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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

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You writing is soo cool, you're amazing! I don't know if you are taking requests, but what about a famous Y/N and meets professor Harry and he is like "I don't want to teach you, you are famous" and she is like "you are going to teach me and fall in love with me😏" and well, idk the idea just came to my mind and I thought of you to write it hahaha. Love your writing, keep doing it 'cause you are great!

Word Count: 9,443 LONG AS SHIIIIT

WARNING: FILTHY SMUT!!!!!!!! (I put ******** before and after the smut so you can skip if you’d like

A/N: Thank you SOO much to @mylittleangel9403 for this request and I’m SOOOO sorry it took so long. Turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. Not sure if you wanted this to be smutty, but I just couldn’t help myself. Also, shoutout to @gwenlovesharrystyles for the help on this imagine! Much appreciated!!Enjoy!

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Professor Styles

“Ma’am, respectfully, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Harry leaned forward in his chair, fingertips pressed together, aware of the large presence that sat beside him, his voice almost a whisper. “We’re already several classes deep, and as you know, my class is very difficult. She’ll be at a disadvantage going in, not to mention the students already in my class. The distraction isn’t fair for them.”

“Professor Styles, I don’t need to tell you how much this means to our University. I understand your concern, and I have every faith in you to help miss Y/L/N catch up to speed and keep your students in-check.”

He could feel the eyes of the famous singer on him as she uncrossed her legs and sat straighter in her chair. In his peripheral, he could see her burly manager, who stood in the back against a wall, take a step closer behind them like a bodyguard waiting to pounce. But for some reason, Harry had the distinct impression that Y/N could do without protection. He thought she was tough enough.

“Sir,” Y/N spoke softly and respectfully. Harry turned, seeing a reflection of yellow in her eyes as the sun shone through the window onto them, and he couldn’t help but think she was putting on an act for the Dean. “I know that the circumstances are...unusual. But, I promise I will do everything in my power to not cause any distraction in your class. I’ll sit in the back if that helps. Whatever it takes.”

The young professor took a deep breath, taking in her words. He looked around the room in thought, feeling everyone’s attention on him all the while. Some of the rumors about her seemed to ring true. Y/N had this energy about her that made it difficult to focus or think straight. She hardly took her eyes off of him throughout this entire meeting.

Harry sighed in defeat and nodded, “Alright. I trust she’ll be given the syllabus and information on everything she’ll need for my class?” he asked the Dean.

But before the Dean could respond, Y/N chirped, “I’ve already gotten it and I’m prepared to start next week.”

“Well, that’s settled, then,” the Dean grinned, victoriously, “Welcome to our school, Miss Y/L/N. Unless you have any more questions, you are free to go.”

Y/N stood up with a smile, followed by the Dean and professor. She stuck out a hand and shook them, saying, “Thank you so much. I look forward to starting on Tuesday.”

Her burly manager opened the door for her and she began to make her way out. And as Harry collected his things to leave, the Dean quipped, “Oh, Professor Styles. Before you head to your next class, I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”

Harry watched as Y/N closed the door behind her, almost certain he saw a wink, before setting his things back down and taking a seat once more. He listened as the Dean encouraged him to do all that he can to ensure Y/N had a good experience here, explaining how big of a deal this was and how Y/N taking his class might encourage more students to enroll.

Harry listened, respectfully, but wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes. It annoyed him that he was expected to baby Y/N and bend to her will solely because she was a rich and famous singer, and he refused to play a part in that. If she wanted success in his class, she would need to earn it just like the rest of his students.

When they finished their conversation, he was already running late for his next class. Again, he collected his things and made his way out of the office. As he speed-walked through the administration, he was surprised to see Y/N still there, sat on a chair beside her burly manager, talking. When she noticed him, she instantly jumped to her feet and raced up to him.

“Hey,” she said, simply, keeping his pace as they continued out of the administration building and into the main campus.

“I’m running late to my next class, Miss Y/L/N. Did you have a question, or can this wait?”

Her voice was so flippant that it bordered arrogance, “Just wanted to thank you again for letting me join your class this late into the semester.”

“It’s not me you should thank. I don’t agree with it and I won’t baby you. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I suggest you start reading your books so you’re not lost in my next class. Your classmates have worked hard to get to where they are and I’d hate for you to be the reason for a halt in their progress.”

“I think you’ll find that not to be the case.”

She was so smug that it caught him off guard. The looming of her large manager two paces behind him as they hustled down the walkway was even more noticeable now, along with the many whispers and stares as they continued. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, perplexed.

He debated whether to ask, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Not wanting to show any sign of weakness or that he’d entertain her malarky. But his curiosity got the better of him.

“Miss Y/L/N, why are you taking my class?”

“Why not?” she smirked in response.

He sighed, annoyed that he was even going along with this, “We both know you don’t need to go to school, especially for Advanced Musical Theory. Why are you only taking my class?”

Her voice was softer and more sincere this time as she spoke, “I’ve always been interested in Music Theory and wanted to take it before my career kicked off. And I heard you were one of the best teachers in your field.”

For a split second, in that moment of sincerity, he thought he might have just seen her, the real her, behind all the fame and money and act. But her innocence faltered as she quickly shuffled in front of him, making Harry fumble to a stop.

Her eyes were more seductive now as she hushed, “Besides, I heard about how hot you were and I needed to see it for myself. And I’m not disappointed,” she looked at him through her eyelashes.

Harry could feel the warmth rise to his cheeks, extremely aware of her manager’s presence behind him and the few students nearby, staring. He was sure his face was bright red right now as Y/N’s smirk only seemed to grow.

Harry was aware of his reputation around campus for being the ‘hot teacher’. He wasn’t a stranger to the gossip or the occasional student trying to make a pass at him. And, honestly, his ego enjoyed it. But he’d never crossed that line with a student before and she would be no exception.

He did his best to compose himself and continued past her, Y/N following behind, “I’ll ignore that and just give you fair warning,” he started, “My class is hard and you will not be given special treatment just because you’re famous. I promised the dean I’d get you caught up, and I will. Your class is every Tuesday, and you can meet me in my office after each lesson for an hour for the next few weeks until we get you up-to-date on what you’ve missed. I will not play into your games.”

“Yes, Sir,” she pouted, teasingly, and again, jumped in front of him, holding a hand out and smiling, “Looking forward to next Tuesday.”

Harry looked at her suspiciously, pausing for a moment before ultimately giving in and taking her hand in his. But before he could respond, she pulled herself closer to him. So close that she was practically whispering in his ear.

“But just to warn you, not only will I ace your class, but by the end of the semester, I’ll make you call in love with me.”

Her breath was so hot and her words were so unexpected that he stood there, stunned, while she pulled away, winked, and walked back towards her bodyguard, heading back from where they just came from. She waved to a few students that recognized her, and she looked back once to blow a discreet kiss before she rounded a corner and was out of sight.

Harry watched after her, stunned at her assertiveness while people were watching. But he shook it off and continued to his class, mentally preparing himself to break the news to his students.

The anxiety in the week leading up to the start of Y/N’s first official day in Professor Styles’ class was becoming more frequently accompanied by the Dean’s constant checking in on him to make sure everything was ready, more students visiting or showing up to class, and even more excited whispers. Harry, on the other hand, did his best to push it aside, not getting what all the fuss was about.

He had done his best to prepare his students for their newly joined classmate, even sending out mass reminder emails to those in his class to please be courteous and warning them to avoid distraction. But when he pulled up to the school that day, he noticed more students than normal just hanging around, scanning all over campus like they were scouting for something.

Harry quickly realized that they were waiting to catch a glimpse at the famous singer and he snorted, rolling his eyes. Kids were so predictable. He slipped his lanyard with his ID around his neck, grabbed hold of his coffee and briefcase, and got out of his car, heading towards his classroom.

The Professor smiled and nodded at the students that greeted him in the hallway, proud that he knew each of them by name, continuing to his class. He knew his students would already be there, by now. Harry was usually always a few minutes late and he assumed that it gave his students more than enough time to ogle their new addition to the class.

But, when Harry rounded the corner and saw Y/N leaning up against the wall, arms crossed and alone, his nerves increased.

“Harry,” Y/N beamed when she spotted him, practically skipping over to him.

Harry raised his eyebrows, clearing his throat, “It’s Professor Styles,” he warned, earning a sarcastic nod while he continued, “Why are you not in class?”

“I thought we could go in together since I’m new.”

“I’m your professor, not your babysitter. Go on in next time,” he said as they approached the door. Before turning the knob, he paused and faced her, “While you’re here, I’ll explain to you what I explained to them on the first day. I’m a pretty easy-going teacher because I know how hard this class can be. You can eat in my class, you can have your phones out, you can come in wearing pajamas, I don’t care. However, the biggest rule in my class is that you treat people with kindness. We do not judge in this class. We don’t interrupt people or talk over others, we don’t make others feel inferior. My class is a safe space for people to be their authentic selves and we respect that. Can you do that?”

Y/N’s stance softened and she grinned, nodding, “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good,” Harry nodded, “I’d like you to take a seat towards the back of the class for today if you don’t mind. I’d rather they pay attention to me than the back of your head.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Y/N exaggerated his title, her lips twitching up in a lopsided smile.

He looked down at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes, trying to size her up, before he gave in and turned the knob to his class. The buzz from his students loudly chattering amongst each other instantly stopped when he walked in, closely followed by the singer. Harry vaguely noticed that not only was every single one of his students present, but they all looked slightly more put-together than normal. He snorted under his breath, dropping his briefcase on his desk, taking a sip from his coffee cup, and placing that down, as well.

“Morning!” He called out, earning a chorus of greetings in return. He gestured towards Y/N who was making her way up the steps towards the back of the class, “I’m sure you all know who this is. We are incredibly lucky to welcome Y/N in joining us this year.”

Y/N stopped climbing the steps to smile brightly and wave obscurely at everyone, “Hi!”

Harry nodded towards her to keep moving. She rolled her eyes, playfully, and continued while he explained, “I know we’re all excited to have her here, but I want to remind everyone that while we’re in the room, we’re all students, and that includes Y/N. Let’s all focus on what we’re here for, so we don’t get lost when mid-terms get here, yeah?”

After another muttering of agreeance, Harry noticed Y/N getting settled in the back and he nodded, starting the lecture, “Okay, what I’d like to do is a one-minute warm-up on today’s exploration on duple and triple meter. So, I need everyone to stand up.”

The rustling of chairs echoed and screeched as students got to their feet. Soon, they were marching along to Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by The Beatles, everyone laughing and feet stomping on the ground. He felt proud, seeing all the smiling, attentive faces in his direction and happy that throughout the lesson, nearly everyone had seemed to grasp everything that he was saying.

But, each time he glanced up in Y/N’s direction, he noticed that not only had she not even so much as picked up a pencil or opened her laptop, she had not looked away from him even once. He made a mental note to reprimand her after class and continued on.

When the lesson came to an end, Harry thanked the class for their cooperation and the students began to pack up their belongings. He watched as Y/N was met by a group of kids who were considered to be more ‘popular’ around campus. He saw her friendly smiles, but could barely hear her over the noise.

Once Harry managed to gather his things and toss his now-empty coffee cup in the trash, he approached the group, earning a pleasant round of hello’s by the students. One of the girls, Jesse, made sure to bat her eyelashes a little more and lean closer than necessary as she spoke.

“Great lesson today, Professor Styles. I did have a few questions about musical texture and was wondering if we could meet privately so I could get some more clarity on that?” she asked, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers.

Harry was used to Jesse’s incessant attempts at flirting with him and getting him alone, but he never took the bait, “I’m sorry, Jesse, I have no free office hours available, right now. But please shoot me an email with all of your questions and I’ll gladly help you out.” He heard sniggering from her friends as her face shifted into disappointment and he turned to Y/N, “Miss Y/L/N, when you’re done here, please meet me in my office so I can get you caught up.”

“Yes, Professor, I’ll be right there.”

He waited twenty minutes before he finally heard a knock on the door. He had half a mind to ignore it and let her stand out there, annoyed that he was wasting time trying to help an entitled celebrity who clearly had no interest in his class. What was the point? But, he thought back to the Dean, and reluctantly made his way to the door.

“Your students seem to really like you,” she confidently walked in, taking a seat on top of his desk and tossing her bag on one of the chairs, crossing her legs. “Especially that girl, what’s her name? Jesse?”

Harry blinked and slightly shook her head back before closing the door and rounding the desk she sat on towards his chair, not bothering to give the statement a response. But that didn’t stop her from continuing, “She’s like, in love with you. Well, maybe not in love. But you definitely make her horny.”

“Y/N!” You shoot back at the brassiness.

“She’s hot, I’ll give her that. But she’s definitely got that ‘daddy money’ vibe to her. She and her friends invited me to a party next weekend. And that kid, Mark, gave me his number. He’s pretty hot, too. Looks like some kind of jock.”

Harry nodded, shuffling his papers, “He’s here on a full-ride soccer scholarship.”

“Damn, I’m good,” Y/N leaned back, pressing her palms flat against the top of his desk, impressed with herself.

Harry looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. He wished he could say that her confidence astounded him, but honestly, he wasn’t that surprised. He could hazard a guess that her success was probably all handed to her. She joked about another student being given ‘daddy’s money’, but if he had to guess, she was probably the same.

He set the stack of papers down beside where she sat on his desk and looked up at her with a sigh, “Miss Y/L/N, my desk is not a chair. Please have a seat.”

She slithered down off the desk and plopped in a chair opposite him, scooting it closer and crossing her arms on the top, waiting for him to speak.

He relaxed his shoulders and continued, “You didn’t participate much in class today.”

“Well, you told me not to be a distraction.”

“Yes, but you’re still a part of the class. I expect more participation from you in the next class. And that includes note-taking. You won’t pass my class from memory. For now, I need to get you caught up.

Harry spent the next hour trying to get her caught up on the very first day of his class, which she interrupted every ten minutes, or so, going off-topic or asking very personal questions like ‘do you have a girlfriend?’ or ‘how many students have you been with?’ None of which he answered. When there were about ten minutes left in their time together, Y/N interrupted for the eighth time that hour and Harry groaned, unsure that she had retained any of the information he had provided her so far.

“What made you want to do this? Teach Musical Theory?”

He looked up at her and paused for a moment and she stared at him, her head cocked to the side. She looked genuinely interested, and it wasn’t often that he got asked these questions. He decided he’d entertain her, just this once.

Harry slid the paperwork away from him and sat back in his seat, “I’ve just always been interested in music since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, so have I. That’s why I became a musician. There are so many jobs in the musical field, why music theory?”

“Well, I am a musician. Not as big as you, obviously, but I have a small band and we play gigs around town. But the more I deep dove into music and the history behind it, the more I got into musical theory. It was a hobby and a passion before it was a career. And I guess I just wanted to show people how fun and interesting it could be.”

Y/N nodded, seeming content with his answer before saying, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good teacher.”

“You’ve only been in one class,” he chuckled, sitting up again and straightening out his papers once more.

She giggled, “Yes, but it doesn’t take long to know when a teacher is good or not. I see the way you interact with your students and hear the way they talk about you. Everyone seems to love you. It’s part of the reason why I chose to come here.”

“My reputation precedes me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” she grinned, before softly speaking, “You know, we’re not all that different, you and I. I’ve been passionate about music for as long as I remember,” she laughed and said, “I remember when I was seven years old my mom took me to the library and I must have read at least six books, cover to cover, about Chopin. I knew everything about him and even named my pet rabbit after him. Everyone thought I was crazy.”

“Classical music?” Harry questioned, surprised.

She nodded, sitting up, “I’ve played piano since I was two.”

Harry pursed his lips, nodding his head, “Never judge a book by its cover.”

They stared at each other for a moment, silence filling the room. She looked more innocuous now; harmless as she sat with one leg crossed over the other. By this small conversation she had, she could see bits of himself in her eyes and it made him bring his guard down. For a moment, he was fascinated.

But her expression changed, more curious, as she asked, “So, how many lucky girls get the chance to have this one-on-one time with hottie Professor Styles?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples, “You exhaust me.”

“Or guys, I’m not judging,” she shrugged, “Though that would totally suck for Jesse. She’s really crushing.”

“I’ve never dated a student and I never will,” he said blandly.

“Never say never,” she smirked, “Why not?”

“Because they’re kids and it’s inappropriate.”

“Kids?” she snorted, “You’re barely four years older than most of your students. And everyone is of legal age.”

“I am not having this conversation with you,” he said, packing his things, “Our time is up. I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you in class next week.”

She grinned, gathering her things together and following him towards the door. As he reached for the door handle, she quickly put a hand on top of his, stopping him from turning it and making him look down at her as she said, “Don’t forget, Professor. Never say never.”

He watched as she opened the door and slipped out, turning her head once to wink back at him before she rounded a corner.

Harry found himself nervous and somehow anxious for the following week to arrive. It was the first time for years he had gotten there before any of his students. Every time the door opened and a student arrived, surprised by his early presence, he noticed he would jump and whip his head in the direction of the door. He tried to tell himself that he was just jittery or had too much coffee this morning, but he knew that wasn’t the reason.

When Y/N walked through the door, he felt his heart start to race.

“Good morning, Professor,” she smirked at him as she made her way up the steps towards the back of the class.

He nodded but didn’t respond. He felt stupid for not knowing what to say. There were so many options; hi, hello, how are you? Nothing. Harry watched out of the corner of her eye as she made a dramatic show of pulling out a notebook and a pen, sitting back in her chair and propping her legs up on the desk, making her short skirt slip up her thigh even more, waiting while she tapped her pen on the paper while the other arm was crossed over her stomach and her thumb grazed against her mouth.

He shook his head, pretending to search his briefcase for something as more students started to arrive, annoyed at himself for letting her get to him. In his four years of teaching, this had never been a problem before. How was she doing it?

Y/N waved as the group of kids she was seen talking to at the end of the last class squeezed in and they all excitedly waved back, making their way back to the seats in the row in front of her, spinning in their seats to talk. He wondered what they were talking about each time he saw her laugh or look down at him and hold eye contact.

The lecture started smoothly. He had them do another goofy exercise to get them ready for the class and was able to keep everyone’s attention as he explained notes and scales. Harry noticed the singer scribbling down in her notebook and was relieved to see she was taking notes this time. But what shocked him, even more, was her participation. The Professor, although known to make teaching and learning fun, was also known to ask a lot of hard questions throughout the class. Most, of which, the students rarely knew the answers to. That’s why he was surprised to see Y/N’s hand raised after nearly every question he asked, and even more taken back when her answers were right. Every single time.

Students began to become amused, automatically looking in between the two when a question would arise, and giggling at the incredulous expression on his face when she had, yet again, gotten the answer right. If he didn’t know any better, he would bet that by next week the class would turn it into some kind of a drinking game. He could have sworn he saw Y/N giggle under her breath and even blow a kiss.

After class, once again, Y/N was grouped on the steps by the rows of desks with Jesse, Mark, and their other friends. Y/N would twirl her hair and smile towards Mark and seemed to have him wrapped around her finger, but Harry also noticed how she’d look over Mark’s shoulder at him and bite her lip. She knew he’d be watching, and he hated himself for it.

Quickly, he packed his things and left the room, heading to his office to wait for her there, wondering what they were talking about. He closed the office door behind him, tossed his briefcase on the floor beside the paper shredder, and decided against turning the lights on. He blamed it on a splitting migraine, but it was really because there were too many intrusive thoughts running through his mind that he was doing everything he could to ease it, including pacing the room.

The attempts, however futile, were short lived. Minutes later there was a soft knock on the door and Y/N emerged, closing the door behind her, strutting right past him, and plopping on top of his desk again.

“How was that for participation, Harry?” she asked, propping a foot on the arm of his chair which made her skirt shimmy up her thigh just enough that if he were to look, he was sure he’d be able to see what she was wearing underneath.

He took a gulp and fought hard not to look down, lightly pushing her leg off of the arm of his chair so that both of her legs now hung down, taking a seat and crossing his arms, “It’s Professor Styles, and you did very well in class today, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Told you that I’d be a good student,” but her smile turned devilish as she spread her legs apart further and bent down closer to him, “But I can be bad if you’d like.”

“Please get off my desk and take a seat, Y/N. We’ve still got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” she exaggerated, slowly slipping off of his desk and rounding to the other side.

Again, Harry tried his best to catch her up on lessons she missed, but it hardly seemed to get anywhere with Y/N’s constant interruption of inconsequential questions and arbitrary thoughts that seemed to almost pour out of her mouth without thought. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath a few times. She wasn’t boring, he’ll give her that much.

The more she fought against his attempts at teaching her, the more he realized that they weren’t going to get anywhere unless he gave her a little of what she wanted. So when she asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?” he sighed and ran his finger through his hair, giving in.

“No, I don’t. And why do you insist on coming to these meetings if you aren’t going to pay attention?”

“I am paying attention. You were talking about themes and motives of the piano and violin in Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” she said, confidently, crossing her arms, “I just think that it would be easier to come to class and learn if I knew my teacher a little better.”

He rolled his eyes at this attempt, but a smile crept on his face anyway, “What do you want to know?”

She smiled, sitting up, eagerly, “Well, it’s good to know you’re single. When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

He sighed, uncertain why he was even taking part in this conversation, “A little over a year.”

“And you haven’t tried again since?”

He shrugged, “I’ve been busy.”

“Or you were heartbroken.”

The response stung a little. She was right. And that annoyed him even more. How did she do this? Get under his skin so easily? Instead of answering that, he retorted with, “Well, what about you? You’re obviously single, otherwise, you wouldn’t be flirting so much with your professor or the soccer star.”

Her smirk stretched wider, “Oh, are we jealous of Mike?”

He scoffed, grabbing the few pieces of paper off of his desk and attempting to organize it in the side filing cabinet, “No, I’m not jealous of a student.”

“Mhmm. Well, for your information we were just talking about the party they’re having this weekend.”

He tried his best to look confused, although he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that party since she mentioned it last week, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it’s on Saturday. Not sure if I’m going yet. I’m sure my manager and PR would have my head if I was caught getting sloppy at a college party. Not good for the image,” she whispered, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged, “College parties aren’t all that great, anyway.”

“I’m sure,” she said sarcastically, “Anyway, I have a concert the night before, so I’m usually exhausted by the next day. You should come.”

“To your concert?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow, skeptically, “Unless you don’t like my music?”

Harry shrugged, “I haven’t really heard much of it,” he lied, “but my sister’s a big fan.”

“Well, I’ll put you down for a plus-one. As long as it’s just your sister.”

Harry felt a lump beginning to form in his throat and he shook his head, “I already have plans for Friday. But thanks, anyway.”

She shook her head, nonchalantly, “Well, offer still stands if your plans fall through.”

He tried his best to reroute the conversation back on topic and was thankful that she seemed to finally go along with it. But as it neared the end of the hour, he felt her eyes on his face more and more. He looked up in the middle of his sentence and froze when he saw her eyes on his. She seemed entranced and almost out of it. And something seemed to pull him into the same trance as her.

It was the first good look at her that he had gotten since their first meeting. Her skin looked soft and her eyes sparkled when the sun’s rays shone on them at just the right angle. He hadn’t noticed until now that the bridge of her nose was slightly elongated and somehow endearing. And her lips. Those lips.

Y/N shook her head and stood up. It was the first time that she seemed to be caught off guard, and that stroked his ego a bit. He glanced down at his watch and noticed that they had run overtime and he gasped. She seemed to realize, too. Hurriedly, they both began to collect their things, but in the frenzy, she accidentally flicked her pen off the desk and it ricocheted on his side, landing on the floor near his briefcase.

“Oh!” he heard her mutter, rounding the desk where they both hastily attempted to grab it.

Harry was the first to grab it and as they both stood up, they were face to face with each other, inches away. They froze, again, unable to move. He saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before; nervousness. Y/N was always such a confident force, and to see her any less than that admittedly made him gratified, like he had obtained a victory. But he, himself, was losing the battle. She was breaking him down one wink at a time, and he had never felt so weak in his life.

He could feel the strain of his desire pulling him closer towards her, the gloss on her lips looked enticing. If no one stopped him soon, he wasn’t sure if he could hold off much longer. He saw her eyes begin to flutter shut as the gap between them closed. Her sweet, minty breath swirled in front of his lips, he could almost taste it. And then a loud knock on the door echoed around his office.

Y/N flew against the wall while Harry awkwardly knocked his elbow against the back filing cabinet just as Jesse haughtily belted into the room. Her wide smile slowly screwed up into trepidation at the awkward tension that filled the room as the professor and singer avoided eye contact with each other.

“Jesse!” Harry quickly spoke, “What can I help you with?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be finished. I just had a few questions about the essay, but I can just email you.”

“No, no, it’s fine, come in. Y/N was just on her way out.”

“Okay, cool,” Jesse smiled, stepping in further and placing her things on the chair opposite his desk.

Harry watched as the two girls exchanged friendly smiles, but he could see the slight embarrassment behind Y/N’s as she made her way towards the door.

“Don’t forget about this weekend!” Jesse called out after her, “I’ve never seen Mark so excited for a party before.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Y/N faked a laugh, sharing one last concerned look with Harry before closing the door behind her on the way out.

All week he found himself analyzing all of the occurrences that led up to him and Y/N almost kissing. He debated his sentiments, trying to logic every feeling of vulnerability and affection away with a simple explanation. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to pay attention to his work, constantly stumbling over his words of forgetting what he was talking about. When his class ended early on Friday afternoon and he sat in silence in his apartment, he stared at the blank television screen, contemplating whether or not he should take up her offer to attend her concert.

He paced the floor, opened and closed the fridge, tried to scroll through his social media apps, or read a book, anything to keep her mind off of her. He picked his phone up and stared at the home screen for a few minutes, constantly unlocking it when it got dark. With a final sigh, he opened it once more and dialed a number, putting it up to her ear.

“Hello, ya nimrod. What’s going on?” He heard his sister’s voice ring through the other end.

“How do you feel about going to a Y/N Y/L/N concert tonight?”

“You serious? Tonight? Bloody hell, yeah, I’ll go!”

“I’ll pick you up in two hours.”

Time only seemed to drag for Harry, left with nothing but his thoughts. It was enough time to go back and forth on whether or not he was making the right decision. Ultimately, he decided to go. He had already invited Gemma and he would feel guilty for bailing after getting her hopes up.

The sun was beginning to set and Gemma was singing loudly to Y/N’s lyrics in the passenger seat beside him. His palms were sweaty, gripped tight against the steering wheel. As the song ended, Gemma turned the volume down and turned to her younger brother.

“How did you get Y/N Y/L/N tickets, anyway? I didn’t know you listened to her like that.”

“I don’t, really. I mean, I’ve heard a few songs. But she’s my student and invited us to come.”

“She’s your student?” Gemma laughed, amused, “Cut the shit, Harry. How? Did you win them on the radio or something?”

“I’m serious. She’s taking my class.”

“What?” Gemma gasped, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think to.”

“You didn’t think to tell me that one of my favorite singers is a student of yours?” Gemma clarified. Eyebrows furrowed, she sat back and huffed, “Some brother you are.”

“Hey, now! I’m bringing you to her concert, aren’t I?”

The walk up to the ticket booth was one of the most humiliating things he had ever experienced as he uncomfortably explained who he was and that he was invited by the singer, herself. It took two people and a member of her staff to vouch for him before he and his sister were escorted through the venue and entered the pain event area through a private entrance that led them towards a VIP barricade towards the front of the stage. Thousands of screaming fans surrounded them, and Gemma looked around, shocked at the scene.

“This is insane!” Gemma shouted in his ear, bouncing on the balls of her toes.

Harry had to admit, it was pretty cool to see all of these people here for Y/N. He felt a sort of pride for her that he wasn’t quite expecting. And it didn’t take long for the lights to dim and the music to start.

He heard her before he saw her, and he felt his heart start to race again. He tried to play it off by the screams and the thumping bass, but when she finally came into view, he felt like he had been bolted to the floor, unable to move or talk or even smile. He was just stunned. Seeing her on stage was surreal. He knew of her, first, but it was hard for him to dissociate ‘student’ Y/N from ‘famous’ Y/N.

When they caught eyes and she realized he had come, a smile stretched across her face behind the microphone. He couldn’t help but mirror her, his shoulders relaxing as he managed a gentle wave. She walked closer to them on the stage, singing down at them, and he could hear his sister repeating ‘Oh my god, oh my god’ beside him as Y/N waved back in their direction.

Y/N was talented, there was no denying it. And the way that she interacted with her fans, you could tell that she was grateful for every second of it. It was touching. She was knocking down his assumptions about her little bit by little bit. He always thought that she’d be a spoiled, ungrateful celebrity, but that seemed to be completely false.

By the end of the concert, he had eased up and began to jump around, goofily, with his sister while Y/N watched, dancing around on stage, laughing and singing. Finally, the burly manager he had seen on the first day of their meeting with the Dean had approached him and his sister, informing them that they were invited backstage and to follow him.

His nerves began to rise in his chest again as they wove down several corridors until eventually, they stood before a door with Y/N’s name taped on it. The manager knocked loudly and waited a moment before they heard her voice on the other side call out, “Come in!”

With a turn of the knob, Y/N was now seen. She was in a new, more casual change of clothes and her hair was now up, but with visible beads of sweat lining her forehead and neck, she took a long swig of water.

“Hi!” she called, capping her drink and beckoning the two in, “Come in, come in! I’m so glad you came!”

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,” Gemma tip-toed closer to her, smiling coyly as the door was closed behind them.

“It’s nice to meet you, too!” Y/N grinned, giving Gemma a much-wanted hug, “Please tell me you’re Harry’s sister.”

“Yes, I’m Gemma, his older sister.”

“Oh, thank god. I was worried he’d bring a date,” Y/N said, boldly, “He’s been playing hard-to-get.”

“You’re interested in my brother?” Gemma asked, astounded, “You’re way out of his league.”

Harry’s mouth fell open as Y/N laughed, “Yeah, and you’d think that’d be enough for him, wouldn’t you? But apparently he’s got standards,” she hyperbolized, rolling her eyes.

For an hour, Harry watched and laughed as Y/N and his sister talked and got to know each other more. They made jokes at his expense, and exchanged stories from their childhoods, shocked by how similar they seemed.

“You grew up around here, right?” Gemma asked the singer, taking a sip from her second beer of the night.

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, about fifteen minutes from here.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, knowing the only residential area in a fifteen-mile radius wasn’t exactly known to be the best neighborhood. Y/N seemed to gather his thoughts, further explaining, “It wasn’t always easy. My siblings and I were cramped in a two bedroom apartment and we didn’t have our own phones until well into our teens. I missed out on a lot growing up, but my parents did their best. We had everything we needed. I was lucky to be able to get all this and get them out of that apartment. My parents deserved a big house and a yard. I owed them that much.”

“How did you do it? How did you get to this point?” Harry asked, astounded.

Y/N shrugged, “Right place, right time. I was found singing at the mall for a small gig at a Christmas event. The rest is hard work and history.”

Harry shook his head, speechless. He felt guilty for passing judgment on her before, assuming that it was all handed to her and that she had got her start because of her parents' connections. She was self-made, smart, and deserving of every bit of success that came her way.

After one more round of beers, it was getting time for them to leave. Harry could see the excitement in her sister’s eyes start to be replaced by fatigue, and as much as he wanted to stay and talk some more, he knew he had to get a jump start on grading papers.

He set his empty bottle of beer down and Y/N frowned, “Time to go?”

“Yeah, should probably head out,” Harry nodded, pausing for a moment and taking in the frown on her face. He didn’t have time to think before he blurted out, “Want to join us for the ride?”

Her eyebrows raised and her lips twitched up into a smile, “Yeah, sure.”

Gemma let Y/N take the passenger seat and Harry felt tense as he drove, hand shifting the gears right beside her leg. He smiled every time he heard her laugh, though he couldn’t quite pay attention to what the girls were talking about. He was able to gather that they exchanged phone numbers before he reached Gemma’s house. His sister gave them both kisses on the cheek before bounding up the steps to her home.

The silence was deafening and Harry was certain she could hear him gulp as he turned to her and asked, “Where to?”

He knew what she was going to say. He didn’t need to ask. But to hear it come out of her mouth was something almost too much to handle, “Your place.”

He reversed out of the driveway, barely croaking out, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” she asked, turning towards him.

“You’re still my student.”

“So? We can just talk.”

Harry turned and looked at her, giving her a knowing look, “You know it’s not to just talk.”

“Why can’t it be? You don’t have any self-restraint? Is it because you like me?”

Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he fumbled out a, “No.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?”

“......Fine.”

There wasn’t another word uttered for the rest of the journey to his place and he began to overthink. Was his apartment clean? Had he done the dishes? How messy was his room? Did it smell? He knew he should have gotten that diffuser from the store last week.

His nerves rose as he led her up to his apartment complex, pushing the door open and flicking on the lights, breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was, for the most part, fairly tidy. Y/N walked past him, scanning the scene, and as he locked the door he also held his breath, waiting for her to say something.

“Nice view,” she noted, briefly looking out of the window before turning to face him.

He tossed his keys on the entry table and motioned towards the kitchen to his left, “Drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tea? Coffee? Water?”

“Water’s fine,” she said, making her way towards his living room.

He took the moment to catch his breath, trying to regain control of his thoughts before joining Y/N on his couch, handing her the drink. They both took a swig and he felt her eyes bearing holes into him, again.

When he set his drink down, he turned to her, “You’re very intense, you know.”

She smirked, leaning into the couch some more, “Yeah. I just know what I want.”

“And what’s that.”

“You.”

The immediate response caught him off-guard, but he wasn’t surprised by the answer. At this point, he knew exactly what she wanted, and was only feeding his ego more. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by her and hadn’t thought about the same, but a part of him liked the chase.

He chuckled, sitting back, “You’re my student.”

She moved closer to him, more energetic this time, “I just happen to be into Musical Theory, that’s all.”

“You’re still my student,” he grinned, amused, patting her leg.

“So, what if I drop out? Would that change anything?”

Harry’s grin faded and his hand stayed where it was, resting on her thigh. He stared into her shining eyes again, seeing the seriousness behind them, and he froze, unsure of what to say. Would it change anything if she dropped out of his class? He wasn’t sure it would even need to come to that if she kept looking at him like that any longer.

His eyes flickered from her eyes, to her lips, and back up to her eyes as she waited for a response. He debated whether or not to just give in and kiss her right there. She wanted it, he wanted it, why keep fighting it? There weren’t any rules against relationships with students at his University, not like they’d even fight him on this one; they’re the ones that basically told him to give her everything she wanted.

But when he didn’t respond, Y/N pulled back away. He slumped, kicking himself for not pulling a move sooner. And after a moment of silence, she asked, “Hey, is it okay if I use your shower, real quick? I’m still sweaty from the show and I feel gross. I can take an uber home afterward.”

A million thoughts ran through his mind. Was that a move? Or an invite? Should he ask to join her? Why did she have to leave? He could drive her home, she didn’t need to take an Uber. But the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Uh, yeah, sure.”

He showed her to the bathroom and went to grab her a towel from the linen closet as she adjusted the knobs and stuck her hand under the flow of water, gauging the temperature. By the time he got back in, she seemed happy with the warmth of the flow and took her hair out of its bun, placing the hair tie on the edge of his sink. He hung the grey towel on the rack beside the shower.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he muttered.

She smiled, “Thanks,” and before he was fully out of the room, she began to pull at the ends of her shirt. Quickly, he scurried out of the bathroom and closed the door to give her privacy.

Once out, his hands shot up to his forehead and he crouched, mumbling to himself a frustrated, “Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you? Idiot!”

He sat impatiently on his couch, waiting for her to finish. When he heard the screech of the knobs turning and the pressure from the water fade, he shifted his position and quickly forced his attention elsewhere, trying to act casual. But when he heard the creak of the door opening, he turned his attention to see Y/N standing in the doorway, bathroom light glowing behind her, hair rang out and damp, clutching the towel around her body.

His eyes widened a bit as she spoke, “Do you have clothes I can borrow? Mine are still covered in sweat.”

“Uh, yeah, probably. In my room,” he stammered, getting to his feet and leading the way to his bedroom.

She followed, her feet lightly padding the wood floors. He felt almost embarrassed to have her in his bedroom. He wasn’t sure why, it’s not like it was dirty and he didn’t have anything oddities displayed, still, it was an intimate space, and to have her there felt personal.

He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser where he kept his pajamas and motioned towards it, standing up straight, “You can borrow anything from here.”

She bent down in front of him to rummage through, giving him a better look at her back. It looked clean, soft, and supple as droplets of water still lined her back and dripped from the ends of her hair, getting absorbed by the thin white towel she had wrapped around her. When she stood up, he took a step back and she turned, holding one of his oversized white t-shirts and a pair of his plaid pajama pants.

He stood there, unable to move as she stared at him, raising an eyebrow. And still, as she tossed the clothes on the bed behind him, he found himself, once again, rooted to the spot. A smirk started to form on her face and her voice was soft and playful as she spoke.

“How’s that self-restraint going?” she teased.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her. And when her playful smile began to shift into something more alluring, he held his breath, watching as she untucked the towel around her chest and let it fall to the ground. His eyes instantly dropped to her exposed chest and he felt his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his chest as she stepped closer to him, barely twelve inches, refusing to take her eyes off of his.

“I know you want to,” she whispered, stroking his arms before taking hold of his hands, lifting them and placing them on her chest, “Touch me.”

He felt his erection becoming uncomfortable as he ran out of room in his pants for growth, massaging her chest. His attention roamed back up, locking eyes with her again. There was no stopping it.

************************************************** In a bout of passion, they threw themselves at each other, hungrily attaching their lips to one another, tongues circling and roaming the other’s mouth. Y/N tore fabric after fabric off of him as they spun, grabbing at each other roughly and without deliberation. Soon, they were both naked and knocking into walls and tripping over clothes.

Harry pushed her up against the dresser as she grabbed hold of his dick, pumping her hands up and down his shaft as he moaned into her mouth.

“Does that feel good, Professor?” she bit his lip with a smile.

“Ungh,” he grunted, pulling away. He spun her around so that her back was to his chest, and forced her down to bend over his dresser, propping one of her legs up on the top of it before he got to his knees, burying his face in her muff.

She cried out, “Yes! Teach me, Professor!”

He flicked his tongue inside of her, lapping up all of her juices while he rubbed himself. He could have kept going for hours, but he could feel her legs start to tremble. When he stood up, he slapped his cock on her ass a couple of times, swiping his tip against her entrance enough to get it lubricated before slipping right into her.

Y/N threw her head back, breathing, “Oh my god, you feel so good, Harry.”

He wrapped an arm around her neck while his other hand clasped over her mouth as he grunted, “Professor Styles,” before sucking on her shoulder blade.

When he loosened his hand from her mouth to take hold of her hip, she whined, “I’m so sorry, Professor Styles. I’m not always bad.”

“No, Y/N,” he pulled out of her, spinning her to face him, tempting her as he walked backwards towards his bed, “You’re my good girl.”

The back of his legs hit his bed and he scooched himself back, letting her climb over top of him, straddling his hips. She bent down, biting his lip again as she lowered herself onto him, gasping as her cunt swallowed him up.

She leaned back, letting him get a better look at her, breasts jumping up and down along with her. He ran a hand from her cleavage down to her navel, grazing her soft skin and watching as her mouth formed an ‘o’, scrunching up her eyebrows in pleasure as she called out his name.

“That’s a good girl,” he breathed, an arm behind his head as he watched, “Make me cum.”

She rode him faster, breathing heavier as he continued to grunt, propping himself up now and suckling on her skin. Her breaths became more shallow and her movements more rigid as she wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself onto him even harder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her down onto him, even more, to go deeper. He could feel her throbbing around him, which only made him more aroused.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he breathed, “Cum on my dick.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and with three more pumps she let out a scream as she said, “Pro-fessor Styles!”

He smirked, quickly flipping her on her back and pumping harder and faster into her as her legs wrapped around his waist. She panted, squeaking as he grunted into her. He looked into her eyes which were full of lust as she stared back into him and he could feel himself start to build up. Even faster now, knowing he was about to finish, he smashed his lips down on her quickly before pulling out and squirting his jizz on her stomach, letting her rub out every last drop.

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

He collapsed on the bed beside her as they panted, trying to catch their breath before he got the strength to reach down and grab his shirt for them to clean up the mess.

When he turned to face her, she smirked, “Do I need to drop your class? Or can we fuck in your office next time?”

He let out a breathy laugh and mumbled, “That depends. Are you going to the party with Mark tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to?” she retorted.

With a deep breath, Harry shimmied closer to her, nuzzling his head into her chest which made her wrap her arms around him, running her fingers through her hair as he whimpered, “No.”

She laughed, kissing his curly brown locks, “Told you I’d make you fall in love with me.”

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

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans @gwenlovesharrystyles , @harryswinterberries, @gucciboots, @golden-grande, @ilovedogs1989 @f4llingfairy

#Harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #Professor! Harry #Harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction smut

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Note

for the kiss prompts, first date, on the sidewalk, with a janus ship of your choice~

So uh...👉👈 this was supposed to be Rociet but Logan snuck his way in as I'm taking a lot of comfort from his character lately XD I have another one started for Roman so you might be getting a two for one special with this prompt; regardless I hope you like this one!

Breathe and Relax

Summary: Logan has been an appreciated, steadying presence in Janus' life since college; the way he finds out he's Logan's comes as a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: none, but if you need one tagged don't hesitate to ask.

Ships: Lociet, Logan x Janus

WC: 1,558

Logan had always been wound rather tight. It wasn't as if that was a particularly bad thing most of the time, having the presence of mind for proper time management was a very good quality to have. Group projects were always a daydreamers nightmare with the man, everyone's skills and time taken into account (with little exceptions) and put into a schedule that made it easy for everyone to follow as long as you did actually follow it. Janus remembers college fondly sitting back in amusement as the other students tried to argue against the raging nerd and his binders but eventually it was well known by even the teachers that if you wanted a group project done and done right and done early you went to Logan.

As organized as he was, and still is, it made sense for things to slip through the cracks. One could only account for so much and he certainly couldn't be blamed for not being able to predict the future. Not that the stubborn man would ever listen to the little bit of logic Janus could add to his mindset every now and again.

"I just don't understand why it had to happen today of all days! It's completely unprofessional for any standard of etiquette, not to mention if I were someone else and didn't have all of the paperwork organized beforehand I would be at even more of a disadvantage! I accounted for weather and traffic for two days from now, not today, but now they're going to think I can't handle the job because I can't handle a change in plans, which I clearly can't and-"

Janus slowed his quick pace as the other continued to rant, watching as he frantically fixed his tie and tried to smooth his hair at the same time. The power had gone out this morning, resetting Logan's clock and making him wake up late and subsequently missed checking his email until even later where he had found the appointment for his job interview had been moved up due to scheduling complications. He had called Janus while trying to gather everything nearly crying in frustration, to which he had of course rushed over to help and had a cab waiting to drive them to the lab. Then of course traffic had backed up and rather than waiting for it to clear Logan had quickly paid and tipped before making his way down the block to the research lab himself, just barely restraining the urge to sprint.

They were nearly there but as the other continued to ramble and shake his pace only quickened, nervous energy visible from a mile away. Fortunately Janus had been friends with him long enough to know a spiral when he saw one. "Logan, come here."

"What?" Logan stopped and whirled around, breathless and tense as Janus approached him. Taking the briefcase from his hands he took them into his own and gently rubbed the knuckles as he looked earnestly into Logan's eyes.

"Breathe." Taking a deep breath to demonstrate, he held it for a moment before releasing it, watching Logan to the same. Janus smiled as he closed his eyes, face relaxing as he took measured breaths along with him, the tense muscles in his hands finally relaxing in Janus' secure hold.

Taking them away he ignored the soft whine the other let out. "Relax."

He reached for Logan's tie, straightening it just so and carefully smoothing out the slightly rumpled shirt. Logan tracked his movements while he fixed his polo cuffs and threaded gentle fingers through his hair to neaten his current windswept appearance. Smiling Janus settled his hands on his shoulders before leaning forward to press his lips to Logan's forehead.

"You are handsome." A kiss to his left cheek. "And intelligent." Another to his right. "And you are going to do amazing things even if you don't get this job." One more to the very tip of his nose. "Which you and I both know you will because of how hard you worked for it. A few minor set backs isn't going to stop you."

Catching the look of pure adoration in the others eyes Janus blushed furiously and leaned down to hide his face, shoving the briefcase into Logan's hands and turning him around in the same movement. "Now, shoulders back, head up and move! You're going to be late and I have no patience for another breakdown."

Hearing Logan's laugh was like getting front row seats to an orchestra, loud and booming with enough emotion to set Janus' chest aflame. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched Logan make his way to the doors with much more confidence than he had shown before, taking another visibly steadying breath as he pushed the doors open and disappeared.

-----

"...and I was the one that had to tell them what they were smelling was chlorine gas, which meant that entire section of the building had to be evacuated until it was sorted out. Honestly how half of them ended up with degrees contradicts all logic."

Janus snorted through his pizza as his boyfriend ranted on about his coworkers. It was funny to think a year ago he wasn't sure if he would get the job at all and now he stood as one of the only competent people there. His sudden blush thankfully went unnoticed as he realized that a year ago they had still only been friends, though he supposed that's when the pining may have started. They had both been oblivious idiots back then and hough they still were the difference was now they were officially on their first date at a hole in the wall pizza joint with good reviews and better service.

The continued to swap stories and rants, occasionally flying off topic when a particular phrase or topic reminded them of a side project they were working on or a book they wanted to read (which led to them agreeing a library date would definitely be next, as unoriginal as it was). When their plates were clean and the waiter tipped and they could no longer find an excuse to stay, Janus felt himself being tugged by the hand down the block, much to his flustered amusement.

"Did you forget something at work?" He asked in confusion seeing where they were headed.

"Not exactly." Logan's cryptic answer did little to sate his curiousity but he kept quiet as they neared the building. Suddenly they stopped and Logan dropped his hand, an action he tried not to pout over as the other began looking around. Janus smiled, biting down his concern as he was gripped gently by the shoulders and steered a couple feet back before Logan nodded in satisfaction.

"Breathe." Janus huffed out a laugh at the request, taking a steadying breath nonetheless. His hands twitched with uncertainty until Logan took them into his own, grip soft and sure as he rubbed the knuckles. "Just relax."

"Logan-"

"I wanted to thank you-"

The both laughed as they started to speak over each other but Janus tipped his head to the side in question. "Thank me for what?"

"For everything. You reigned me in at college and helped me through my worst moments. You helped me study and let me talk to you about things you didn't really have any interest in. You were my first friend and the only one who stuck around after graduation." He chuckled quietly. "Janus you even helped me get my dream job."

"I hardly think I was any help with that. You had the qualifications for it."

"I woke up late, the interview time was moved, everything was going wrong but you helped me walk in looking as confident as I needed to be to get it."

"I-" Janus let the sentence hang as Logan leaned forward slowly, allowing him to pull away if he wanted, which he definitely did not.

"You're handsome." A kiss to his left cheek. "And intelligent." A kiss to his right. "And you've helped me more than you'll ever know." One more to the tip of his nose. "I feel so very lucky to be finally dating you."

Janus' face burned as a feeling of deja vu settled itself in the back of his mind. Had he really remembered?

He watched as Logan flicked his gaze to his mouth, blushing furiously. "I was too nervous to kiss you then but...may I now?"

"If you don't I'm breaking up with you on the spot." Logan laughed outright before leaning forward again.

And oh.

Careful fingers threaded through the hair at the base of his neck, pulling Janus forward as his own hands flew to Logan's waist. It was simple, chaste and sweet and Janus' mouth still tasted like pizza but it was their first kiss and it was perfect. Standing in the dark in front of a research lab that had questionable safety regulations with what he could tell was gum stuck to his shoe and Logan in his arms pressing their foreheads together and Logan looking at him with as much adoration as he had a year ago and Logan gently stroking his thumbs against his neck and Logan Logan Logan

Everything settled at once as Janus closed his eyes to breathe.

And relaxed.

This work and others are also available on AO3!

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #deciet sanders #fluff #fluffy fluff #prompt request #kiss prompt #false writes #ao3

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pianoperson · 5 years

Text

Cradlesona

I have worked on this for two days but I am finally done with my Cradlesona!!

@lovingsiriusoswald Thank you for starting this trend!

Now, introducing my Cradlesona: Angel Burnham! (or is it really her name...)

This is my first digital drawing so it looks wack shhhhhhh

A brief warning, though: Personality might confuse you because of the way I wrote it. I’ll make a much better version of this, however.

Basic Info:

Name: Angel Burnham (It is not her real name, however.)

Nickname: Angel

Birthday: December 12

Age: 22

Height: 150cm

Blood Type: O+

Physical:

Eyes: Her right eye is a natural brown color. Her left eye, however, is akin to a galaxy. It became like so when her magical abilities decided to show themselves while playing the piano one day. Nobody knows how the galaxy pattern was made permanent on her eye (nor do they know why her eyes become the colors of space when she uses magic instead of the typical red).

Hair: Dark brown hair, which can look black in some angles, while in other angles, it looks more brown (the image shows it brown however).

Accessories: She has two rosary bracelets on her left wrist and a St. Benedict ring on her left middle finger.

Features: Other than her left eye, there isn’t anything about her that stands out.

Illnesses: Aside from allergies to most seafood except fish, none

Social:

Affiliation: Neutral at first, Red Army later on

Occupations: Originally worked as a waitress in a cafe, but sometime after the day she found out about her magic, she was recruited by the Red Army to help them in the war.

Relationships:

Blanc: He and Angel are friends. Blanc let her stay in his house, gave her a place to stay when she wanted to move out, and was the one who helped her find a job in Cradle. He does this as an apology for accidentally bringing her to Cradle. Blanc, alongside Oliver, are the only ones who really know where Angel is from.

Oliver: At first, Angel was intimidated by him due to his less than friendly first impression. But within the time she spent living with him and Blanc, they were able to get to know each other and become friends through ranting.

Fenrir: When he stops by to pick up something from Oliver, he would occasionally chat with Angel. He gave her a tour around Cradle as well.

Edgar: Edgar may be kind to her, but something about his smile was sketchy to her. She doesn’t pry, however, mostly because she doesn’t have much concrete reason as to why he felt sketchy to her. Edgar would occasionally tease Angel about her crush, however, much to her annoyance.

Kyle: Angel loves his chill self and admires his dedication as a doctor. They’re friends and sometimes, if she feels like going out, Angel would accompany Kyle to the bar. She never drinks, however, so she’s stuck with bringing Kyle home.

Lancelot: She was intimidated by him, but after learning what Lancelot means to the army through Kyle and Jonah, she realized that the King of Hearts is actually nicer than he lets on.

Zero: They don’t talk much but Angel thinks he’s great company.

Jonah: Angel has a crush on him. She found him attractive when she first saw him, but after Blanc’s brief descriptions of the Queen of Hearts and seeing him looking happy while eating a strawberry mille-feuille one day, she found herself crushing on him.

Personality:

Race/Ethnicity: Half Filipino-Cradle blood

Type of clothes/How they wear it: When she first fell into Cradle, Angel wore a long-sleeved dark blue-and-white striped shirt, with dark blue jeans and black sandals. Due to 19th century customs for women, she had to wear a couple of dresses. She has three favorite dresses that she wears nearly every day: the premium dresses from Jonah, Sirius, and Lancelot.

Mannerisms: She mostly doesn’t care and likes to act as how she wants to act. She can behave and be formal if necessary, but otherwise, she definitely does not have the manners of Lancelot, Jonah, and Edgar. When it comes to taking care of herself, she tries but it’s not enough. She brushes her hair and takes a bath every day, but her hair can still look like it hasn’t been brushed.

Favorite subject: Math because there is something about the numbers that captivates her and she feels pride over the fact that she can do math while her other classmates struggle.

How do they want to be seen by others: Angel hopes that people see her as a decent human being and not someone who seems to be bad-mannered or mean to others.

How people see them: Angel isn’t really sure on that aspect, but she did get a few comments from people who say that they were initially intimidated by her due to her serious expression. It’s most likely that she’s too serious for people to feel like they can easily approach her.

Introverted or extroverted: Angel is an introvert. She likes to hang around with friends, but that would mean staying in her place or being alone the next day to recharge. She isn’t the type to initiate conversation, but she would gladly engage in one if she feels like it.

What makes them laugh out loud: A lot of things actually. Snarky comments, roast comments, someone’s rather enthusiastic way of telling a story, dissing other friends, and the list goes on.

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider: Angel doesn’t judge people, especially if they’re strangers because she is aware that they both come from different places. However, she will judge if someone makes a stupid move, including herself.

How do they react to praise: Angel’s reactions can vary. If she is proud of what she did, she’ll say thank you, but if she does not find a reason to deserve the compliment, she gets bashful. Either way, her day will feel better, knowing she did something right.

“” criticism: Angel accepts it with grace. She does not want to make a fuss, nor does she want to reveal any negative feelings towards said criticism.

How do they treat anyone: If Angel is with a close person, she’s much louder and more carefree. She looks more cheerful. If Angel is with a person who dislikes her or she dislikes, she still acts polite, even if she is tempted to show her irritation.

What is their view on lying: Angel absolutely hates lying. It’s not to say she’s above it, but in the moments she doesn’t say the exact truth, she feels guilty. This extends to her friendships; she strives to not lie to her friends about anything and will always try to keep her word. This honesty, however, can sometimes cause her to say an off-handed comment, which she’ll regret saying later on.

Favorite animal: Her dog from the Land of Reason. When he pops into her head, she hopes that he is still alive.

Music, art, or reading: This is a hard choice for Angel, since she likes all three, but she’ll choose music. All three keep her entertained, especially when she can barely do anything without WiFi for her phone.

Favorite color: Darker hues of blue and gold

Favorite day of the week: Wednesday, because that day tends to be her most relaxing day

Most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen: Angel tends to find so many things beautiful. She can find beauty in even the way the stones on a cobblestone pathway are arranged. Deep down, however, she will say Jonah Clemence (lmao).

Political views: In the context of the conflict within Cradle, Angel is neutral. As someone who lives in the Philippines, she can’t help but note the disadvantages of the dictatorship that the Red Army advocates for. On the other hand, democracy can be somehow difficult to manage. Therefore, she prefers to not think about it.

How do they deal with conflict: She doesn’t. Angel tries to avoid arguments most of the time. However, she will speak up if she feels there is something wrong. When she does argue with someone, she tries to keep her inner peace without blowing up. However, when faced with conflicts regarding personal problems, she can get stressed easily and lose it.

Are they more likely to fight with their fists or their tongue: Angel prefers to speak. She is doubtful that she can fight, even with magic and the resistance to it in her arsenal.

How do they deal with stress: Angel will rant to herself when she’s completely alone. Sometimes, she’ll also rant to Oliver. If what is stressing her is sadness, however, she will keep it in and not tell anyone.

What is their biggest regret: Angel is the type to regret a lot of things and when she least expects it, the things she regrets will enter her head and she will clench her fist and shut her eyes tight to make it go away. Her biggest regret, however, is when she played Sonata Pathetique mvm. 3 in a restaurant, the day she found out her magical abilities.

What is their greatest fear: Angel is secretly scared of one thing: being unwanted and consequently alone. She’s scared that she won’t get a man who would love her unconditionally because she’s not good enough or she’s scared that her friends gossip behind her back or love each other more than her because she’s not good enough. This fear worsens after she found out about her magic.

When was the last time they cried: Angel hates crying, more so in front of others. She doesn’t know why she even does; it was a thing she knew ever since she was a child. Because of this, she doesn’t normally cry, even if she bottles up depressing thoughts. She does cry, however, when the guilt from the day she found out her magic and the fear of not being loved by anyone ate her up.

What is their philosophy of life: Angel likes to go with the flow but she has to establish a few things she wants in life to make it easier.

What will they stand up for: Angel doesn’t have much she particularly feels passionate about, as she’s the type who would rather chill and not be caught in conflict. But if there’s one thing that would irk her, it’s people being mean. She doesn’t get why people would betray their friends nor would she understand why people are jerks. Therefore, she tries to be nice to everyone she meets.

Is it easy to admit their mistake: Yes. Angel will know if it was her mistake or not.

Is it easy to forgive others: Definitely. Angel can’t hold a grudge.

Weak traits: Angel can be lazy and won’t complete a project she started on. Angel also has some level of arrogance, born out of the fear that she isn’t good enough and that no one would want her.

Strong traits: Angel will always try to be a trustworthy person and someone who tries her best.

Family and History:

Angel is actually from the 21st century who recently graduated from college with a degree in music. While walking back to a condo her family owns, Blanc bumps into her and drops his pocket watch, which she picked up. She chased him and called him but he was too fast. Eventually, he disappears, confusing Angel, and standing on the spot where he was, she ended up falling to 19th century Cradle.

Angel’s family is actually a mix of two worlds. Her mother was a Cradle citizen, born into a family of magic users, while her father was from the Land of Reason. Her mother, for some reason, entered the Garden on the full moon and accidentally ended up being transported to 21st century Earth, where she met Angel’s father and fell in love. They hid this from Angel and her other siblings and she only found out during a chance encounter with her mother’s parents. Because of the magic and resistance to it being passed down, she inherited both abilities, which are most powerful in music.

Skills and Special Abilities:

Magic: Angel can cast magic like typical magic users. When she uses magic normally, it’s far from the power of magic users such as Lancelot and Harr. However, when she plays piano or flute, her magic becomes much stronger, possibly stronger than the aforementioned two. Using it, however, can cause fatigue, fever, and even fainting.

Magic Resistance: Due to her roots in the Land of Reason, she also has the ability to nullify magic, making her one of the most powerful people in Cradle– and a target. Strangely, when she makes TwoSetViolin references, her magic nullification ability is more powerful. (It was how she even found out about her magic resistance. She remarked “iNtErEsTiNg” once and the nearby lights went off. The crystals in the light bulbs were newly installed.)

Pianist: She has a decade and a half worth of experience.

Flutist: While not as experienced with the flute (only having played it for around 5 years), she can still play it.

Paired with: Currently no one, but she has a crush on Jonah

Life in Cradle:

Angel just recently graduated from college when she first encountered Blanc, who bumped into her. Blanc seemed very antsy and, after apologizing to her, ran off. He dropped his pocket watch, however. The same thing that happened to Alice the Second occurred, except Blanc actually was nearby when Angel was falling to 19th century Cradle.

The portal closed immediately after Blanc caught Angel, so she was trapped in the unknown world.

On the first days staying in Cradle, Angel was nervous, even with Blanc and Oliver helping her. Often, she was reminded of how tense she was.

During one of the days Blanc showed her around, Angel saw a troop of Red Army soldiers, being led by Jonah. Angel found him attractive and kept glancing at him.

Eventually, Angel asked Blanc if she can get a job and her own living space, since she didn’t want to burden him. Blanc helped her find a job as a waitress in a cafe and got her an apartment to stay in.

She found out about her magic nullification abilities when she moved in to her apartment.

For two months, she carried a rather mundane life as a worker in a cafe. There was a day when, during break, she ate in another cafe at the same time as Jonah (and found him cute as he ate his mille-fueille).

A few days after the news of the former King of Hearts being assassinated was announced, Angel was eating out with some friends from work. The restaurant had a piano, so she decided to play Sonata Pathetique mvm. 3. Midway through the piece, she heard screams and shouts of pain. That was when she found out that she was unleashing magical attacks through her playing and started to panic when she realized her hands were moving on their own. That was when an explosion occurred.

She was brought to Kyle thanks to Oliver. She was the only one who survived the fiasco, which was dubbed Perish Song Night. She also found out her left eye changed color.

Because of the fiasco, she was fired from her job.

A week later, Red Army declared war on the Black Army. The next day, they faced off. Angel was nearby when it happened and was praying in her head for nothing bad to happen. That was when she accidentally repelled Lancelot’s magic, confusing everyone. It was enough for Blanc and Oliver to arrive and stop the conflict.

Two days after the face-off, Edgar finds Angel in her apartment, taking her to the Red Army HQ. There, Angel is made to serve the Red Army by using her magical abilities against the Black Army.

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #cradlesona

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iamrheaspeaks · 6 years

Text

per·i·pe·tei·a 2

Erik x OC! (Morrigan)

Word Count: 1.9k

Bold text: Erik

Regular text: Morrigan

Warnings: None

A/N: Idk why my crazy self just had to include DTG knowing I hate it but here’s a reminder DDHHMM(Z)MON meaning (day, 24 time, local, month). Here’s Part 1 if you need a refresher. As always lightly proofread/ edited 💋

The Beginning:

150847UMAR

Target: Morrigan James

28yo 61.23kg

Identifiable Marks:

•Raised lateral scar/ left shoulder above armpit

•Roman soldier’s uniform shoulder pad tattoo/ left shoulder cap

•Emperor’s Crown tattoo/ behind right ear

•Tiny cat silhouette tattoo/ inner right wrist

Occupation: Case Manager/ Human Services

Mission: Deep Cover Surveillance

Morrigan flies out of her apartment to a used Mitsubishi Galant. It’s black on black minus the silver tire rims and front grill. She’s supposed to report to work at 0930. Morrigan stops at the coffee shop five blocks up the road while I hang back outside. The windows of the coffee shop are large enough for me to see everything from inside the Standard Issue Saab Truck they gave me. When she finally emerges Morrigan is balancing 6 cups of coffee and large brown paper bag. After finally maneuvering everything into the car she finishes her trek to work. She’s definitely something.

March 15 9:35am

Target: Erik Stevens/ N’Jadaka Udaku

30yo 225lbs

Identifiable Marks:

Keloid scars/ Range unknown

Occupation: Special Ops / Deep Cover

Erik arrived in town late last night. Judging by the looks of it he’d spent most of the night staking out my apartment instead of sleeping. A man determined. Something told me when his file hit my desk that Laila wouldn’t be the right one for the job. She is lethal and a hard-ass however, Laila can’t control her switches when angry or cornered. She’d blow the mission in an instant and this has to be long term. Erik won’t open up if the trust isn’t there. Plus, judging by the way Laila keeps staring out the window I made the right decision sending him after me instead. It’s 9:45am when Erik finally pulls off down the street, no doubt headed to his cover job. ‘Have a good first day Professor Stevens.’

151936UMAR

Morrigan and two female coworkers are having drinks at a Mediterranean Wine Bar named Porto. It houses a lot of culture-based décor. Antique knick-knacks and brightly colored, hand-painted tiles could be seen all around. Not wanting to draw too much attention to myself it took awhile to scope out a good seat. The bartender serving the back of the house must’ve been new. She kept over pouring portions and confusing drinks. If it wasn’t for her being so personable I doubt anyone would come back to Taylor. I could see all the exits and most of the patrons from where I sat. Morrigan seems normal. Most of my surveillance of her so far just yielded information I already knew. Basic job, raised in a two-parent household, doesn’t appear to be living above her means. Definitely not a threat. ‘Why are you so important?’

March 15 7:40pm

Laila, Claire and I try not to let on that we see Erik keeping a watchful eye from across the bar. We discuss where best to take the residents on their day out after the weekly house meeting. Like most teens they liked the mall except Landon, he hated everything about the place and would often decline going all together. Which left one of us stuck at the residence with him watching the same bad comedy movies till our ears bled from the sound of his shrill laughter. Lately I didn’t mind because it gave me time to brush up on Erik before his arrival but one could only take so much.

Present:

071725UJUN | June 7 5:25pm

“I don’t know what you think you know bu–”

“Erik Stevens. Born in the ghettos of Oakland, CA. Mother died in prison and father murdered.” She paused noticing Erik’s demeanor shift slightly. If she didn’t have his attention before Morrigan certainly had it now. “Got bounced around after that but, for the most part stayed on the straight and narrow. Immediately shipping off to Basic Training in the Navy and later graduated M.I.T. with a PhD in Engineering. Am I right so far?

“All common knowledge baby girl.”

“You’re right, allow me to share with you what else I know. And I knew before I found your box. Good hiding place by the way.” Morrigan giggled at the last part. It may have been underneath the floorboards but the box was literally in plain sight. Undetected until just the right moment. “You’re the lost Prince of Wakanda. N’Jadaka Udaku. The abandoned child that wants to burn the village to feel its warmth.”

Erik’s jaw and fists tighten. It’s one thing to relinquish control, it’s another entirely to question if it was ever his to give. “But you forget, I know who you are too.”

“That’s where you’re wrong my love. You know what I needed you to know, let me properly introduce myself. Morrigan Ebert. Born in the small town of Cromwell, CT. I was raised by The Major, the only thing I know about my real parents is they died in a car wreck.”

“The Major? Nabs kids and turns em into Sleeper Soldiers right? What does The Major want with me?”

“Sleeper Soldier? That’s a first” Morrigan scoffed. “And nothing, he’s merely apart of my backstory.”

“You really tryin my patience.”

“Stop interrupting me and maybe you’d learn something!” Morrigan could tell Erik was surprised by her tone. Never having had that voice of authority used on him by her. “I thought this would be more fun but now I’m kinda bored. Look. Everything I told you is true. But maybe you’ll be more willing to believe it if I tell you my other name. The Djinn.”

Erik shifted in his seat after that. Either this chick was fucking crazy or she was who she said, which would mean that he’s been the one at a disadvantage. Erik was more comfortable believing the first one. He knew Morrigan. She’d look for her phone while she was talking on it. Climbed on the fucking counter tops to get shit from the top shelf. Morrigan coddles adult children for work. There’s no way this is the person he’d been secretly searching for. The person that could get Erik that much closer to his goal. How could he be sleeping with the likes of one of the most sought after, dark wish granters and not know it?! He sat in silence and waited for Morrigan to continue her monologue.

“Before you, the only person to know my identity as the Djinn was The Major. I don’t actually meet the people whose wishes I grant. It’s best if people don’t know who I am. But I knew as much as they fiend for the opportunity, none of my charges would truly be up to that task that was Erik Stevens. And I was right. That flash drive–” pausing to point at the piece of metal and plastic still plotted in the crevice of his jeans “holds all the details of your revenge. Your fantasy. And as much as I would love to help you overthrow the Wakandan government I don’t believe that’s what you deeply desire.”

“You really expect me to believe that shit? ANY of that shit? After you JUST told me you one of the kids Major made? That you had me from jump? Nah! Now I know you reaching. You don’t know shit about what I want!”

“First of all, I have no doubt that revenge is what you want. What I said was it’s not what you deeply desire. Those are the types of fantasies that I grant. Your confidence in the old ‘too good to be true’ mentality is what makes you a victim of it. Everything I just told you made me The Djinn. What better person than someone who was raised to be anyone and blend in everywhere? Or do you feel that because you know The Djinn’s track record that it couldn’t possibly have been orchestrated by the frail woman that curls up to your side in bed at night? Like I said before. Everyone has their weaknesses.”

Morrigan allowed Erik to sit there with his thoughts for a moment. She was analytical. And calculated in a completely different way than him. It wasn’t enough to know what a person’s next move was. Morrigan wanted to know why they did it. The root cause behind it. And if that was the case then what the hell had she gathered about him? If revenge wasn’t what Erik deeply desired then what was?

“I really can’t see ya little ass doing shit I’ve heard about the Djinn but putting that aside for a moment” sitting up placing elbows on knees he looked at Morrigan with piercing eyes, “Tell me. What is it that I deeply desire?”

Morrigan licked at her bottom lip while holding Erik’s gaze. “You want the same thing as every other black boy from the hood Erik. A way up and out of the pit. Just on grandeur scale because you know you were made to be more. However death and destruction has taken you as far as it can with that task. You just don’t see it yet. If you really want to expose the truth and prove your birthright you need to try a different approach. That is a wish I’d grant.”

“Mmhmm. So what you get out of this?”

“You in my bed of course. Although. I’d understand if you wanna sleep down here tonight.”

“No grand fantasy of your own you chasing after, Djinn?”

“I was the Djinn before you got your famous moniker. You don’t think the first wish I granted was my own?” Morrigan challenged with quirked eyebrow. “Despite what I said to you the first night I invited you in, I fell long before you showed up with that brooding face of yours.”

~ ~ ~

Morrigan was staring down into the most captivating pools of chocolate brown as they stared back up at her while she balanced on one foot. She wore a smile on her face thanks to the victory of taming the beast in her bedroom. Even if it were only for a moment. Morrigan ran her hand down her frame before breaking away at the hip of the leg that rested on his shoulder. Using her thumb to stroke his jawline tenderly before gripping Erik’s chin. Slowly rubbing her index finger over his Adam’s apple coaxing a groan of appreciation out of him as his nails dug into her thighs at the scent of her essence getting stronger.

~ ~ ~

“I would fall from grace just to touch your face.” Erik hummed silently under his breathe in time with the memory of that night. “Convince me. Prove to me that you’re the Djinn.”

“Alexis. Your Teacher’s Assistant. She’s one of mine.”

“The girl that damn near took me down running out my office when I shut the light off on her?”

“Her mom used to lock her in the closet for extended amounts of time to keep her from tainting her brother’s innocence. The older her brother got, the more intense her punishment.”

“Wait? The Closet Slaughter. That was you?! The Djinn isn’t even credited for that.”

“Yes, that was me. And it wasn’t done for credit.”

“I see...Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.”

Morrigan couldn’t help but chuckle before correcting, “Actually Erik, in Corinthians, the devil wasn’t transformed into an angel of light. He was disguised as one. But thanks for the compliment.”

“Well as helpful as this encounter has been I’m still seeking vengeance baby girl.”

“Then leave. Find someone who has no problem serving up the vengeance and death you seek. Wishes are for the living.”

Tags: @savagesensitivity @cancerianprincess @another-imaginesblog @loosewindmill @bidibidibombaclaat @muse-of-mbaku @chaneajoyyy @itsangeludaku @eriknutinthispoosy @im5ftbutmythroat66 @theunsweetenedtruth @blackpinup22 @fonville-designs @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @dabluestsky

#rheaspeaks #my work #my words #my writing #peripeteia #part 2 #erik x black oc #erik x morrigan #rheaspeaks masterlist

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

by Wardog

Monday, 23 July 2007Wardog opens the inevitable slew of Harry Potter by bitching and moaning.~Reviewing Harry Potter has got to be something of a pointless endeavour; I mean, if you like Harry Potter you'll read it anyway and if you don't, well, you probably have more self respect than I do just about now. The truth of the matter is, I don't like Harry Potter any more. Once, upon a time, when they were tautly-plotted, slim-line, above-average children's books I was very fond of them. But now that they're a sprawling, insufficiently edited Phenomenon I can't read them without frustration, and yet seem to be incapable of, you know, stopping. It's depressing, I think I need a twelve step programme. Given that the book has evolved beyond conventional reviewing (and that's not a good thing) here are some assorted observations.

Needless to say: spoilerific, including death spoilers

Plot & Pacing

As in the preceding two books, this is completely wrecked. Although it has a beginning and a reasonably climatic ending sequence (the Battle of Hogwarts, because that's all we ever really cared about anyway, wasn't it?) everything in between seems jerky and uneven. Essentially, it consists of long stretches of exposition interspersed with pockets of reasonably exciting action sequences, as Team Potter infiltrate the Ministry, Gringotts, Malfoy Manner and finally Hogwarts with varying degrees of success and pointfulness. If I was feeling generous, I would comment on the thematic nature of these incursions, and how resonant it is that everything that Harry was introduced to in the earlier books as a source of protection and authority is now corrupted. But I'm not feeling generous; Harry, Ron and Hermione spend an enormous quantity of the book sitting in a magically protected tent in the middle of nowhere, dithering between hallows and horcruxes and reading Rita Skeeter's biography of Albus Dumbledore.

Aside from one or two chapters at the beginning of the book, the Harry Potter books have always been told entirely from Harry Potter's point of view. The reader sees what Harry Potter sees, and hears what Harry Potter hears. This comes with attendant advantages and disadvantages. It brings the reader close to Harry and makes you root for him, it also rigidly controls the flow of information between author and reader. But it also means that for anything to happen, Harry has to be there. That's why he spends such a lot of time crawling around beneath his invisibility cloak listening in on plot dumps. Needless to say, the same holds true of the seventh book; the whole wizarding world is at war but we hear of it as Harry does, through daily prophet articles and occasional communications. There's no sense of scale or grandeur. It's unpleasant, yes, and oppressive but it packs only a limited emotional punch because the reader, like Harry, it stuck in a freaking tent.

Furthermore, a large portion of the book is told through letters, extracts from books, articles, memories, long autobiographical interludes from minor characters who suddenly turn out to be important. It's not precisely tedious but the preoccupation with the backplot, as ever, hinders the build to a dramatic climax. There's even an intermission, I kid you not, an intermission in the final showdown so Harry can peg it off to Dumbledore's office to re-live the last seven books from Snape's perspective. Perhaps I'm old fashioned but I don't think three chapters from the end is a good place for a massive exposition.

I'm not saying there aren't good bits, because there are. Neville kicks Dark Lord ass, for example, Dudley, of all people, has a moment of touching redemption and Luna remains just fabulous throughout. But the book seems to have no sense of itself as, well, a book. Books need to build to something, books need pace and structure, books need to be edited! But as Dan said, it's not a book, it's source material.

Style

Perhaps a demonstration is in order...

A quote from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

"Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table.... Where's Snape? "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, 'because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him --" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train." Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble.

Aww. Just typing that out made me nostalgic for happier times when I actually used to enjoy reading Harry Potter. A quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows...

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

I know they are very different books and the seventh book is infinitely "darker" (I'll come on to this later) in tone, setting and intent from the second, and I also know that there's something like seven real world years between them. But if this is evidence that JK has developed as a writer, I would like to point out that she appears to have developed a rambling, overwritten and overwrought style in place of the clean, sharp and witty one of the earlier books. You're meant to get better, the more you practice, right?

I could, perhaps, forgive the above but it's not an isolated incident. The stars are cold and unfeeling throughout; it's worse than being in a Hardy novel. And people don't just die, they die with Tragic Gravitas, their "eyes [staring] without seeing, the ghost of [their] last laugh still etched upon [their] face." A little less verbiage and a little less hysteria could have benefited this book immensely.

Character Death: the Massacre of the Minors

Characters die in Harry Potter, we have always known this. JK Rowling makes a big deal of it. It's how we know she is writing Serious Literature for children instead of a bunch of silly books about a teenage wizard. Reading the books, it's obvious that JK prides herself on her portrayal of death and its after-affects on the loved ones of the deceased.

The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence - The Deathly Hallows.

This is at its best when it's understated, for example the lingering psychological consequences of the death of his parents on Harry which seeps through the pages of all the books. When it is all about Making A Point about JK's conception of herself as a writer, it is unsurprisingly less effective. I don't mind that Sirius died, I mind very much that he died to Show Us Something About The Nature of Death.

The Deathly Hallows has a higher death count that Hamlet, except that they're all relatively minor characters including, of all people, Colin Creevy, the poor pointless bastard. This says nothing to me about the harsh and futile nature of warfare, but it does scream "cheap shot." I hate it when authors kill off their emotionally engaging wallpaper characters just because they can and then expect the reader to applaud them for being dark and courageous. I felt exactly the same way when Joss Whedon gratuitously killed off Wash in Serenity. It was easy to kill Wash, he was a great character who everybody loved but he was also completely irrelevant in terms of the plot. His death was a quick way to wring an emotional reaction from the audience without causing the writer any inconvenience to do it.

People die by the bucketload in Deathly Hallows (including Harry's owl, for crying out loud), but none of the deaths are meaningful, with the possible exceptions of Fred, Remus and Snape. Most of them, including Lupin's, occur off camera and are thus stripped of any emotional resonance whatsoever. I can't help but suspect that JK must have loathed Remus, one of her most popular characters, by the end. He spends the whole book dashing in and out of focus being stripped of any plot and then, oh look, by the way he's dead. And Fred was essentially a

spare

Weasley, having, you know, an identical twin. It's the most cowardly half-hearted selection of deaths I think I've ever encountered.

Against this arbitrary massacre, the survival of all the main characters seems both ludicrous and damnably unfair. I'm not saying that I wanted Harry, Ron, Hermione and/or Ginny to die but if you're going to make a hoo-hah about how being a children's author is like being a cold, callous killer you probably ought to stick by your machete.

Which brings us nicely onto...

Dark, man, dark

I have one answer for this and it's oh pulease.

Having waited around politely for Harry to finish school, Lord Voldemort has finally got round to taking over the wizarding world. Quite a lot of nasty things happen in Deathly Hallows and there's a 1984ish air of secretive corruption and control but Harry Potter's darkness is about as sophisticated as a teenage goth's, and remains about as cosmetic. The nastiness is always a hazy, unconvincing background to the well nigh miraculous survival of all the main characters. Hermione, for example, gets captured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manner and, although she horribly tortured in a scene that is genuinely chilling for about half a second, she shrugs off the experience with the ease de Sade's Justine. And Hogwarts may degenerate into a horrendous nightmare of cruciatus-enforced discipline but the students respond to this with a Blytonesque "down with those rotters" jolly hockey sticks glee that completely undermines any sense of oppression or abuse.

Similarly, although Lord Voldemort swoops around being threatening and imprisoning wandmakers, the Death Eaters themselves continue to be the most appallingly incompetent bunch of nazi-wanabees ever to grace a page. Not only do they routinely fail to capture or kill (and, occasionally, even recognise) the three teenage wizards who keep infiltrating their strongholds but they spend so much of the book being punished for ineptitude by their own master, it can almost be considered a form of self-harm. Regardless, it's hard to take them seriously as opposition.

It is mildly interesting to see Harry himself stooping to some of the unforgivable curses with barely a qualm. But this seems to be less a case of dark, man, dark than convenient, man, convenient.

Paging Lord Voldemort

This is an aside connected to the general incompetence of the Death Eaters. In the seventh book, the Dark Mark seems to function primarily as a communicator, which means the greatest dark wizard, like, ever spends the book being yanked about the country by his incompetent minions. There isn't a scene like this in the book, but there should be:

Random Wizard: ARGHRGHGH!!

Lord V: CRUCIO!

Random Wizard: ARGH! Mercy! Mercy! I'll tell you everything. Please ... stop the pain.

Dark Mark: [ring ring]

Lord V: I'm sorry, I have to take this... [talking into his elbow] Hello, yes, Lord Voldemort here ... I see ... are you absolutely certain of that? You thought you'd captured Potter fifty pages back. Oh. You've definitely got him this time. On my way.

Remus, Tonks and Sirius

Let's move on to character for a bit. I have always thought the Remus/Tonks relationship felt bolted on, and suspected it was a "ya boo sucks" to fanfic writers which made me even less sympathetic to its inadequate presentation. As Harry and Cho and Harry and Ginny have comprehensively revealed, human relationships, especially romantic ones, are not JK's strong point. But Remus/Tonks, partially because we only ever see it second and third hand, has always seemed particularly lacklustre. Harry, as a protagonist, does not preoccupy himself with the moods and inner workings of his companions; therefore in Half Blood Prince we were occasionally told Remus and/or Tonks looks sad or angry or otherwise distracted but then left to either draw our own conclusions or hear about the reasons long after the events that inspired it.

This unsatisfactory portrayal continues, unabated in Deathly Hallows. Off-camera, they get married, have angst, and Tonks becomes pregnant. Remus comes on-camera long enough to angst further and then retreats back into married bliss. Their child is born (Team Potter are sitting in their tent as usual at this point), Remus evinces delight and then he and Tonks are both killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. To say it's massively dissatisfying and frustrating is to do massively dissatisfying and frustrating things a great disservice.

Oh and as a footnote to this, it turns out that Sirius has girly pics on his bedroom walls. Just to make it absolutely clear that he's straight, completely straight, you got that slashers?

Dumbledore

You would have thought the one concrete advantage to Dumbledore being definitely dead would be avoiding the long Dumbledore Explains The Plot chapter at the end of the book. But, no. Death just isn't the handicap it used to be in the olden days and it happens anyway. Stab me. Stab me now.

Just as Order of the Phoenix tore away the veil of unquestioning admiration and idolisation Harry (and, presumably, the reader) felt for the Marauders in a conceptually interesting but badly executed way, Deathly Hallows does the same for Dumbledore. Harry is forced to confront the truth that his beloved mentor was a real person, a man with faults and weaknesses just like any other. I always found Dumbledore a little difficult to take but it's hard to tell how much that was deliberate on the part of the author (he's the worst headmaster in the world, for example - imagine you were in Slytherin house at the end of Philosopher's Stone, how would it feel to have the house trophy goiked out of your hands by some random world saving after the whole hall had already been decorated in your house colours, saving the world is all very noble and everything but it's hardly a legitimate extra curricular activity) and how far it was me reacting against his role as a plot device, explaining or withholding information on the most spurious personal pretexts to make life easier for his author.

But the fact of the matter is that Dumbledore is too imperfectly drawn in books one to six to be effectively interpreted as anything other than a two dimensional mentor figure. Therefore Harry's Dumbledore-related angst in the seventh book interferes with the smooth running of the plot and feels completely hollow because ultimately it doesn't matter. He's dead, for God's sake, dead. It's just too late in the day to care about Dumbledore's family skeletons and, since he was always presented to the reader as a kindly jelly-bean eating mentor figure, the additional "complexity" feels like an unconvincing and irrelevant ret-con.

That Bloody Epilogue

Of all the stuff that was leaked onto the internet before the book was officially released, the epilogue was the only one I investigated. I dismissed it as a clever parody. It was just too sickening. Draco's receding hairline had to be a joke. The legion of incestuously named rugrats, ha ha, very funny.

Oh wait.

No.

That was real.

It was really real.

Dear God.

Worst. Epilogue. Ever.

Conclusion

Sadly, everyone else I've spoken to (with the exception of Dan, obviously, but we share a brain) has been deeply enthusiastic about Potter. So perhaps I'm just a grumpy old git and didn't deserve to enjoy it.

It still sucks though.

Themes:

J.K. Rowling

Books

Young Adult / Children

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Arthur B

at 19:21 on 2007-07-23Don't worry, I am also grumpy about Potter. I briefly considered actually bothering to read

...and the Half-Blood Prince

in order to prepare for

Deathly Hallows

, since I'd stopped after

Order of the Phoenix

, but in the end I couldn't be bothered - especially after I got around to reading summaries of it, and reading patches of it in Borders.

Thoughts:

- Speaking of cheap shots, doesn't Voldemort randomly kill the Sorting Hat for no good reason?

- And doesn't Voldemort essentially die because of a totally newbie mistake? Which Harry carefully explains to him before Voldemort goes ahead and screws up anyway? Doesn't Harry basically loophole his way to the win?

- Aren't

these people

overreacting a little?

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Wardog

at 20:42 on 2007-07-23Oh I totally forgot about the random death of the Sorting Hat! And, yes, Harry Potter wins by being a PC - he is the Joe Williams of children's fantasy.

That is a slightly over-reaction, yes...but people are not sane when it comes to HP.

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Mystiquefire

at 18:36 on 2007-08-11Trust me you are not the only one who thought this book sucked.

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Wardog

at 21:38 on 2007-08-11I think I'm so bitter because I was once very into Harry Potter. And I think I've become incapable of recognising its strengths any more. I mean what I've come to think of the puzzle-box aspect of the books (plots within plots) is probably better done than I give it credit for being. For example, according to the friends I have who still like Harry Potter, if you go back, you can genuinely trace a hint of the "true" Dumbledore throughout all the books. Sadly I genuinely can't be bothered.

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empink

at 12:12 on 2007-08-24

No, you are not. My hate for DH grows with time's passing, actually, and though I'm well out of my tween years, I'm not yet a grumpy old git or anything approaching it ;).

Well, I might just be plain grumpy, but that book was enough to make me so, even when I just expected more possibly crappy source material for fanfic, fanart and so on. While it hasn't seemed to have as great an effect on fannish output in my little corner of fandom (mostly because of extenuating wankumstances), what little effect it *has* had has produced fic and art I'm still avoiding. Not because the fans I keep track of are not talented in their own way, but because I still can't bear to read things that are compliant with Deathly Hallows, cracktastic though they may be. Instead of making me chortle at the weirdness of fandom, the cracky ships that have sprung up just make me see more red. More...more epilogue. *shudders*

The whole book was just so *bad*, in places where it wouldn't have taken more than a little judicious effort to be the opposite. The few good bits it had just weren't enough to hold back the tide of useless jokes, stupidities, non-characterizations and daft deaths. It therefore feels hugely ironic that DH is the only HP book I have a copy of to this date (well, a paper copy).

Then again, I doubt I could reread the earlier books now without rolling my eyes and sighing knowing what is ahead for Harry. Incapable of recognising the series' strengths looks about where I'm standing now.

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Wardog

at 10:54 on 2007-08-27Many thanks for the comment - one of the problems with DH in terms of fandom, perhaps, is that it closes off more avenues than it opens, if that makes sense. Especially in terms of the Epilogue of Death because everyone is permanently dating the person they were doing at school. I wouldn't say no to a bit of twisted Dumbledore/Grindelward m'self but I can't see it eclipsing the amusing if pointless popularity of Scorpius/Albus-Severus (just *shudder*). Sadly, I have copies of all the books and although I tried to re-read them a few months ago to prepare for DH I couldn't actually get beyond 3. Sigh.

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M Harris

at 11:19 on 2007-10-04One of the most irrating things in book seven was Voldemort's lack of a plot or any sort of meaningful action. I spent the duration of the book waiting for him to kidnap people Harry was emotionally attached to and torturing/killing them until Harry came to him. We are continuously told of how unusually smart and clever and intelligent (and handsome)Tom Riddle was. So it is completely out of character to have him become inept. But of course Lord Voldemort being strategic and cunning would mean that Harry would have to form some sort of plan, and as he is clearly incapible of that I guess JKR had to stick with him sitting in a tent for a very long amount of time while Voldemort killed time by killing minor characters.

Another thing that really angered me was JKR writing that Snape based his entire life on the fact that he was in love with some girl when he was fifteen. It made his character lose any sort of depth he had gained through the other books. The dialogue between AD and SS of "After all this time?" "Always." made me want to kill people.

The halfnaked!pictures in Sirius' room could have ONLY been put there as a "fuck you, I'm writing the book" from JKR to the slashers. I have no idea why she felt so threatened that she needed to close that particular opportunity for straying from 'everyone is straight and get married to people they met when they were eleven and have large amounts of children named after dead relatives' Deathly Hallows.

(Hahahaha, Dumbledore/Grindelwald is canon, because she can't write another book to insert girl!porn in to say otherwise.)

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Wardog

at 12:40 on 2007-10-04Indeed, Voldemort's ineptitude is particularly annoying in book full of things that are particularly annoying. I remember those halycon days when Voldemort was actually rather scary... the drinking unicorn blood business really traumatised me. To be fair, the whole seven book arc is so unwieldy I'm not sure I could easily come up with a way for Voldemort to have been effective by book 7 without completely hindering Harry's ability to take him out. I think it actually comes to the contradiction that lies at the heart of most children's books (and for that matter a lot of detective stories): why is that the group of feisty kids able to take out fully grown villain when conventional law authorities have failed, or why is this cocaine-saturated amateur able to catch the criminals who have been defying the finest minds at Scotland Yard. Most texts go some way towards smoothing over these inconsistencies (i.e. the Secret Seven always end up alerting the police when it comes to the crunch, Sherlock Holmes is a specialist in a proto-forensic techinque that - although nonesense in the modern day - is unknown to the authorities) but JKR manages to have the worst of all possible worlds: hugely powerful wizard we should all be scared of who has taken over *the entire ministry of magic* versus one short-sighted kid with an expelliarmus.

And, yes, you're right - the whole Lily business makes Snape much less complex and interesting than he used to be.... although I almost hovered on the verge of finding it just a little bit sweet. I was desperate for emotional connection by that time in the seven hundred page monster.

Dumbledore/Grindelward? Ouch.

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Melissa G.

at 15:07 on 2009-12-08So, I've been in a "reading sporks of Harry Potter" mood which led me back to many of the articles here, and I just wanted to point something out about Colin Creevey's death, and maybe someone else has said it already, but...it is not actually possible for him to have been there to die.

It's said that he snuck back from the Hog's Head into Hogwarts to join the battle. The only problem is: he can't have been at the Hog's Head in the first place. He wouldn't have been at Hogwarts that year - being Muggleborn, he would been arrested and sent to concentration camp(?) - so he couldn't have been evacuated from Hogwarts to the Hog's Head to sneak back. And he couldn't have gotten into the Hog's Head from the outside because Hogsmeade has a curfew curse thing that would go off if anyone was walking around the streets late at night. Perhaps he Apparated into the Hog's Head? But why? How would he have even known the battle was going on then?

I know it seems obsessive, but it's just that it was such a cheap shot, and it isn't even possible given the rules she set up. Arg.

#Ferretbrain #Harry Potter #J.K. Rowling #Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows #Wardog

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raendown · 6 years

Link

Pairing: ObitoKakashi Word count: 3048 Summary: Kakashi's style of communication leaves a lot to be desired. It also leaves a lot of room for misinterpretation. (Read: Kakashi can't flirt for shit)

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Speaking Clearly

In Obito’s defense, any person in their right minds wouldn’t have taken it as a compliment. All he could be blamed for was momentarily forgetting that Kakashi was not actually in his right mind. Ever. He was ten and the other boy was coming up on nine and most of their interactions tended to end loudly with frequent violence.

“You’re not totally useless,” Kakashi mumbled after he had beaten the older boy in the fourth spar in a row. Obito puffed up indignantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means you’re not a complete idiot; you have at least some use.”

“Hey screw you too, Bakashi!” Obito hitched up the sleeves of his jacket, ready to go in for round five.

He was confused when Kakashi threw both hands in the air with a grumpy mutter of, “Ugh! Never mind!” When his teammate stormed off all he could do was tilt his head to one side and blink in confusion. Kakashi was weird sometimes but Obito could usually tell what he’d done to piss the guy off. This time he had no idea.

Two years didn’t really change much between the two of them except perhaps add a little bit of distance and some new things to tease each other about. Kakashi made fun of Obito for constantly outgrowing his clothes and leaving his limbs hanging out. Obito retaliated by making fun of Kakashi’s lack of any growth spurts, leaving him forever the shortest on their team. Minato-sensei did his best to put out the fires that sprang up as they constantly rubbed each other the wrong way.

It was at twelve years old that Obito hit a milestone all shinobi must but few enjoy: his first kill. Only years later would he own up to the fact that it had actually been an accident. Really he had tripped and twisted himself as he fell, rather than executing a backwards roll to avoid a blow as it might have looked to the others. As his body went back and the enemy came forward, Obito’s arm came across at just the right angle to open the woman’s throat. He caught her look of dismayed shock for a split second before arterial spray covered the lenses of his goggles and he was left staring wide-eyed as a splatter of blood.

Rin was the one to lend him a handkerchief so he could shakily wipe the mess of his face. Minato-sensei rubbed his back and asked him in a steady voice if he was alright. It was nice to be treated so gently in that moment because Obito felt a little like glass that had cracked, weakened all over with the possibility of shattering at just the wrong touch.

“Well. Apparently your goggles are good for something after all.”

“Kakashi!” Minato-sensei clicked his tongue. “Now is not the time.”

“What? I was just saying–”

“Don’t be so mean, Kakashi!” Rin jumped in to defend her friend as well, adding her tsk to their sensei’s.

“I wasn’t!” Kakashi protested.

Rin only shook her head and gave him an exasperated look of disappointment. Kakashi growled in frustration and stormed off to throw himself down on the ground at the far edge of the clearing. No force on earth could get him to admit it but anyone could see that he was pouting. However, none of his teammates paid him the slightest bit of attention as Rin and Minato tended to the quivering Obito – and therefore none of them managed to see the way Kakashi craned his neck to see if their efforts were working.

Thirteen years of age brought Obito two things, a new appreciation for life and a friend he hadn’t even known he already had.

No one was sure which was the bigger miracle: that Kakashi managed to adapt so quickly to having a Sharingan implanted in his head or that the medical staff were able to repair Obito’s body enough that he would regain full function of all four limbs. Of course, he would live the rest of his life with horrific scaring over nearly 50% of his body, but even he agreed that it was a small price to pay for the ability to continue on with the path he had chosen in life. His career as a shinobi would be slowed only by his recovery time.

Jaws had dropped all across the village as the story spread about how Kakashi and Obito had both tried to sacrifice their lives for the other, especially whenever they were spotted around town bickering just the same as they always had. Despite the fact that Kakashi appeared glued to Obito’s side as he slowly stumped around on his crutches, and although they had both acknowledged the other as a true friend at last, that didn’t mean that either of them had magically changed personalities overnight.

“You got something to say about my face!?” Obito growled at his friend one day after Kakashi had stared at him for much too long in silence. Not intimidated in the slightest, Kakashi huffed.

“Hn. You got some of it in my face.”

“Maybe I’ll just take that eye back then!”

“Just try it, Stumpy!”

Obito hollered and leaned on his good leg so he could lift his crutches to swing them at Kakashi’s head. The younger boy simply skipped nimbly out of the way and snorted in amusement. A more childish person his age would have danced around to taunt the other boy, showing off his mobility, but Kakashi had been striving to be seen as more adult since he was five years old and thought of himself as above that sort of behavior.

So instead he simply stuck his nose in the air, trying not to be obvious about the careful tilt of his head which allowed him to still keep his one eye cracked open so he could keep a watch on Obito.

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “You don’t look at all that different to me so its fine, isn’t it?” The older boy flared and waved his crutches even more wildly.

“Are you trying to say I was already ugly before I got these scars? Stupid Bakashi! Why do you have to be so mean! I’m injured; you’re supposed to be nice to injured people!”

“That – I didn’t say that!”

Obito wasn’t listening. He continued to yell and gripe even long after Kakashi had dropped his face in to his hands with exasperation and hurried to walk ahead of his friend, out of hitting range. By the time they arrived at the dango stall where they were supposed to be meeting Rin both of them were scowling and she wondered what they could have possibly fought about in the three minute walk between here and the hospital.

At the ripe old age of fifteen years old Uchiha Obito achieved something that many in his clan had often told him would likely be impossible: he had achieved the rank of jōnin. With the war over field promotions had become less common and he’d had to take the exam like everyone else. Last year he had failed the psychological component but this year was different. This was the year that he made people look at him with respect.

Obito preened and blushed for the entire first hour of the surprise party his friends threw for him, thinking to himself that he couldn’t possibly imagine a single way for his night to get better. His own sensei, now the Hokage, had been the one to bestow him with his new rank. His former classmates, now trusted comrades, were all gathered around him at his favorite BBQ restaurant. Rin sat on his right side and Kakashi on his left, both of their thighs pressed tightly to his own as though if they only squished hard enough the three of them could become one single person. What more could a guy wish for?

For some reason, however, his own accomplishment was not what was on his mind now. Dinner had been finished a while ago and around the table there were several people just finishing dessert. Small groups held different conversations but Obito wasn’t contributing to any of them and neither was the younger boy to his left. Strangely, it was Kakashi that was on his mind.

It was something that he had begun to notice only a few months after the incident at Kannabi Bridge and still persisted to this day. Kakashi, he had noticed, only ever sat on Obito’s left side. He wouldn’t really have thought it odd were it anyone else; with his left eye missing, it was common for a lot of people to instinctively place themselves in his blind spot. That was what comrades did. The only trouble was that Kakashi kept his left eyes covered as well to reduce the chakra drain from the implanted Sharingan and standing on that side left himself at a disadvantage as well. It would have been safer for him to stand on the right where he would be able to watch out for himself.

Displaying an uncommon amount of patience, Obito waited until everyone had left and he and Kakashi were walking home together as they usually did, then he blurted out his question with no thought for graceful phrasing.

“Why do you always stand on my left side?”

“Because you’re blind on the left side,” Kakashi answered promptly. Obito scrunched his nose.

“Yeah well so are you,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to be on the right where you can see?”

“That would leave you open to attack.”

Obito huffed. For a genius, the other sure was being dense. “Sure but now you’re leaving yourself open to attack instead.” Kakashi only shrugged.

“I’m the stronger shinobi so it would be easier for me to survive an attack to my blind spot.”

“Are you calling me weak!? I’m a jōnin now! I’m just as good as you are, you stuck up prick!”

With no further promoting Obito threw himself in to a long rant about how he hadn’t given up on his dream of being Hokage someday and how he was going to make Kakashi kiss his hat when that happened. He was so busy yelling that he never noticed the defeated sigh his friend gave, nor heard the tired murmur of, “That wasn’t what I said at all.”

At seventeen years old Obito’s life changed. Of course, his life had already undergone several large changes that had each seemed equally world-stopping at the time. Like all the others, he never even saw this one coming until it crashed down upon him – quite literally.

Bickering with Kakashi wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. To be perfectly honest if a day passed him by without a least one tiny spat with the younger teen Obito usually felt a little off kilter, like he had misplaced something. So walking home from a week-long mission, covered head to toe in dust and with Kakashi buzzing in his ear about something or other, he felt more ordinary than anything else. That didn’t stop him from snarling back when Kakashi implied something particularly offensive.

“Do you purposefully mishear me?” Kakashi demanded as they took a short cut through the alley behind their favorite teahouse. “That – wasn’t – what – I – said!”

“Of course it was!” Obito retorted. He was so used to the noise of disgust the other boy made that his brain filled in the visual of Kakashi throwing his hands in the air without even looking. He never expected for his shoulders to be shoved, turning him about to face his friend.

“No! It wasn’t! You never listen properly, Obi-brat, I was trying to say something else!”

“What then? How the hell was I supposed to take that other than you implying that I’m still slower than you at using jutsu?”

“You – I – would you just – oh for kami’s sake!”

In his wildest dreams Obito never could have predicted Kakashi’s reaction then. He flinched as the straps of his pack were grabbed in a tight grip and his body was shoved back against the wall of the alley. Expecting Kakashi to hit him in the face, he closed his eyes instinctively and braced for impact because as offended as he was he knew the other was actually right. He still wasn’t as fast with his hands as his teammate was.

Half a second later his eyes snapped back open in shock, staring hard at Kakashi’s closed eyelids and trying to process the fact that Hatake Kakashi was kissing him. Actually it was more like ravishing him. For some reason he couldn’t seem to make himself move, either, and so he simply stood still and let himself be thoroughly kissed by his best friend.

Amazingly, he could even see a line of deep red scrawled across the top of Kakashi’s mask when his friend finally pulled away, panting and scowling despite his blush.

“That is what I’ve been trying to say for fucking years now but you just don’t listen! You always misunderstand me and take what I say the wrong way! Baka! Brat! Too stupid to see your own best friend is in love with you! Why do I even like you?”

“You’re…you’re…EH!?”

“All I said was that your hand movements hadn’t improved as much as I thought they would. It was a simple observation, all I was trying to do was offer to help, and all you heard was an insult! Kami you are so freaking dense sometimes it makes me want to scream!”

“Hnngg!?” Obito frantically tried to locate his tongue and remember how to speak so he could say something – anything. He’d never heard Kakashi say so much at once nor speak so passionately about something, not unless he felt very strongly about the subject. Considering his choice of words for describing his feelings, it was apparent that he felt more than just strongly about this.

“I’ve been trying to get this in to your head since I was nine years old but all you ever think I’m doing is being mean. Is that all you see me as? A mean person who just insults you all the time? I try to help! I try to offer you compliments! But nooooo Uchiha Obito wouldn’t see a compliment even if it stripped naked and slapped him in his stupid face! Do you get it now, then? Huh? What about if I got up on the roof of the Hokage Tower and shouted it for the whole village to hear? Hey everyone! I’m in love with Obito and he’s never even noticed! It’s fucking awesome!”

Finally, Obito snapped. If his tongue wasn’t going to listen to him than he was going to have to let his actions speak for themselves. Not giving himself any time to second guess, he reached out and took hold of the straps of Kakashi’s pack like the younger boy had done to him, dragging him back in and cutting off the flow of words with a frantic kiss. Since it was only the second kiss he had ever experienced in his life, he really hoped he was doing it right.

Even if he wasn’t he had a feeling that Kakashi didn’t mind all that much. The sixteen year old let out an honest-to-kami whimper as he fell silent, using his body to press Obito farther in to the wall and framing his face with two pale hands. He was blushing even harder than before by the time the kiss was finished.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he murmured, ever so slowly stepping back. Obito raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah that was weird.” Kakashi’s entire body froze in place and Obito panicked, hurrying to correct himself. “No not the kiss! The kiss was awesome! Totally down for that! Just the yelling I mean, that was weird.”

“Really?” It was strange to hear Kakashi say anything such a small voice.

“Of course!”

“By ‘totally down’ do you mean you…I mean…could I…uhm…we…I know you always had a thing for Rin…don’t want to come between anything…”

Obito stared in awe as Kakashi slowly shrank down in to himself more and more the longer he continued to stammer. Just the fact that he was stammering at all was enough to blow the older teen’s mind, but the shyness threatened to overload him completely. If there was one thing Kakashi was not, it was shy. Although it took almost a full minute and his friend looked nearly ready to turn tail and run by the time he did, Obito finally got his brain back on track enough to speak again.

“I got over Rin years ago,” he pointed out softly. “So maybe we could, erm, go on a date sometime?”

“Really!?” Kakashi’s head snapped up and even through the mask it was obvious that his jaw had dropped with shock.

“Uh huh.” Now blushing himself, Obito shuffled his feet. “You could kiss me again first, though. I mean, if you want to or whatever.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Despite his words, at first Kakashi only manage to stand there while the two of them stared at each other awkwardly. They were both blushing fiercely and it only worsened when he finally plucked up the courage to slowly lean forward, touching his masked lips to Obito’s much more gently this time. Either he gained confidence quickly or simply lost himself in the moment, but whichever it was it only took a few moments before he had brought their bodies close together again, standing well inside Obito’s personal space so their hearts were nearly beating against each other.

“So,” Obito murmured against his friend’s mouth. “This is kind of hard to misinterpret.” Kakashi huffed out a laugh.

“Took you long enough to get it,” he complained lightly.

“Not my fault. You are obviously terrible at flirting.”

“Maybe if you didn’t jump to conclusions so easily–”

“You better shut up and kiss me again right now or I’m gonna start another fight and ruin the moment. Less bitchin’, more kissin’.”

Kakashi had to take the time to laugh first but he did listen for once in his life. Obito figured he could be satisfied with that for now.

#rae writes #obikaka #obito #kakashi #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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violetsystems · 5 years

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#personal

Somehow my Instagram started working again. It was dark for the entire semester since February. It was only until a day after graduation where I regained functionality of both accounts. No emails, no reasoning, and no real warning or explanation. I wasn’t able to follow back, comment or link to things in chat for all that time. So I stopped posting to it about a month ago. During that time nobody really interacted except people I didn’t know. Mostly fashion and coffee businesses some of which were places I’ve visited in New York. One of those places I discovered had a small shop in a shared work space near my work. Since I couldn’t follow back or interact I decided to go there in person. It felt like a good excuse to develop connections to places I could visit in New York comfortably by myself. They have a shop in the World Trade Center and one in Queens. I ordered a bag of coffee beans from them which was one of the packages that was stolen from my porch. I’m always telling myself these days never to draw conclusions to any of these things. Even if everything after all this time seems highly suspect. I have the disadvantage of being too smart for my own good. I also force myself to be an optimist more often than I should. Returning to Instagram with a few innocuous posts felt ok at first. I posted my run from the other day. Some Chinese Finstas responded. I posted a photo of a book on the color pink at the coffee shop and checked in. I bought a new yoga mat on clearance at target. It has a sparse pink font with midnight blue foam. I posted that. I made an informational post of something related to work. A 3D model of a pokemon made on a makerbot in our lab. The interactions were small at best. It felt more wrong than right. I have a habit of being too extreme about things. Quitting and walking away from bullshit and never telling anyone. Nobody ever asks. Nobody ever really interacts in a genuine way where I think it’s worth my time. Mostly because people have wasted so much of mine over the years. Tumblr has been way different for reasons only we as users have come to understand. I don’t even understand my relationships on here fully. But they make more sense than trying to revive my interest in a being openly spied on in public. Which happens without having to use Instagram sadly. These times are wacky what can I say? For all the concern over my affairs nobody really knows what I do or how I feel about it other than here. Nobody. Care. Me.

What has “the public” actually done with me and my data over all these years? I hang up on enough surveys to know nobody really cares about my opinion. Nothing ever gets fixed. I also don’t really stick around to listen to excuses. I’ve shut done entire segments of my life over the last two years out of futility. Instagram was no different. When I disappear I ask myself what audience is still there. I know perfectly well how it feels to be completely abandoned. Everybody on here knows I’ve been more or less completely alone in all my problems. We’ve all come to discover that the problems aren’t actually my own. I butt heads with society as much as anyone else maybe. I cover a lot of ground. This morning I have to bus back out to the suburbs to mow the lawn and bring my mom sour patch kids in the care facility. It’s like an hour and a half each way. People will watch and follow. You’ll tell yourself it’s a small city and yet you remember how small Seoul or Tokyo is. How you’d run into people magically around corners. How serendipitous it all is! People forget I’ve travelled to Korea around fourteen times by myself. People never ask. People think I’m stuck up for even mentioning it. Or shut me down before I could even explain. People will explain it for me. But people will never actually listen. They’ll never have the guts to approach me directly about any of this. And this is a confidence I’ve learned through a hellish experience of trying to live by my own dreams and ruleset. I tell myself I should have been more. And then I realize what I already am. Successful, free for the most part and pointed in a direction I feel comfortable with. I don’t ask for advice. I haven’t for a long time. I do still reach out to people. I’m cautious about what I share. A friend told me they knew people out there appreciated both the little and big things I do. That people notice I do this in the most subdued and polite way possible. They said I just put one foot in front of the other. I go out and run without much effort. It’s something I’ve always loved to do. It’s been my therapy for longer than anyone could imagine through all of this. And it’s been just me working through my feelings about all of this. I share it here with all of you. Some of you I know. All of you I respect in some way or another. And this kind of interaction has been much more safe and healthy for me all this time. Because when someone supports you behind the scenes here, you know they are genuine about it. It’s unspoken and true. That people understand what you are going through. More importantly they understand why you do what you do to make it through.

There are a lot of rash things I could do to make things right. I’ve always thought in this process the most effective thing to make right was myself. A lot of me discovering my confidence has been about being around influences that are compatible with my goals. My goals are complex. My life even more so. I’ve had to abandon things I loved to do like make music to feel safe. Taking photos online as well. Social media is an extension these days of how you present yourself in public. Being social, comfortable with myself and genuine is something I’m very good at. It isn’t always respected in real life or on the internet. Why do we put up with it? We in America are taught to want and have it all. There isn’t enough to go around these days. Money is fucked. So we develop other obscure ways to devalue each other. Social value and clout exist in a vacuum of hidden gatekeepers and cabals of elite bullshit. Think bitcoin backed by hot air and broken promises. Groups of people who can’t value themselves alone or support people without a catch. And so there’s any number of scams evolving on a day to day basis. Narratives to get lost in. Roles to get pigeonholed in. Debt to get lost in. Treat yourself and pay for it later. I’ve been pragmatic about everything in spite of this for awhile. I quit drinking. I kept a spreadsheet of my finances and what I spend. I budgeted out the things I wanted and needed. I coached myself out of a mess only to find the world is messier than I ever imagined. If it were simple enough to shut the door on everything and start fresh in the world I would. I’m back in New York in a couple of weeks. My plan has evolved into a visit every two months. I was talking with someone who had said they knew people who worked there but lived elsewhere. Artists renting out studio spaces to show and produce work. I imagine a regional manager or director would have a similar lifestyle. Visiting coffee shops and meeting with staff. I travel a lot and I don’t mind it. It’s not something I couldn’t conceive for myself some day. It beats trying to become a musician in an over flooded mess of people who don’t really care about anyone other than themselves. I imagine like now I’d be looked at as successful. I’d be overlooked just as much. Maybe I’d be in an environment where being picked over all this time would be appreciated. In my mind, I already am. I have been since last August. I’ve just been trying to figure out ways to make that more sustainable and real. None of those solutions are particularly easy or concrete. Neither is running six miles before work when nobody really knows how hard it is to move forward. It isn’t that hard. You put one foot in front of the other. The hardest part is to know where to run to. Flock of Seagulls not withstanding I’m running towards you not at you. It’s an aggressive but steady pace. One that I’ll run laps around in Central Park by the end of this month. <3 Tim

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veiredame · 7 years

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Years ago I was doing this long-ass story about a bastard prince and a rebellion and it all started with an arranged marriage gone wrong. It was loosely based around my early Gaian avatar and it was a whole big thing--but I never finished it. Didn’t feel like it anymore. Plus, I realized that to improve it, a lot of the characters would have to merge together or disappear entirely and, honestly, I was less interested in the rebellion and more interested in the “what-if” scenario where the arranged marriage DIDN’T go terribly wrong. Or at least not AS wrong.

Haven’t thought about it for years, but after reading a book series earlier this year, it got me on a similar train of thought. So now I have Tiscabe and Farlan, both illegitimate children of their empress/queen mothers in two warring nations. In their barest sense, they’re a re-imagining of the MCs from that old story (well, there were five MCs; like I said, some characters were unnecessary), but there is no wedding night massacre, no fleeing to another country, and no being hunted down by an organization of international assassins. Which, granted, might sound awesome, but like...go write it then, because I’m doing this.

I don’t have much, yet. Just a concept for how it starts. There’s still a royal wedding, but it’s a shaky plan to begin with. The two countries meet at the ruins of a manor on the border for the wedding. Everyone’s nervous. Tiscabe’s half-sister, the throne princess, is to marry Prince Whoever, the throne prince of the other country. Except, well...the treaty that was signed never actually specified she’d be marrying THAT prince. Farlan is slightly older than his step-brother and he has the royal blood--but he was his mother’s bastard. In his culture, he has no claim to the throne. The problem is, his mother was the heir to the throne, so he has the royal bloodline. His step-brother isn’t legitimate either, but he’s the king’s bastard who was legitimized when the king married his mistress. The King had tried to have a legitimate heir with the queen, but both her and the baby died in childbirth, leaving the royal family a fucking mess.

So, step-brother is culturally considered the one who should inherit the crown, but Farlan is the one who’s actually descended from the ancient kings.

Bad times all around.

Tiscabe’s situation is a little different. She’s older than her half-sister and in their country the crown is a matriarchal position, so an “illegitimate” child birthed by the ruler means nothing. The Empress’ children are all legitimate, regardless of their father(s). But Tiscabe’s culture values “purity.” Tiscabe is mixed ethnicity, so she’s considered impure; a mutt. If she were anyone else’s daughter she would’ve been killed at birth, but she got a pass because NO ONE lays a hand on the children of the Empress. She was allowed to serve as her younger sister’s royal handmaiden and grow up alongside her, but she can’t inherit the throne and she’s forbidden from taking any lovers or birthing children.

Once the Emperor Consort (the Empress is dead of course because things can never be easy) is livid when he finds out that his daughter, the CROWN FUCKING PRINCESS, is expected to marry a man considered a bastard in his own country. It would put his daughter at a disadvantage and, frankly, was just an outright insult to their country as a whole (secondary son=secondary country). Tiscabe and the princess are obviously miffed at the whole thing as well, but in the interest of avoiding bloodshed the princess agrees to go along with it and take the prince back home with them instead of staying on the border as initially planned. She doesn’t want to be exposed to attacks from these fucking vipers. So, the sisters and the servants set about packing everything up as quickly and quietly as possible. As soon as the vows are through, they’re out.

The princess pens a letter real fast for Farlan, informing her betrothed that she’s agreed to marry him despite the grave insult and to prepare for the service. She sends Tiscabe to deliver it directly to the prince; she’d trust no one else.

Except obviously it doesn’t go that way. She delivers the letter and as soon as Farlan reads it, he sends his people to find the princess. Tiscabe is pissed and tries to go after them, but Farlan orders her held here, where he can see her, until everything is resolved. When his people come back, they reveal that the princess and the Emperor Consort had fled the border back into their own country. Only a few servants and soldiers remained to cover their retreat.

The princess did not write to tell Farlan she accepted: she told him he could have her sister.

Dick move.

They fled to avoid the inevitable conflict this would cause in hopes that they would begrudgingly take Tiscabe since she was TECHNICALLY a princess and that is, after all, the only thing the treaty they’d signed had guaranteed. The peace--though uneasy--would be upheld and this unpleasant marriage business would be over.

Of course, Farlan’s family is pissed. They want to send Tiscabe’s head back to her sister in a sack--but that would mean more war. The people would revolt if that happened. But no WAY were they leaving this foreign mutt so close to home after the wedding so she could run back and report to them with any secrets she found. They have an officiant perform the ceremony in their tent right then, with the promise that if Tiscabe didn’t go along with it she WOULD be executed, and immediately pack up and drag her back to their capitol with them.

So a lot of things just kind of...HAPPEN to Tiscabe. That’s not as much the case with Farlan since he’s the one who proactively pushes for the marriage regardless of his family’s more bloodthirsty desires. And after this all happens, there’s obviously going to be the whole issue of, hey, you need to consummate your marriage and have babies! But...it’s forbidden in her culture. Even being married is reason enough to have her hanged at home.

I guess the options after that point are, like...what do you do in that situation? You’re in a strange land with people who’ve spent their lives hating you, married to a complete stranger who’s first act upon meeting you was to hold you hostage (to be fair he was trying to salvage the situation and prevent more war by making sure she didn’t run off, too), you’re expected to get Biblical with this dude and make babies when you’ve just met him AND you’ve been taught basically “celibacy or death” all your life, and your own sister sold you the fuck out.

WHAT DO?

I mean, a) try to get in touch with the sister because what the FUCK, and b) try to run away. One of those things is impractical because it’d start up the war again even if she didn’t have to cross a whole country of people who hate her just to get to the border of a country where she’ll be a wanted criminal for being a married mutt.

This isn’t going to be one of those romances where Farlan is going to try to dominate her or anything, because I just can’t even write mah boys like that. Even Christian is a soft boy underneath all the crazy. No. It’s more like an actual attempt at a partnership because Farlan’s already had time to come to terms with the fact that he’d be stuck with a stranger for the rest of his life. Tiscabe had that thrust upon her rather unexpectedly so she’s slightly less prepared. But he also tries to break down all her issues with all this impurity taboo shit. Because it’s fucking stupid. Also because he 100% needs kids before his country tears itself apart due to the whole royal family weirdness (the plan that the council people or whatever came up with was for both princes to produce heirs and then have those heirs marry, thereby uniting the bloodline). Tiscabe, meanwhile, does not get the fucking problem. In her eyes Farlan is the ONLY contender for the throne because it was his mother who had the bloodline, so now it’s him that has the bloodline, ergo Farlan should be Crown Prince. It’s fucking infuriating.

Also, this country is a patriarchy (obviously) so she’s got that to deal with.

The clothes are different, the food is different, the climate is different, the architecture, the social interaction, the expectations of her personally, and now she’s got a husband which is just...????

#writing is hard #Tiscabe and Farlan #that's literally all I've got for a title right now #I know super creative right?#nanowrimo

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aion-rsa · 7 years

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INTERVIEW: Spurrier Talks Legion TV Debut and His New Series Godshaper

Simon Spurrier plans on mixing equal parts deity-altering abilities, epic-level worldbuilding and social commentary in his new four-issue series “Godshaper,” illustrated by Jonas Goonface. The April-launching book published by BOOM! Studios takes place in a world where everyone has their own personal deity, except for Ennay and his fellow Shapers. That leaves them at a distinct disadvantage, but doesn’t stop Ennay from hanging out with equally partnerless god Bud and playing mind-bending music.

In addition to the new series, the writer’s also looking forward to tonight’s premiere of Fox and Marvel Television’s Legion” on FX. Spurrier saw just how interesting of a character that David Haller is, and showcased him in a starring role in the pages of “X-Men: Legacy” from 2012 to 2014. Having written Legion’s most recent adventures, and some of the only other story’s with David Haller as a lead character, he’s excited to see the new direction taken with him on the small screen.

RELATED: EXCLUSIVE: Supernatural Symbiotic Spiders Run The World in Spurrier’s “Weavers”

CBR News talked with Spurrier about what makes Legion an “instantly relatable” character, constructing the world of “Godshaper,” integrating music into comics and what exactly a “Godshaper” is.

“Godshaper�� #1 main cover by Jonas Goonface.

CBR News: I like a title that immediately raises a question or gets me thinking. With that in mind, what is a Godshaper?

Simon Spurrier: Haha, glad you like it. As titles go it’s definitely an eye-catcher, and — if nothing else -– hints that you’re about to enter a world unlike our own. Which, OMG, you so are.

Worldbuilding’s definitely one of the things I’ve accidentally ended up being known for — see “The Spire” or “Six-Gun Gorilla” — but the big thing I want to say up front is that this is a story about two broken vagrant outcasts who, by traveling together, complete each other. A character-led rascally buddy-comedy roadtrip, in other words. Which just happens to be set in an amazing alternate-universe.

In what ways does the universe of “Godshaper” differ than our own?

It’s a universe where every human being has a private, personal god of their very own. Like, literally present and visible, constantly in attendance. These gods serve all sorts of practical functions. Part bodyguard, part super-powered servant, part bank account, part status-symbol. They’re literally the most important parts of this society. The bigger and more powerful your god, the more important a person you are. It follows that people are really vain about what their gods look like, and what super-skills they have.

So far so odd, right? Well, it turns out that there are in fact some people — like, one in a thousand — who don’t have gods. And they lead pretty sucky lives. They’re literally incapable of participating in wealth, they have zero social status, and no super powers. These guys are at the bottom of the heap.

The one thing they can do – and nobody really understands why or how this works – is that they can reshape and reconfigure other people’s gods, like molding wet clay. A new look, a new color, a new powerset. They can barter these skills for food and shelter. The upshot is that “Shapers”, as they’re known, are constantly hated but always in demand. A true servant underclass.

“Godshaper” #1 incentive cover by Sonny Liew.

  What is the human-god relationship like for most people in this story?

Gods have two major roles, and a whole bunch of minor ones. First and foremost, your god is a sort of bank account. The bigger your god is, the richer you are. When you want to buy something you simply pray to the seller’s god: it expands, yours shrinks. So this is a very visual version of our own capitalist culture, where wealth is constantly on show and people literally worship money. Secondly, your god fills the niche that modern technology occupies in our world. Combustion, transport, lighting: anything that makes human life a little bit easier. These things simply don’t work in the Godshaper universe. The laws of physics are kaput. They broke sometime in 1958, and nobody knows why.

Luckily, the gods showed up to fill the gap. The richer you are, the bigger your god and the more super powers it has. Maybe it can starts fires, freeze things, send messages hundreds of miles, turn into a vehicle, whatever. So, again, this is capitalism writ large: wealth equals the means to get shit done. Hence, power. Naturally enough those two principles have bred a whole host of secondary cultural nuances. If the gods have replaced technology then you start to wonder what war looks like in this world. Or crime. Or sport. Or justice. Or music. Aaaand, same token, since gods have replaced wealth they quickly come to be stand-ins for showy ostentation, y’know? They’re status-symbols and fashion-accessories.

The big trick here is that if you want to change your god’s look, to keep up with the trends, or more importantly if you want to switch-out one of your god’s super powers for something more useful, then you’re gonna have to call a Shaper. So Ennay and his fellow Shapers are really just a new take on something which has been present in pretty much every human society ever: a disenfranchised and reviled but overworked underclass. They’re vital to the smooth running of the world, and without them the whole house of cards comes crumbling down. But, in order for capitalism to work successfully, these penniless pariah-slaves have to remain loathed and disempowered. Basically, the world in “Godshaper” tells us a lot about our own.

 The story follows the exploits of Godshaper Ennay and the human-less god Bud. What kind of trouble do they find themselves getting into as the series kicks off?

Ennay’s attitude towards the rest of the world is, unsurprisingly, a pretty big part of his character arc. As I mentioned, Shapers are incapable of owning money but are in constant demand for their skills. I like to think of Victorian servants, y’know? Vital to the upper-classes, but regarded as dirty and shameful and forced to use the back door. Needless to say, Shapers get a lot of shit in the normal course of their lives.

But the nature of Ennay’s skills means that he’s frequently in a position to either save or sabotage the lives of the people around him. So you can imagine the kind of scrapes he’ll get sucked into. Petty villainy versus acts of altruism. Bitterness or heroism. Criminal or crime-fighter. And bubbling-up into the foreground is a whole bunch of madness to do with organized crime, organized religion, and all-out holy war.

As for Bud — he’s a mystery. Gods literally can’t exist without worshipers. Bud should’ve faded away long ago. But the little guy seems happy enough, and isn’t in any hurry to discover how or why he’s so different. Sadly for him, the world is about to focus on that mystery very closely indeed. One of the reasons Bud and Ennay have become such close friends is that when they’re together they can just about pass for ordinary. One human, one god. The moment they’re apart, things can — and frequently do — fall apart.

“Godshaper” #1 interior page.

Music seems to be important to the characters in this story. What are the challenges of integrating an aural artform into a visual medium like comics?

Without getting too formalist and wanky about this, I’d argue comics are the perfect medium to present speculative takes on otherworldly sound. One simply switches the ear for the eye, and lets the reader’s imagination take over. Comics, remember, are already hardwired for this sort of sophisticated synesthesia; swapping time for space and sound for text with every panel transition, speech balloon and onomatopoeic sound effect. Better yet, the music featuring in this comic comes complete with a whole underground cultural scene to go with it. Hence: glorious visuals.

Super-quick history lesson, brace yourself. One of the unexpected upshots of the arrival of the gods in the late 1950s was that popular culture totally stagnated. (Yes, before you ask, literally everything in this story is commentary of one sort or another.) The world’s stuck in this endless vanilla version of a 50s aesthetic, with limp-wristed rockabilly trends and squeaky-clean stars using their gods to produce safe, middle-of-the-road, synth-muzak pop.

Luckily there’s a vibrant underground scene. It’s a counter cultural movement called “cantik.” It’s raw, chaotic, hypersexual and very angry, where performers rely on their voices and their bodies to make music — rather than their gods. As its detractors put it: “an unholy racket.” Part punk, part poetry, part jazz, part something totally new. Gatherings occur in secret, on the outskirts of bumblefuck towns in the midwest.

Ennay’s a cantik performer – a damn good one. In fact the main thrust of the series is his race to get to San Francisco to play in a big cantik festival. He spends his entire life wanting to known – and respected – for his music. But all people ever see is his godlessness. Commentary, commentary, commentary…

What made you want to create this series with Jonas?

Actually — boring answer, sorry — the seed-idea arose in isolation. One of those crazy high-concept gigs: what would it be like if the world ran on metaphysics instead of physics? What would an outcast look like in that culture? I approached BOOM!, they found Jonas. And oh holy hell, thank goodness they did. He’s kind of come out of nowhere, at least as far as my radar’s concerned. Within literally moments of starting to sketch he’d single-handedly established the look and tone of the world and its godly inhabitants.

I think he’s going to be a very important talent in this industry. “Godshaper” is one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever seen.

“Godshaper” #1 interior page.

In other comics news, “Legion” debuts this week. You wrote that character extensively in X-Men Legacy. Have you seen any of it yet?

As of writing this, no. Just the trailers and teasers, like the rest of you. Got to say I’m pretty excited, though. It looks like a wonderfully creative and — I normally hate this word, but it fits here — quirky take on some of the themes we explored in the comic. The show makers seem to be treating the material (specifically: mental unwellness) with a touch that’s both light and deep, which I fully endorse. For me the biggest gauge on its success will be whether the comedy elements constitute punching upwards or downwards.

RELATED: Spurrier Explores Legion’s Familial “Legacy”

Is it surreal seeing this character you worked on so long translated to live action?

Based on what little I’ve seen…? Honestly, no, not especially surreal. I think the human brain is exceptionally good at compartmentalizing and rationalizing fictions, so it can absorb value without tripping-up on awkward details. It’s why we don’t mind that Batman appears in a dozen different books, with different costumes and continuities, in games and LEGOs and movies and ’66 flashbacks and so on and so forth, all at once. They’re all great stories in their own right, and as readers we understand on some secret level that we’d ruin the whole lot of them for ourselves if all we ever looked for is the places they don’t match up. It’s why we don’t care that the details of the movie-Avengers don’t perfectly tally with the details of the comics Avengers, or the same character seems to have slightly different motives in their solo book versus a team book, or yadda yadda yadda.

Basically as consumers we’re sophisticated enough to accept stories on their own terms. And I think, as comics fans, we’re probably a step ahead on that too, having spent our lives performing the subconscious equivalent of pretending not to notice every time a reboot or retroboot conflicts with our understanding of a character’s life.

Which is the very long-winded way of saying that my David Haller was not precisely the same as the one who’d appeared in comics beforehand anyway. They’re linked, they share ideas and histories, they’re even abstractly the same, but they exist in separate narrative mental territories. Therefore I have absolutely no problem seeing the TV version in the same light: enjoyably linked to the comic-book work, but a clearly distinct entity.

You obviously saw plenty in the character to carry a series, but how do you think that will transfer into the world of television?

I think there’s just so much you can do with a character like David. Not just in terms of the things he can do and the plots he can generate, but the sheer volume of thematic weight he can carry. He’s a youngster with almost godlike power, whose single greatest enemy is his own brain. That’s the sort of amazing conflict-setup which works as an allegory for pretty much any struggle, internal or external, any of us has ever faced. Instantly relatable. That’s character gold.

“Godshaper” #1 interior page.

“Godshaper” #1 descends on April 12 from Si Spurrier and Jonas Goonface.

The post INTERVIEW: Spurrier Talks Legion TV Debut and His New Series Godshaper appeared first on CBR.com.

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