the sponsorship of the Florida Caribbean Cruise Association. (BGIS)

A TOAST TO BARBADOS-CHINA RELATIONS - Prime Minister Mia Amor Mottley and Chinese ambassador Yan Xiusheng toasted the friendship between the two countries at a reception marking the 69th anniversary of the Founding of the People’s Republic of China. The gala event at Hilton Barbados showcased the talent of Chinese children in Barbados, and the growing Barbadian interest in Mandarin, with the performance of a song in Mandarin by the Barbadian primary school students, while Chinese primary school students sang a Barbadian classic along with its writer, music icon Emile Straker, who also accompanied them on guitar. (DN)

KEN 'PROFESSOR' PHILMORE HAS DIED – Ken 'Professor' Philmore - steelpan arranger, composer and ace pannist – died at the Intensive Care Unit of the San Fernando General Hospital on Sunday. Philmore, 58, succumbed to severe internal injuries suffered in a crash on the Republic Day holiday. He sustained broken ribs and his lungs had collapsed, police said. Philmore was driving his Toyota Hilux van north along the Solomon Hochoy Highway when he picked up a skid near Claxton Bay at around 8.45am.The vehicle flipped several times and Philmore was thrown out of the cabin. His wife, Sophia Philmore, had called on the nation to pray for her husband. San Fernando Mayor Junia Regrello confirmed that Philmore died at around 9.30am.Regrello said, “He was in the ICU. He suffered some internal injuries. Yes, his lungs had collapsed twice in that time and I understand he suffered a heart attack as well. His passing is a really, really big loss to the pan fraternity.” Regrello said Philmore played with many south steelbands and made his mark in the artform. “He represented San Fernando with pride. He was like a brother to me he had so much to offer. This is really, really sad. I want to express condolences to his family and say thank you for his contributions to the city of San Fernando,” he said. Philmore began his steelpan career with Hatters and then moved to Fonclaire, where he settled in 1981. He also began a successful career in composing. In 1988, he appeared with international artistes Tina Tuner and Lionel Hamptom in New York. He was honoured by Pan Trinbago as one of the most promising arrangers. Philmore was described locally and internationally as a pannist of today and tomorrow. (DN)

For daily or breaking news reports follow us on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter & Facebook. That’s all for today folks. There are 92 days left in the year. Shalom! #thechasefilesdailynewscap #thechasefiles# dailynewscapsbythechasefiles

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fakesam · 6 years

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Top 10 Albums of 2017

10. Sophia Kennedy - Sophia Kennedy

There are numerous moments on Sophia Kennedy’s debut album that will make you feel like you’re listening to someone narrate a new-age fairytale. Just look at some of these song titles: “Dizzy Izzy”, “William by the Windowsill”, and “A Bug on a Rug in a Building”. These could all easily be the titles of children’s books. But the fantastical nature of some of the songs only serves as a starting point for Kennedy’s emotive writing to shine through. Born in Baltimore, Kennedy moved to Berlin to study film before falling into a music career somewhere along the way. That disconnect from her roots seems to act as her main motivator on this record, as her lyrics veer from surreal aphorisms to direct and personal with ease. It also manifests in the production, which shifts between genres in a way that is pleasingly unpredictable. There’s even a sample of the Last American President Barack Obama thrown in for good measure. Kennedy may feel far from home, but she’s taken that restlessness and turned it into something beautiful.

9. Kamasi Washington - Harmony of Difference

I’ve spent most of my life living contentedly as a jazz hater. I blame it on the mind-numbing smooth jazz radio station my dad would listen to on long car rides. I’d shrugged with indifference whenever old heads would tell you to listen to “real music” or whatever synonym they’d use to scold young people for their listening habits. Youth makes you stupid that way, but it also gives you the opportunity to grow with time. I was comfortable living on “Jazz Is Bad” island until To Pimp A Butterfly forced me to reconsider my opinion on trumpets and whatnot. I’ve been slowly forcing myself to take more chances ever since, but the first jazz album that's really grabbed me was Harmony of Difference. The whole album is great, but “Truth” deserves special praise, an impressionistic song that communicates the pain and passion complicit with existence in a way that is beautifully melancholic. The song’s video makes me emotional in a way I can’t quite describe with words. Harmony of Difference has become my background noise whenever I read a book or need to focus on work. Listen to more jazz.

8. Arca - Arca

Born name Alejandro Ghersi, Arca has made a career out of mining and unveiling surreal electronic symphonies that seduce and unnerve in equal measure. His skills can help Kanye West soundtrack his frustration and depravity, and he can be Bjork’s co-pilot in her pursuit of nirvana. His capacity to morph sounds in his own unparalleled way has been there since the start, but his newest album does so with the rarest and most affecting instrument in his arsenal - his voice. Utilizing one-take recordings of his vocals, the self-titled album presents Ghersi’s glories and anguish front and center, adding another layer of personality onto his distinctive work. The crackle of ominous synths is still prevalent, the sense that some songs could collapse at any given moment. It is a testament to the musician’s skills that they don’t. The highlight of the album, “Saunter”, represents this tension in microcosm. A sea of atmospherics and prickling keys eventually give way to Ghersi’s booming vocal. Fully at ease in his own skin, Arca aligns creator and creation together in perfect symmetry for the first time.

7. Rostam - Half-Light

There’s a moment on every song on Half-Light, Rostam’s debut album, where the singer appears to be cracking up. It’s as if he can’t comprehend his own talent. After years of producing for some of the biggest names in pop music, the former Vampire Weekend member steps out on his own, presenting a collection of gloriously ephemeral pop music that shows why so many talented artists want to work with him. Much of the production is gorgeously weightless, like if cotton candy was converted into an audio format. Rostam’s voice is the only piece of the puzzle that stays in one place, which the singer uses to craft inspiring tales about love and his journey to self-acceptance. There are moments of voluminous joy, as well as instances of steely resolve that underpins the strength one must have to be an openly gay man in modern society. Half-Light feels like it'll slip through your hands at any moment, but Rostam masterfully keeps it together.

6. Mount Kimbie - Love What Survives

An album made by electronic musicians that sounds so tangible and organic that it sounds like a lost gem from a forgotten era. Equally indebted to fuzzy punk rock and intelligent dance music, Love What Survives jangles with the energy of a live band. The eclectic mix of sounds gives the album a particularly British sensibility, and that’s before we even get to the terrific list of guest appearances from James Blake, King Krule, and Micachu. Where most modern electronica settles for easy rhythms and vapid drops, Love What Survives eschews simplicity for grounded textures, and the result is more engrossing because of it.

5. Johnny Jewel - Windswept

Twin Peaks consumed my life for three wonderful, terrifying, perplexing months of the year. A tale of doppelgangers, horrific violence, and Marlon Brando impersonations that made man’s lack of control over nature abundantly clear was exactly the escape I needed from whatever looming disaster had its day in the daily news cycle. The sounds of David Lynch vehicles are just as important as the visuals, and Windswept, the soundtrack created by Italians Do It Better head Johnny Jewel, lived up to series’ musical lineage. Since the day after the finale, I don’t think I’ve listened to any other song as much I’ve listened to “Saturday”, both the finished version featuring Desire and the instrumental performed at the Roadhouse at the end Part 12. The track’s sweeping strings and pounding synths combine to make a track that is simultaneously romantic and unnerving, unknowable and intimate, a dream and a nightmare coexisting. It’s the spirit of the show in microcosm. The lack of any news regarding the new Chromatics album is one of the smaller disappointments of 2017, but Windswept is more than an adept substitute.

4. Kendrick Lamar - DAMN.

As well as being a meditation on blackness and the plights of the ghetto, To Pimp A Butterfly was also Kendrick Lamar’s appeal to become the entertainment voice of the current social justice movement. Fast-forward a few years, and he’s found the crown to be more stressful than he imagined. In many ways, DAMN. is a total repudiation of the preceding To Pimp A Butterfly. Where that album is meditative and sprawling, DAMN. is tight and bristling. Where that album reintroduced jazz to the mainstream lexicon, this album has rattling 808 drums. Where that album spawned a hit single out of tragic serendipity rather than planned orchestration, DAMN. has one of the biggest singles of the year. DAMN. is much less of a statement album, which is probably why I enjoy it more than To Pimp A Butterfly. It’s more of a time-stamped portrait of a certified genius struggling for faith in himself and in his country. There’s no better prescription of America’s endemic ills than “XXX”. That song also manages to make Bono listenable in 2017. If that’s not the mark of a master, I don’t know what is.

3. Brockhampton - Saturation I, II, III

In the shit-stained punch bowl that was 2017, the most consistent source of hope and joy came from a group of misfits in Los Angeles, California. Brockhampton’s origin story is so unlikely it sounds mythological: A group of teenagers meet on an internet forum and leave their homes to make music together. Moving into a house with a bunch of internet strangers sounds like a recipe for disaster, but it has worked out fantastically for this group of artists. The influence of Odd Future is obvious with the group (sorry, boyband). There is a shared disregard for genre stratification in favor of an amorphous brand of music that ranges from aggressive bangers to radio-ready pop earworms. What differentiates Brockhampton is their earnest dedication to emotional honesty. Where Tyler, The Creator initially obfuscated messages behind horrorcore lyrics, Kevin Abstract raps and sings about his homosexuality with a plainness still all too rare in hip-hop. The group’s collective ambition leads to some seamless chemistry that can sell tracks as silly as “Star”, as gooey as “Sunny”, as melancholic as “Bleach”. They’re also one of the few acts that seem to care about making unique music videos, utilizing a good mix of youthful flailing and craft. As great as their output is, it’s what their success represents that makes Brockhampton so powerful. In an era where empathy and collaboration are being discouraged by those in power, seeing a bunch of diverse kids striving for stardom despite the state of the world is inspiring. Their recently announced fourth album is literally named Team Effort. They are the twenty-first century ideal of a group of young people can accomplish when given the chance. This is the future millennials want.

2. Tyler, The Creator - Scum Fuck Flower Boy

There’s a point during “Where This Flower Blooms” where Tyler, The Creator walks us through some of the ways he takes care of himself: “Look, I smell like Chanel/ I never mall grip with my manicured nails/ I coconut oil the skin/ I keep the top low cause the follicles thinnin”. If there is a more succinct example of one man’s personal growth, I haven’t heard it.

Flower Boy is the album Tyler has been trying to make his entire career. The artist has never been this emotionally available on record, reckoning with his place in the artistic stratosphere, the responsibilities that come with that status, and revealing aspects of his sexuality for the first time. The album’s release date made Flower Boy a serendipitous companion to Jay-Z’s 4:44, with its desire to uplift the listener with some advice and a push in the right direction. But where Jay preached the gospel of black capitalism as a gateway to equality, Tyler is more interested in extolling less financially-based virtues. Take care of your health. Make time for your friends. Be the person you are in your dreams.

Everything is laid bare on Flower Boy. For all the cars purchased and creative whims fulfilled, Tyler still feels very alone, his financial stability no longer a panacea for his anxious thoughts.

But its his romantic desires that weigh heaviest on his mind. Love has always been a staple in Tyler’s music, but until now, the absence of affection and the “me against the world” mindset forged in response has received much more prominence. Flower Boy is sincere and moving in a way his previous work never felt comfortable enough to exude. The identity and gender of his crush is fascinating for how it re-contextualizes the homophobic slurs that stained his previous work, but where Tyler’s sexuality lands on the spectrum isn't important to loving the music. What is important is how “See You Again” and “Glitter” envelop you in their warm glowing warming glow and only let you go once their melodies are stuck in your head.

Tyler’s existential crisis never diminishes his musical talents. Rather, it serves as fuel for the best production of his career. The spirit of Los Angeles permeates every chord progression, sometimes rejoicing in the west coast’s everpresent sun (Enjoy Right Now, Today), sometimes suffocating under the oppressive brightness (911/Mr. Lonely). His rapping ability can stand with anyone in the non-Kendrick division, and while his singing voice isn't per se good, you feel his every word. The entire album speaks in the same register, but the songs never become repetitious or boring. The featured guests take the role of the rug in The Big Lebowski, accentuating the music surrounding them without ever stealing focus. (If Lil Wayne ever makes another album, Tyler needs to produce most, if not all, of it.)

Flower Boy showcases the importance in giving a person room to breathe and mature on their own terms. It’s gratifying to see the growth Tyler has made since the group’s peak, and the same could be said of the other solo stars from the former collective (Earl Sweatshirt, Frank Ocean, and Syd). But the change is most stark in Tyler, given his status as ringleader and his initial reticence to give any detractors credence. But age has a way of opening one’s ears to different ideas. Progress can only be made you’re prepared to look inside yourself and confront your sense of self. It’s uncomfortable and vaguely terrifying. But that road must be crossed at some point. To paraphrase a line from “Pothole”, you just have to keep pushing.

1. King Krule - The OOZ

It’s only fitting that the best album of 2017 is one that is so claustrophobically anxious. Archy Marshall has spent the last couple years recusing himself from potential stardom after his first King Krule album caught the ears of mainstream stars. Beyonce showed him love, luminaries such as Kanye and Frank Ocean wanted to work with him, a devoted fan base lauded him as generational voice. But Marshall has always worked on his own speed, with his own moods.

When he finally reemerged, it was not with an album ready to capitalize on mainstream acclaim. It's easy to draw a connection between King Krule’s music and the subconscious sprawl of David Lynch. The same way Lynch refused to adjust his vision for the sake of audiences, Marshall is similarly uncompromising with his music, doubling down on his jazzpunk fusions and valley-wide compositions. The OOZ works as an album title and a description of the songs collected under its banner. It’s a slow, moody exploration of a psyche that hasn’t quite lost his grip on sanity, but he can feel his hands getting sweaty. He portrays this warped reality with his signature raspy howls and distinctly laconic turn of phrase, and it’s impossible not to feel whatever emotion he’s exploring at the moment.

From the instant the sparse guitars and the muted shuffling begins on opening track “Biscuit Town”, it is clear you are entering another person’s world. The music only sinks into a deeper groove from there, as Marshall becomes ensconced in his depression amid the dissolution of his last relationship. Archy Marshall pulls off a magic trick with The OOZ: He manages to adroitly communicate the ways mental illness impedes any form of progress while evolving his style in truly incredible ways. There’s a cinematic quality to these songs, the way each word animates and pulses even when describing emotional stillness. “Dum Surfer” sounds like the 21st-century update of “Monster Mash”, with raucous nihilism replacing holiday kitsch. The way Marshall tweaks his voice in a less gravely, more sinewy direction on songs like “Slush Puppy” opens up new avenues for his music to explore. I’ve imagined music videos for several songs on the OOZ. From the darkness of solitude, Archy Marshall created a world that is astoundingly beautiful and achingly melancholic. In a year that demanded escapism, The OOZ delivers more than any other.

#albums of 2017 #writing

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jenmedsbookreviews · 7 years

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My view this week. Well… Not strictly true as I didn’t make it anywhere near Brixton or Victoria. But I was in London for a very flying visit to look at some industrial units. What a truly glamorous life I lead right? My Thursday consisted of – drive to Ponders End (via Starbucks) – spend five minutes looking at an industrial unit. Spend an hour driving to Kingsbury, in NW London (via Costa Coffee) – spend five minutes looking at an industrial unit. Drive to Hayes – spend five minutes looking at an industrial unit. Drive home (via Starbucks). Exciting stuff huh?

The only real benefit of driving around aimlessly, apart from being able to stock up on copious amounts of coffee and blackberry mojito green tea lemonade (non alcoholic), is that I also get to listen to audio books. As I was driving for around seven hours I managed to get most of the way through a whole book, which I finished off by reading when I got home. Tidy.

I’m just starting to get into my major project now with the first training sessions for our ‘super users’ next week. I forgot to tell them that they need to wear their underpants over their trousers so I guess that’s something we’ll have to cover off in housekeeping before the session starts…

Three days of that and then I get a very long weekend off because I am going to Harrogate. Right now I am neither excited or nervous about this fact. I am kind of apathetic. I think because I am so damned busy I have no time, thankfully, to be anything but. I still have the sort of feeling of dread buried somewhere deep inside, but I’ll worry about that surfacing again on Thursday morning as I say goodbye to the poochie. Or rather as I am packing as I probably won’t get round to it much before then… It’s just four days at a book festival. It is going to be fine. I think.

So. Bookwise, this week I’ve been quite productive. Sort of. Didn’t get much reading done until Wednesday as I had blog posts to catch up on, reviews to write, and that pesky chapter three in my thriller spoof – Killer – to complete. Even so, I’ve managed to get through four books thanks to my impromptu road trip on Thursday so it could be worse. I even got book post! Yup. I am loved once more. Two fabulous little parcels winging their way to me courtesy of Penguin and Head of Zeus. First up was The Marriage Pact by Michelle Richmond. I also received Behind Her Back by Jane Lythell.

Purchase wise I’ve been quite restrained. Sort of. I did a cheeky pre-order of Patricia Gibney’s third Lottie Parker novel, The Lost Child, as well as ordering a bit of a curve ball book, Wicked Grind by J Kenner (one of my guilty pleasures). Inspired by Emma Mitchell, I made a random purchase of the following: Oxford Dictionary of English Idioms, Oxford Dictionary of Modern Slang, Oxford Dictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms. Maybe I can inject a little more variety into my ‘thriller’. Or then again, perhaps not. And it was only while I was reading the ARC that I realised I hadn’t actually pre-ordered All The Wicked Girls by Chris Whitaker, which I have since remedied.

Only one ARC downloaded from Netgalley, The Lost Wife by Anna Mansell and no new audible this week so that, ladies and gents, was it.

…

Books I have read

The Lost Wife by Anna Mansell

Fans of Sheila O’Flanagan, Amanda Prowse and Kelly Rimmer will love The Lost Wife, the compelling story of a woman’s deepest secrets, and the friends and family who must learn to live without her.

‘An incredible, beautiful story of loss, love, forgiveness, moving on, overcoming grief, redemption and above all, hope.’ Renita D’Silva

When Ellie Moran passes away, she leaves her newborn son and husband Ed behind her. Their marriage was perfect, their lives everything they had hoped for. So why was Ellie keeping secrets from Ed?

Knowing he can never ask his wife the truth, Ed is struggling to cope. When the secrets threaten to tear his whole family apart, Ed turns to Rachel, the one person who sees him as more than just Ellie’s widower.

But then Rachel discovers something Ellie was hiding, something that would break Ed’s heart. Can Rachel help Ed to find peace without the wife he lost – and a second chance at happiness?

This was a last minute pick as I am taking part in the blog tour but an absolute cracking read. His family torn apart by loss and suspicion, Ed Moran really needs a friend which he finds in nursery worker Rachel. But in trying to help Ed come to terms with what happened, Rachel makes a grave error, one which may be unforgivable. Occasionally heart wrenching and often tender this book was a welcome break from my usual crime and thriller spree. I’ll be sharing my thoughts at the end of the month, but in the meantime you can pre-order the book here.

…

The One by John Marrs

How far would you go to find THE ONE?

One simple mouth swab is all it takes. A quick DNA test to find your perfect partner – the one you’re genetically made for.

A decade after scientists discover everyone has a gene they share with just one other person, millions have taken the test, desperate to find true love. Now, five more people meet their Match. But even soul mates have secrets. And some are more shocking – and deadlier – than others…

So. I’m way behind the curve on this one. It’s one I’ve had on my Netgalley TBR for a long time and I thought I may as well make the most of my road trip and start to clear some of that backlog. So, I downloaded the audio and off I went. Now this was an intriguing read for me. I am overwhelmingly sceptical about the concept of people finding ‘the one’. Of there being that super spark which goes beyond anything experienced with any other partner, so this book kind of tapped into that scepticism and kept be suitably entertained. You’ll have to wait a while for my thoughts on the book but you can bag yourself a copy right here.

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All The Wicked Girls by Chris Whitaker

‘Raine sometimes complains that nothing exciting is ever gonna happen in Grace again. Daddy told her careful what you wish for.’

Everyone loves Summer Ryan. A model student and musical prodigy, she’s a ray of light in the struggling small town of Grace, Alabama – especially compared to her troubled sister, Raine. Then Summer goes missing.

Grace is already simmering, and with this new tragedy the police have their hands full keeping the peace. Only Raine throws herself into the search, supported by a most unlikely ally.

But perhaps there was always more to Summer than met the eye . . .

For fans of The Roanoke Girls and Fargo, All the Wicked Girls is a gripping crime novel with a huge heart from an exceptional talent.

Now it is no secret that I really loved Chris Whitaker’s debut novel, Tall Oaks. It was my top read of 2016 and is one I recommend to anyone who asks me which books they absolutely must read. So book two had a lot to live up to. And did it? Well I’m not going to say too much as my review will be out closer to publication but Mr Whitaker truly does have a talent for capturing the spirit of small town America, for creating a suffocating and oppressive atmosphere alongside a compelling and consuming story. And characterisations… You don;t get the full on Manny experience, but the friendship between Noah, Purv and Raine was brilliantly observed. So yeah. I liked it. You can pre-order your own copy here.

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The Unquiet Dead by Ausma Zehanat Khan

One man is dead.

But thousands were his victims.

Can a single murder avenge that of many?

Scarborough Bluffs, Toronto: the body of Christopher Drayton is found at the foot of the cliffs. Muslim Detective Esa Khattak, head of the Community Policing Unit, and his partner Rachel Getty are called in to investigate. As the secrets of Drayton’s role in the 1995 Srebrenica genocide of Bosnian Muslims surface, the harrowing significance of his death makes it difficult to remain objective. In a community haunted by the atrocities of war, anyone could be a suspect. And when the victim is a man with so many deaths to his name, could it be that justice has at long last been served?

In this important debut novel, Ausma Zehanat Khan has written a compelling and provocative mystery exploring the complexities of identity, loss, and redemption.

Winner of the Barry Award, Arthur Ellis Award, and Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best First Novel.

I’ve been itching to read this book since receiving it from No Exit Press last month. I’m on the blog tour next week so you won’t have long to wait for my thoughts. Not always a comfortable subject to read about, it touches upon one of the darkest periods in recent European history. As I’ve literally only just finished reading, I’m going to sit and digest it a little while before writing my review. In the meantime, order yourself a copy of the book here.

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So that’s it. Four books. Not too shabby. Not sure this will be as productive a week as Harrogate is likely to impinge on my reading a touch… I’ll give it a shot though and the travel means valuable audio book time so perhaps I can squeeze in at least a couple of titles by Sunday….

Busy week on the blog with a mix of reviews, book love and blog tours as per the norm.

Review: Cragside by L.J. Ross

#BlogTour Guest Post: Spark Out by Nick Rippington

#BookLove: Linda Hill

Killer: Chapter Three (or ‘I did warn you – these are actually getting worse…’)

#Blogtour review: The Stolen Girls by Patricia Gibney

#BlogTour Review: Dying To Live by Michael Stanley

Guest Review: Bored of the Rings by Rich Amooi

#BookLove: Catherine Kullman

Review: Nowhere Child by Rachel Abbott

The week ahead is once more pretty busy. I have more book love, blog tours and reviews to share. I start the week with a guest post from Malcolm Hollingdrake as part of the Dying Art blog tour. On Wednesday I’m finally able to share my review of The Other Twin by Lucy V Hay and on Friday I am thrilled to be opening the blog tour for Chris Curran’s new book, Her Deadly Secret. I have a little book love from Katherine Sunderland and Jane Cable and if I get time, maybe an update or two from Harrogate (but don’t hold your breath…)

And that’s it. Have a fabulous week of bookishness all. See you next week.

Rewind, recap: weekly update w/e 16/07/17 My view this week. Well... Not strictly true as I didn't make it anywhere near Brixton or Victoria.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

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mdye · 7 years

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He doesn’t want to be president, he just wants to play one on TV

The Donald Trump Show is getting stale, old, and frankly a little bit boring.

Donald Trump’s big speech before Congress on Tuesday night was the epitome of the show. There was the gross hypocrisy of “the time for trivial fights is behind us,” the campy propagandism of creating a Victims of Immigration Crime Engagement office, the prepared remarks in all caps calling to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.

Trump knows a thing or two about publicity stunts.

Shorn of context, to witness a President of the United States deliver a speech so devoid of the customary humility or sense of America’s role in the world would be shocking. Just as it would ordinarily be shocking to see a president attacking the media as “enemies of the American people” or denouncing a “so-called judge” or any of the other dozen or so bizarre things that Trump does in a given week.

His campaign was, fascinating from state to finish — if at times horrifying — because of the litany of similar novelties. His business -- brand licensing and real estate — succeeded by the same attention-seeking. His reality TV career is the same story.

But Trump is no longer a novelty candidate, a branding magnate, or a B-List TV show host. He’s now the President of the United States. He’s the subject of constant, obsessive media attention. And like any over-exposed celebrity, he’s getting tiresome.

If you take any one moment from the Trump Show out of context, it’s striking. But together, Tump’s antics are now banal. He says, tweets, and does weird things. He gets attention. He pisses people off while thrilling others. Tonight, he even managed to attract attention and garner praise for slightly dialing it down. But speeches are supposed to be tools to help do the work of actually being president — learning about the issues, making decisions about tradeoffs, and collaborating to get things done.

Amidst the non-stop and increasingly tedious theatricality, Trump is only ever performing the role of the president, he’s never doing the job.

The Trump Show never stops

On the campaign trail, a politician gives speeches to energize supporters and to persuade the persuadable. The point of campaigning, for most politicians, is to try to win so they can govern.

When you take office, you continue to make speeches. But — especially if you are the president — the speeches then become handmaidens of governance. You give speeches to help put issues on the public agenda, to elevate a particular perspective in Congress, and to say something meaningful about priorities and tradeoffs.

Trump has, it’s clear, no interest in governing. He only just discovered yesterday that health care policy is complicated. He claims to be deliberately leaving political appointments unfilled as some kind of gesture of small government zeal, but in reality because he seems too lazy to come up with a properly vetted roster. He clearly had a blast campaigning, but had no expectation that he would actually win. That allowed him to campaign in an unusually irresponsible manner — tossing off incoherent or impossible promises with no consideration of how difficult, or downright impossible, it would be to deliver on them.

The surreal campaign that resulted from this — the Trump Show — was a thing to behold. But having won, Trump now faces the humdrum task of turning his nonsense into something workable. But while there are certainly people plugging away at this — Reince Priebus, Gary Cohn, Steve Bannon, Mick Mulvaney, and various cabinet secretaries — Trump is clearly still focused on the show. Given the chance to reboot and explain what he wants to do, Trump simply gives another campaign rally speech.

Congress needs some presidential leadership

There are a whole bunch of issues pending in Congress where it would be useful for the President of the United States to weigh-in and attempt to shape the debate.

One such issue is the Affordable Care Act, where Republicans would broadly speaking like to rescind its tax increases on the rich and pay for them by cutting spending on providing insurance to the poor and the middle class. Some Republicans have gotten leery about the practical implications of this approach, and are now talking about restraining their ambitions somewhat — leaving the Medicaid expansion in place, for example, or giving states the option to retain the ACA framework. Others are adhering dogmatically to the view that the spending must all go.

Some indication from Trump about what he is willing to accept and what he thinks should be done would be useful. Instead, he gave us — as he invariably does when he discusses the topic — vague platitudes about how “we should help Americans purchase their own coverage” with no word on how generous that help should be or how it should be paid for.

On tax reform, things are much the same. He claims that his “team is developing historic tax reform” but told us nothing of the tradeoffs it might entail or when a full plan might be available.

He talked, extensively, about trade as he always does. But he talked about it vaguely, as he always does. He said future deals would be “fair” without saying anything about what they would look like or they would be achieved. The infrastructure portion of the speech described to particular plan, and the reference to a more “merit-based” system for legal immigration likewise offered no details.

Nobody who’s watched anything Trump has said over the past six months learned anything new. In part because it’s rarely clear whether even Trump cares about the details of what he says.

You can’t parse a president who doesn’t sweat the details

In a normal address of this sort, the role of a policy reporter is to serve as a kind of a translator. Having spent days, weeks, and months following policy debates in Washington, we are able to catch the quick references in the president’s speech and understand them in fuller context. In that spirit, for example, I might note that Trumps’ reference to creating “a level playing field for American companies and workers” appears to be a move toward endorsing a controversial corporate income tax reform that big exporters like but retail chains hate.

The problem is, to draw that conclusion would require us to believe that the speech went through a traditional drafting process. That the Treasury Secretary and the National Economic Council director and the legislative liaison staff all briefed the president on the meaning of the line, and that he therefore made a coherent, deliberate effort to embrace this House plan.

I feel like I can actually hear the editing battles between Bannon and Priebus in this speech. The tonality really veers around.

— Nick Confessore (@nickconfessore) March 1, 2017

But here’s another theory. The speech seems to largely be the product of tensions between Reince Priebus’ traditional Republican Party ideology and Steve Bannon’s populist nationalism. Priebus is close to Ryan, who likes the controversial tax reform. But one interpretation of the tax reform idea is that it’s protectionist trade policy, which Bannon likes. So the two of them may have put the line in the speech even though Senate Republicans and the Trump administration economic team seem to think it’s a bad idea.

The premise of taking a close look at these speeches to read the tea leaves, in short, is that the president actually understands the policy issues facing him and cares about the words he’s speaking. With Trump that’s far from true. He doesn’t like to read briefing books or make hard choices. His words about clean air or infrastructure or anything else are completely meaningless until we see real plans. And there’s no real indication that we ever will. The show is an increasingly meaningless spectacle.

The real story is what’s happening in America

None of this is to say that the Trump administration, as a phenomenon, isn’t important. American politics and government are always important because they directly impact the lives of millions of people.

The Trump show doesn’t matter. What matters is that thousands of ICE agents in cities across America now feel that they have been “unchained” to start enforcing immigration law in a more random, more terrifying manner. Beyond the details of Trump’s executive orders, reports of Customs and Border Patrol agents at airports stepping-up their level of aggression in detaining and questioning harmless foreigners have been ubiquitous. Jewish Community Centers around the country are experiencing an unprecedented surge of bomb threats. The new Attorney General is openly dismissive of Justice Department inquiries into racism and abuses at police departments nationwide — meaning that misconduct issues are likely to become more severe.

At the same time, Trump’s victory has caused mobilization on the American left that is faster and more powerful than anything I’ve seen in my lifetime. From the millions who participated in Womens’ March events on Inauguration weekend, to the rapid-fire mobilization of people and lawyers to counter the first iteration of Trump’s travel ban people are active.

This resistance to Trump is flooding congressional town hall meetings, and has thrown the GOP’s health care strategy into disarray — taking the larger legislative agenda with it. Despite considerably lingering tensions between supporters of Hillary Clinton and supporters of Bernie Sanders, Democrats are, on a practical level, working together against Trump — exemplified by Keith Ellison taking Tom Perez as his guest to the speech.

The real-world consequences of Trump’s governance matters enormously, and so does the pushback that Trump is getting. The struggles between the forces Trump has empowered and emboldened and those he was frightened and energized will determine the future course of the country. But the Trump Show itself — the series of tweets, speeches, interviews, and provocations undertaken by the President of the United States in lieu of governing — is tedious and irrelevant. It’s time to start learning how to tune it out.

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