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cakesunflower · 4 years

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Between The Aisles [Prince!Calum AU] One Shot

A/N: this is just a random piece i drummed up. it’s 5.3k which is relatively short for me LMAO. i MIGHT do a second part to this but i’m not too sure yet; it depends if i’m in the mood to write second person again since we all know how much i hate that. but anyways. happy reading hehe

The palace library is where you felt most at ease. It was, unsurprisingly, the quietest part of the overwhelmingly large estate, and you spent countless hours roaming the aisles, fingers brushing along the spines of the books, before finding a comfortable spot or a leather chair and losing yourself to a book of your choice. There were large windows on one side of the library, the glass actually taking up the entirety of the wall, allowing for endless natural light to bathe the room. The view was that of the valley below, the greenery as bright as the sunlight that streamed in—save for this time of year, where snow blanketed the grounds in pristine white and provided a haze through the sky. And sitting on a chair by the window, the snow falling gently outside, a book in your hands, was your favorite way to spend your time in the library.

Along with, of course, the moments the Prince caught sight of you.

The shelves in the library were many and stood tall, full of any and every novel and textbook and document the royal family and its curators could get their hands on to stock up. And through the gaps of the shelves down the long aisles, you would catch glimpses of Prince Calum making his way through, though never towards you—despite his attention being solely on you. You could feel it, every time—feel him. The way his dark eyes burned on your skin, a delicious sensation that simultaneously warmed you and sent chills down your spine. His wandering through the library would appear innocent, but you knew it was anything but. Knew that he was a predator on the hunt and every time, it was you who he was after. And you were compliant every time.

Sometimes, the Prince would join you by taking a seat across from you, a book in his own hands. You two would sit in the quiet of the library, both doing your best in keeping your interest strictly on the books you were reading, never giving away the glances you’d lay upon the other. It was a game; always wanting to look at the other, but never wanting to be caught.

It wasn’t as though your dalliance was forbidden; you were the daughter of Calum’s father’s, the King, most trusted advisor. You’d been living at the palace for as long as Calum had, were practically treated as royalty—though, not to the same extent as Calum, of course. But the only relationship you showed the world you had with Calum was that of being his friend, nothing more. It was easier that way, less attention.

You didn’t enjoy it—the attention. But if it was Calum’s, during your private moments, you reveled in it.

You often thought of that first night, where your friendship had turned into something more intimate, where you crossed a line neither of you expected to. It had been during one of the many parties the royal family threw in the palace—you couldn’t hope to remember what it had been for—and unsurprisingly had grown bored of the festivities. You were more prone to spend most of the night reading rather than drinking and entertaining people, which was why you had snuck off to the library. As the daughter of a high ranking member in the palace, just below the King and Queen, you were expected to present a smiling face and adapt to the role you were given. Unfortunately, your pretty face also deigned the attraction of the sons of noblemen and local lords—sons you didn’t want to entertain. So off to the library you went, the wine you had drank giving you the motivation to do so.

It hadn’t been long after until there was another presence in the grand library, and you had been surprised, that first night, to look up from the book you had been reading to see the Prince himself wandering inside. How you two ended up hidden between the aisles as he took you against the shelves was a blur—but the memory of it actually happening was one burned in your head.

It wasn’t as though the library was the only place where your trysts occurred; you’d often fall into one another’s beds, or the various hidden spots around the palace you grew up finding together in your explorations. But the library—it was a mutually favored location. A spot amongst hundreds of stories where you participated in one of your own, just for your eyes.

Tonight, you were lost in the corner where the wall met the historical fiction section of the library, your bodies hidden by the rows and rows of high rising shelves, the setting sun dimming the room. How easily had Calum slid the leggings off of you, hands gripping your bare thighs, rings chilly against your heated skin as your legs wrapped around his hips, while he devoured your moans with the kisses he gave you. He tasted like peppermint, smelled delicious, and fit in you perfectly, familiarly, as his hips drove into yours at a wondrous, greedy pace.

The world slipped away when it was just the two of you, and you tried not to think of how dangerous that was. To be so in tuned with the Prince, in how he made you feel, that everything else seemed second-best. But thoughts of anything else seemed impossible when you were with Calum, ever since you started seeking each other out for intimate companionship. You’d gotten a taste—more than a taste—and you were worried that you had grown addicted far quicker than anticipated.

When you finished, heavy breaths mingling with his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble tickling your skin as your fingers remained tangled in his growing blonde hair, you closed your eyes. Still joined intimately, you waited for your heart rate to settle, were all too aware of the electricity still coursing through your veins in the aftermath of your shattering release. That’s what it felt like every time Calum brought you to the edge—like the world had slipped from beneath your feet and you were falling, falling, falling.

Calum pulled away as his dark eyes met your gaze, and the windows high on the wall behind you provided for just some of the setting sunlight to gleam against his eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, lips kissed. Your own gaze fell to them briefly, a tug in your chest to kiss him again, but you remained pressed against the wall, trying to ease your labored breathing. “You’re comin’ to the party tomorrow, right?” Calum asked, voice hushed and raspy, just a hint of breathlessness present.

You reveled in the feel of one of his hands raising so the back of his knuckle could graze along your cheek, his touch gentle. A small, lazy smile tilted at your lips as you gazed up at him, appreciative of the rasp in his voice that always trickled in when he was with you. “Of course,” you answered, just as quietly. With a teasing tone, you added, “I wouldn’t miss your Highness’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

He rolled his eyes, though the amusement danced in them, as well as in the tilt of his lips. Calum wasn’t too fond of you referring to him by his title—at least not when it was just you two, absent from the eyes of the public—but he was all too aware of your tendency to call him by such in a playful manner. He couldn’t lie, though—the look in your eyes when you did so, mischief glimmering in them, always stirred something in the pit of Calum’s stomach. Something desirable, something wanting.

“You have the habit of running out of parties early,” Calum pointed out with a ghost of a smirk, heart thudding when the flush on your cheeks darkened.

You leaned your head back against the wall, never breaking your gaze. Your voice was soft as you responded, “Nothing’s ever as riveting as what I find in this room.”

Calum quirked an eyebrow, smirk widening. You often found him in this room, just as he did you, so Calum was inclined to agree with your statement. He leaned in, fingers dragging up the warm skin of your thigh as his lips brushed against yours, the electricity of the touch singeing his veins. In a low voice, he persuaded, “At least wait until after the cake’s cut.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, knowing there was no significance in his request other than the fact that the cake was always cut hours into the party. Calum just wanted you to stay longer than you normally would. Since it was his birthday, you were inclined to let him have this. So you tilted your head, just enough to brush the tip of your nose with his, words coming out in a whisper, “As you wish, sire.”

You had expected his gaze to darken at your words, had expected them to push him towards the desire that still burned him enough to kiss you again. It was why you’d said them, after all.

*****

The party was more or less a masquerade ball. You knew it wasn’t Calum’s idea as much as it was his parents’, but you knew he didn’t entirely mind. The grand ballroom was decorated fittingly in blacks and purples, several tables along the sides of the room filled with delicious food, while the room itself was brimming with guests dressed in their finest suits and dresses, pairing them with intricate masks that covered their eyes.

You had gone for a red dress, the top half lace with off-the-shoulder full sleeves and a long, slim skirt of tulle that swayed with the slightest of movements. Your mask was of a matching red lace against a white velvet, the click of your heels against the sleek floor drowned out by the music playing and the chatter of the guests mingling. In your hand was a flute of, rings and nails clinking against the glass when you had grabbed it, sharp eyes taking in your surroundings as you moved about. There was an odd sense of relief in your chest that came with this being a masquerade—maybe you could get away with not being the daughter of the King’s advisor but just you.

Though every face was hard to place, there was one that you recognized right away—how could you not? Calum was the man of the night, and he certainly looked like it in his custom made black suit, the jacket glittering with swirling designs that gleamed under the bright lights of the ballroom. Even his mask, black with gold details, did next to nothing to hide his powerful personality. You recognized the rings on his fingers, the jewelry leaving imprints on your skin after every time you sought each other out for your private moments. You would know him anywhere by the way he carried himself, tall and proud and the next heir to the throne. You didn’t even need the stunning golden crown, bedecked in jewels of deep red and blue, to know that it was him. You’d know him anywhere.

You hadn’t seen each other for most of the day, so you were patiently waiting for the moment to go up to him and wish him a happy birthday, to smile at him from under your mask without worrying too much of people looking at you too closely. And you watched, in that moment, as Calum glanced around after breaking away from a couple of people he’d been talking to.

For a moment, you foolishly wondered if he was looking for you.

But then, through the space of guests in gorgeous gowns and elegant suits, somehow Calum’s eyes found yours. You noted the curve of his lips, expecting to see a smirk, feeling the air get knocked out of your lungs at the sight of the grin that he wore. Then he made his way towards you, and you started moving towards him as well, stopping right when you were in front of one another. You smiled, sweet and adoring. “Happy birthday, Calum.”

His smile widened when you uttered his name, raising his own glass to clink it against yours. “Hope you’re not planning your escape now that you’ve made an appearance.”

Your cheeks flushed but smile remained, shooting him a mock offended look. “I would never,” you soothed, adoring the amusement dancing in his eyes.

The music changed then, a whimsical ballad sweeping through the room as people sought partners to dance with. Calum’s dark eyes never left yours, and he offered his free hand with a gentle, “May I have this dance?”

One simply doesn’t reject the Prince with such a request. Ignoring the escalating beating of your heart, you and Calum both put your glasses on a passing waiter’s tray, throat tightening as you placed your hand in Calum’s and his fingers wrapped around yours. You were all too aware of the gazes that weighed you down, the eyes on the Prince and the girl he was pulling towards the center of the room, whether they knew who you were or not. The attention wasn’t anything you enjoyed, though you should be used to it at this point, but you tried to focus on just one thing: Calum.

He moved seamlessly through the crowd that made way for him, turning around to face you as his left hand grasped your right, your left resting upon his shoulder and reveling in his other arm wrapping around your waist, tugging you towards him, too intimate to be casual. But what the others in the room didn’t know just how far your intimacy went—far beyond the would-be innocent closeness of a slow dance.

You tried to put it out of your mind, the stares, as you and Calum moved to the ballad amongst the other dancing guests, your body taut as your front pressed against his, your dress swaying with your movements. “You’re not nervous because of me, are you?” Calum questioned, the teasing tone easing into his voice.

You were grateful for it, knowing that he was all too aware of your issues with too much public attention. Making light of it helped and he knew that. “You think too highly of yourself,” you replied quietly, a secretive smile curling at your lips.

A smirk pulled at his mouth, looking down at you through the mask. “I’m a Prince—it’s in my nature.”

“As is all this attention,” you said, almost breathlessly. You wished you could ignore the gazes completely, but it seemed next to impossible. With a small smile, you asked him, “Are you sure I can’t sneak off before the cake’s cut?”

Calum raised his eyebrows, fingers holding a pleasant grip on yours, the metal of his rings clashing with your thinner ones. “You’d leave me to fend for myself?”

A huff of a laugh escaped you, gently rolling your eyes as the small grin played on his face. “You’d be just fine without my company.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

Your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body because of Calum’s words—and his own front pressed against yours. Your gaze slid over to your joined hands, a clear picture of crossing the line of casual and treading into intimacy with the way your fingers were linked together. It was difficult to block out the images flashing through your mind of your hands joined exactly like that, except it occurring during the moments where he took you against the wall in the library or where you both were tangled in either of your bed sheets. It was the way Calum held you that always had your thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, wondering if it could possibly be something more than just the two of you biding your time with each other’s company.

Was there room for something more? Did he want that? Did you?

Deep in your heart, you did. You couldn’t hide that even from yourself. But he was the Prince. And you often tried to escape whatever spotlight you already had in the palace—being with Calum would only intensify it.

The voice in the back of her head reminded you of what you already had accepted, He’s worth it.

“Hey,” Calum said softly, giving a squeeze of your hand until your gaze met his again. With a slight tilt of his head, he asked curiously, “Where did you go?”

When you got lost in your thoughts just then, you knew he meant. Calum had the ability to read people pretty well—it was something he learned to do effortlessly in his upbringing—and it never slipped your mind that he could do it exceptionally well where you were concerned. He could read you like his favorite book.

You were surprised you didn’t quite trip on your feet as you took in the way he was gazing at you. Brown eyes soft beneath the mask that glittered against his golden skin, an encouraging tilt on his lips. But you couldn’t tell him where your thoughts had taken you, couldn’t speak out about the imagination that held you captive most days, cruelly making you think about a relationship you didn’t believe would ever come to fruition. Calum was a Prince—he was destined to be with someone of royal status, or close to it, despite the way you, yourself, were treated because of your close affiliations with the royal family. Your name bore no title; you weren’t worthy. Not of him.

Before you could even think of an answer you could casually pass off, someone stepped up to you. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, loves,” Calum’s mother, the Queen, spoke with a smile, always kind. Her eyes went to her son from behind her emerald green mask. “But there’s some people who want to wish you, sweetheart.”

Calum glanced at you as you pressed your lips together in a kind smile. You’d stopped dancing at his mother’s arrival, but your touches remained. Calum glanced at you, as if he needed your permission to cut the dance short, and it pulled something in your chest as you gave just the barest dip of your chin. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you excused herself, reluctantly stepping out of his grasp. You didn’t dare acknowledge the coldness you felt without the warmth of his body.

You watched as he was whisked away, biting the inside of your lip as you made your way out of the dancing crowd. Like you had said, you grabbed another drink, this time going for some red wine as you found a spot to linger at by the wall. You watched, sipping your drink, as the Queen led Calum to a small group of people, and you knew immediately they were some of the local lords—their wives and daughters right by their sides.

Calum smiled at them, that charming Prince smile that effortlessly melted people, and you could just hear the giggles of the daughters despite the distance between you. You were so busy watching them, observing them, that you didn’t even notice the person who came to stand by your side until Luke huffed out a breath. “And so it begins.”

You glanced up at your friend, the silver mask making his light blue eyes pop as you raised an eyebrow. “What begins?”

Luke jerked his chin over to where Calum was, a wry smile on his lips. “The matchmaking. He’s already twenty-five, which means they’re gonna try to marry him off before he’s crowned king.” Luke shot you a glance, raising a curious eyebrow. “Come on, you know this.”

You did know this, and suddenly your skin flushed from embarrassment. He was the Prince—the next to become King, and everyone knew that it would be sooner rather than later. That in itself had never slipped your mind—the notion of him marrying, however, did. And you couldn’t understand how, not with the conversations the two of you sometimes had when you laid in bed, staring at the high ceilings of your rooms. Where Calum would talk about his excitement of becoming King despite the pressures that came with it, only ever worried about the thought of getting married.

He had made it clear to his parents, you knew, that he wanted to marry for love. Calum was never one to take something as significant as marriage lightly, and his parents understood—they, after all, had married for love. Still, that wouldn’t stop them from introducing their son to daughters of high ranking members of their society in hopes that one of them would catch Calum’s eye. It never escaped you that when Calum did talk about marriage, he always ended the conversation—before it could even start, honestly—by simply stating he’d only marry someone he loved, someone who wanted him and not his title. He could easily tell which girls were like that—most of them were, he had said.

And you’d just listen, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that loving Calum was easier than breathing—and that it was his very title that suffocated the confession in your throat before it could ever escape.

Your eyes were glued to Calum, watching that easy smile on his face as he chatted away with the women, and your chest tightened almost painfully. Every single available woman, you knew, would trip over their feet for Calum’s attention, to be the one he takes a second look at and be curious for more. And it twisted something in your stomach at the thought of it someday happening—of it happening tonight.

You and Calum—you weren’t anything. Just two friends who were fooling around, to put it crudely. Who were you to be allowed a seat next to him other than the daughter of the crown’s advisor?

The truth—one you already knew—slapped you in the face as you forced down the rest of the wine. How could you have been so stupid, so foolish, to fall for the Prince? How could you have believed that sleeping with him on more than one occasion wouldn’t lead your heart into despair? How naïve.

You barely managed another hour of the party when you finally slipped away, feeling some guilt pool in your stomach at not being able to stick around for as long as Calum had wanted you to. But he was busy; many beautiful women were surrounding him in hopes of securing a future—he wouldn’t miss your presence too much, you figured.

Of course you ended up in the library once more—getting lost in a fictional world with made up characters sounded much more enchanting than being stuck in reality. It was empty, unsurprisingly, the music and chatter of guests in the ballroom muted as you ventured into the one place you felt most comfortable. Despite it being nighttime, the sky beyond the glass wall was light with the haze of snowfall, frost icing the glass.

You ventured down a random aisle, deciding to pick a book by whatever its title was, hoping it would be enough to distract you from the weight that had settled in your chest. You didn’t know what you were going to do; you desperately hoped this feeling, this ache and yearning, would disappear soon for your own good. But it was wishful thinking, a bitter part of your mind reminded. Falling in love with Calum had been effortless; falling out of it seemed impossible.

You didn’t dare acknowledge the idea of him not feeling the same way about you at all.

Your retreat to the library remained undisturbed for about twenty minutes when, in the quiet of the room, you heard one of the large doors creak open. You had found refuge on one of the leather chairs, your mask sitting on the table beside you as a novel about witches and witch-hunters sat open in your lap, legs folded beneath you as your dress pooled around your lap.

Your heart raced at the thought of who would come to the library while there was a party in honor of the Prince going on, and it damn near stopped when Calum himself appeared, his mask missing as his dark eyes found you.

The breath hitched in your throat as he frowned, approaching you, features shadowed thanks to the dull lighting you’d set the room into. As you peered at him, your stomach sank when you saw the disappointment etched into his face, mixing in with the hurt you hadn’t entirely expected. You knew it was a shitty thing to do, to leave his birthday celebration so early, but you had been thinking with your aching heart. Getting away in order to free yourself from the view of Calum with potential suitors had become a selfish priority.

He stood just a few feet away from you, shrugging bitterly as he asked, “Did you even try to see your promise through?”

You wanted to tell him you didn’t technically promise him anything. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a muttered, “Didn’t think you’d even notice I left.”

Calum frowned, eyebrows knitting together and lips pulling downwards. “Of course I noticed you left. I would’ve come here sooner but Mum kept me by her side.”

Dropping your gaze back down to the open book in your lap, you scoffed lightly. “Right—to introduce you to a potential bride.”

You were losing control of yourself, you knew, with how easily the sarcastic and bitter remarks were slipping past your mouth. It was pathetic how unabashedly you were letting your feelings be known, practically shining a light on your jealousy and resentment. And it wasn’t fair—not to Calum, that you’d fallen for him. That you never let him know that there was something more you wanted with him. That putting aside your reluctance of being in any kind of spotlight would’ve been so easy so long as he was by your side.

“To introduce me to potential suitors, yes,” Calum corrected carefully, slowly, and you could just hear the bewildered frown in his voice. You watched from your peripherals as he took a step towards you. “But I’ve told you—and Mum—that if I were to get married, it’d only be for love.”

There was a burning in your eyes and you cursed yourself for becoming emotional. You couldn’t cry, not because of this. You willed the tears to keep at bay as you looked up once more to look at Calum. He was still frowning, confused as to what was happening, probably wondering what had gotten you in such a foul mood. Too quietly did you respond, “What’s stopping you from falling in love with one of them?”

Dangerous. You were creeping towards dangerous, exposing territory, but you no longer found yourself caring. If he found out about your feelings, then so be it. You wouldn’t shy away, wouldn’t hide. Not anymore. He would know, and then it’d be up to him what to do with it. And maybe that was a coward’s way out, giving him the power so you wouldn’t have to make a decision, but it would make it easier to breathe.

Calum’s lips tightened as his jaw clenched, the muscle feathering under the skin as he looked down at you. Emotions swirled in his dark gaze—too many for you to grasp. His crown glinted against the lights, but you couldn’t help but think his eyes glittered far more beautifully. His throat worked, voice a deep rasp as he held your gaze and stated evenly, “I won’t fall for any of them. I’m already in love with you.”

The air rushed out of your lungs, almost audible in the silence that followed his unwavering confession. You were frozen where you sat, drinking in the sight of him as his words hung in the air. The honesty was bright in his eyes for you to see, open and true and needing you to believe the sincerity in his words—his feelings. Your throat locked as you took in the Prince before you—a King in every right—who had just laid himself bare in a few short words that meant everything.

He loved you. Calum was in love with you.

The tears you had tried to keep away ran freely down your cheeks. You didn’t even care that you could taste the salt on the corner of your lips. Something in Calum’s face crumpled when he saw your tears, and suddenly the Prince was on his knees before you, hands grasping yours in your lap as he looked up at you.

“I’ve been in love with you long before we started finding each other in this library,” Calum said, his voice low and raspy and honest. His hands were warm around yours, the chill of his rings enticing as always. But all you could focus on was his brown eyes. On his earnest words. “It was torture—being with you but not being with you. But I kept it to myself out of fear that you didn’t feel the same, that you didn’t want the. . . Attention of being with me.” It was terrifying—and exciting—how well he knew her, in regards to his second statement, of course. Calum cracked a smile, small and hopeful. “Because holding you like that. . . Kissing you. . . and still being just your friend was better than the alternative.”

Your heart was erratic in your chest, breath shaking as your trembling lips parted and you whispered, “You want to be with me? Outside of the library?”

Calum tipped his chin up, maintaining your gaze, a softness in his eyes that melted your heart. “I want to be with you in any way you’ll have me.”

You would be lying if you said there was no fear in that idea. It was present, of course, derived from your aversion to the attention you would no doubt receive by being at Calum’s side. You wanted him, not his crown, even though most would say it was one in the same. But if being with him meant being tied to the throne, then you would bear it. For your happiness, you would do it. For him, there was no question about it.

Calum was waiting for your response, for you to say something, hands still clutching yours. And although this turn of events was unexpected, slightly frightening—it was all the more exciting and relieving. He loved you. He’d beensilently loving you, perhaps for as long as you have him, and you would have laughed at both of your cluelessness if you weren’t so deliriously happy.

So you leaned forward, the book in your lap long forgotten, gaze never leaving Calum’s. The brown of his eyes was always so compelling, so alluring, his mouth waiting to be kissed. Your lips tilted up, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you told him quietly, “I’ve spent so long loving you between these aisles. I’m ready to do it out there, too.”

The smile he gave you wasn’t the one he wore as Prince, wasn’t the one he offered to lords and noblemen and their daughters and the media. No, this smile was one especially reserved for you; a smile that softened his eyes and decorated the corners with those happy crinkles, a smile that sent your heart racing and skin warming. It was the smile he gave you when you were in bed together, one he would shoot towards you during events neither of you were particularly fond of and your eyes met from across the room.

It was the smile he wore right before he kissed you for the first time since both of your feelings had been made clear, lips soft and eager. This smile was yours.

tags: @irwinkitten @loveroflrh @meetashthere @astroashtonio @loverofhood @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbabiesss @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @highfivecalum @malumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @miss-saltwatercowgirl @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @mindkaleidoscope @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @miahelizaaabeth @dramallamawithsparkles @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @tpwkcal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @wildflower-cth @wildflowergrae @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @gosh-im-short @notinthesameguey @mycollectionofnuts @cthwldflwr @everyscarisahealingplace @socorroann @talkfastromance4 @calumftduke @musichoney @treatallwithkindness @partlysunnycal @dead-and-golden @kaeleykaeley @harrys-sun-flower @br-hoe

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peakywitch · 4 years

Text

Little Hands - Michael Gray

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

word count: 2k

warnings: none (i think this one has angst?)

gif: @oberelias

It had been a year since Henry had told Y/N that he loved her.

It had been a year since they had kissed for the first time.

But a week had passed since his disappearance.

"He left." said Rosemary, her mother “And I don't know if he will come back, Y/N. I'm sorry, but I only know he's in Birmingham…” she sobbed “In a town called Small Heath.”

Y/N knew Henry would be back.

So every night during the rainy month of November she waited for him. In the afternoons she was with Rosemary, trying to calm the sadness of his mother and his little brother. At night she would stay up late, looking out the window of her room with cup of tea in her hand, waiting to see her boyfriend return from another town. To which, he had left without giving explanations. He disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving a simple note:

“I went to Small Heath. -Henry"

No goodbye, no explanation.

In the morning, Y/N woke up before the rooster from the neighboring farm. And by the time the rooster crowed, the tea was already poured into two cups. One for her, one for him.

Meanwhile, Y/N did not lose hope. Henry wasn't like that, he was coming back. She was sure.

When the thirty days of her departure were marked on the calendar, Y/N had her birthday. She turned 17 on a beautiful sunny afternoon, it was the only day in November without rain or clouds. Her family, the Johnsons, and some of her friends filled her with happiness when they gave her a new dress. They had all collaborated. Y/N was the soul of the town, always giving smiles and taking care of flowers. So her relatives wanted to give her back a bit of that happiness.

The day was beautiful, laughter, cake, some flowers and the dress.

But when the day was done and her parents fell asleep, Y/N waited by the fire, with a slice of the cake for Henry. She had saved the center, the sweetest piece. Wrapped in a blanket, the fire burned in her eyes, as tears fell and she realized the truth: Henry would not return again. He was not there for her birthday, he would not return again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the fire was dying; giving her to understand that she had to go to bed. With rage in her soul, she threw the slice of cake into the fire.

“Burn in fucking hell, Henry Johnson. Burn for breaking my heart.”

When the calendar marked ‪January 16‬, Y/N opened her eyes, feeling worse than ever.

After a sleepless night from throwing up, her body was taking its toll.

"Honey?" her dad asked, knocking on her door "It's late, are you okay?" He was still behind the door.

"No." His daughter whispered, it hurted her to breathe.

"Eve!" the alarmed cry of her father was heard, calling for her mother "You have to come, Y/N is feeling bad!"

There was agitated little chatter, and then her mom peeked through the slot left by the open door.

"Sun? Are you okay, love?" Her mom asked curious and concerned.

"No..." Y/N cried.

Her parents entered the room, after asking permission. Her mother sat next to her, touching her forehead, and her father stood in the doorway, nervous.

“You don't have a fever, darling. What do you feel? What’s hurting? "

Y/N recounted the horrible night she had just had, her pains and asked if she was dying, worried.

"Will, would you leave us alone, please?" asked her mother.

He left the room, leaving his daughter and his wife together.

"Y/N, did you sleep with Henry?" her mother asked, concerned.

"No!" she blurted out nervously.

Yes. But she was afraid of punishment.

“Y/N, you don't have to be afraid. It is something natural and normal, as long as you wanted and he did not forced you, your father and I will be fine. "

Y/N sighed.

"Yes."

"When was the first time?" her mother was a teacher, but sometimes, if she tried hard, she could guess things just by looking at a person. She was trying now.

"I don't know..." she thought "A year or so ago."

"And when was the last time?" she asked.

“A few months ago, Mom. Before…” she couldn't finish the sentence. First it was out of sadness, but she realized it was out of fear.

His mother closed her eyes and exhaled.

Shit.

It was ‪January the 18‬, and it was ten in the morning.

Y/N was standing in front of the Small Heath Police Station.

She was showing off her new dress, as she hadn't had a chance to leave her small town.

She took a deep breath and coughed a little as she exhaled. The smoke was disgustingly heavy. She entered the station and found only one man, asleep. Well, apparently it was a quiet city if a policeman was sleeping.

What I do? Do I wake him up? Do I let him sleep?

Among so many doubts, a robust man with a gray mustache appeared.

"Are you lost, miss?" the lord spoke, presenting a strong Irish accent.

"Oh, excuse me, I..." Y/N whispered, doubtful and nervous.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Inspector Campbell…and you are?" smiled the man.

"My name is Y/N, Inspector." She smiled.

"Well, Miss Y/N, what is a young lady like you doing at the police station in such a dark area?"

"Do you know Henry Johnson?" she blurted out, no introduction.

"Henry Johnson..."

"Yeah… um… He has dark blue eyes, a freckled nose, brown hair…" she tried to describe Henry.

"Does he have a mole on his forehead?" asked the inspector.

"Yes!" Y/N smiled excitedly. Then sadness washed over her: she had slowly forgotten how to describe Henry.

The inspector laughed.

"Don't you mean Michael Gray?" he asked.

"Pardon?" she asked, oblivious to the name.

"Watery Lane, house number 65." He said, while he wrote the address on a small piece of paper.

After a thank you and a goodbye, she heard the man scream:

"Stay away from the Shelbys, princess!"

Y/N walked aimlessly for a few minutes, passing houses, horses, and drunken men in the street. Watery Lane seemed never to appear. And she was getting tired.

It was official, after wandering for ten minutes, she was lost. Her feet ached and she felt like she would never find Henry. Y/N looked around, she was in the middle of the street trying to get help. At the end of the street, there was a bar: "The Garrison" read the sign. Being eleven in the morning, how many people would be inside? Sure was closed. But she would loose nothing if she tried. Determined, she walked over to that dark bar and knocked on the door. She waited a few moments, since she did not want to annoy by entering as if it were her home. A tall man opened the door for her.

“Did you knock on the bar door, love?" asked the man, with curiosity and amusement in his voice. Y/N looked him quickly up and down, it was the bartender.

"Yes, I didn't mean to disturb, sir..." Y/N smiled, making the bartender laugh.

"Do not worry, love. Need help? I'm sure you're lost "

"Am I so obvious?" she asked embarrassed, the bartender laughed “Actually, I do need help. Where is...” she looked at the paper the Inspector gave her "Watery Lane? "

“You're on Watery Lane, miss. What number do you have written there? "

"Sixty..." she looked at the paper to corroborate "sixty five"

"Oh." The man became uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His voice cleared "It's at the end of the block, on the right side, has the number on the door."

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled.

“Harry, miss. Harry." Smiled.

They said goodbye, and Y/N went to Henry's house. In a minute, she reached the black door, which featured two clean numbers. The knot in Y/N's stomach intensified, she was afraid. Because she knew the two results of this visit: either Henry stayed with her, or he left her alone. Again.

Determined but scared, she knocked on the door. Stepped back and waited a few seconds.

“Well, well, well..." smiled a boy "Did all my wishes come true?" the stranger's flirtation made her uncomfortable.

"Excuse me, is Henry Johnson here?" she asked, exasperated and almost hopeless.

"Oi, Michael, a damsel in distress is waiting for you." the boy yelled, without taking his eyes off the girl.

There was that name again. Michael. Y/N had too many questions.

"John, fuck off. I don't have any..."Henry appeared, pulling “John” out of his place at the door "Y/N...”

Henry paled, and Y/N looked closely at what he was wearing.

He had a perfectly pressed white shirt, a blue tie and a vest that matched his pants.

Henry closed the door behind him, leaving the house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Was it disdain and disgust, what Y/N perceived in that question? No, impossible. It was Henry.

"Why did you left?" she answered with a question.

"I asked you first."

"Has your question been in your head for months?" Y/N asked angrily.

"No but..."

“You left us. All of us." Y/N spat with pain "Your mother cried every day, your brother...Henry, your brother...!"

"My name is not Henry, Y/N!" he yelled out of the blue.

“My name is not Henry, she is not my mother and he is not my brother. My name is Michael Gray, my mother's name is Polly and I have a sister who died in Australia. I...”he tried to continue to expand angrily, but Y/N cut him off.

“You, fucking idiot, you had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who waited for you every night with your favorite tea, waited for you every morning with fresh toasts and all afternoon hugging your crying mother. I waited for you until my birthday. I had saved you cake, your favorite part. I went to bed at three in the morning and got up at five everyday, so I could be attentive in case you arrived. But you never came, Henry."

"I am Michael!" he screamed, his voice raised with every letter he said.

"I'm talking to who my boyfriend was!" Y/N yelled in response “I don't know who the fuck is Michael Gray. But I know that Henry Johnson left me alone, and that he got pregnant. So I'm talking to Henry Johnson, not Michael Gray."

Michael clenched his jaw, and Y/N wiped away his tears with his shaking hand.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Four months. I thought you should know, Henry...Michael...whoever the fuck you are."

Adrenaline rushed through Michael's body, everything was shaking. Y/N saw in her boyfriend's eyes how he didn't know what to say or what to do.

"Get rid of him." he said.

"What?" Y/N asked, flustered.

“I won't be with you, get rid of him. It would be easier."

Nausea invaded the girl's body, making her dizzy.

“Everything is so easy for you. If you don't want something, you run away, right?" she laughed sourly, through tears of hatred.

They were both silent.

"Why did you left without saying goodbye? Or a letter...Michael.” the name escaped the girl's lips nervously.

"I didn't want to hurt you..."

Y/N laughed. While Michael was being honest, she couldn't help but get even angrier.

“So you decided to disappear. Disappear from the life of a seven-year-old who sleeps in one of your sweaters so he can stop crying to you. Disappear from the lives of your adoptive parents, regardless of all the effort they put into raising you. Disappear from my life, the person who loves you. Like nothing in the world."

"Y/N..." Michael began.

"No, you don't get to say anything. Because there is nothing to say anymore. Except I'm sorry, but you're not sorry. Everything is perfect now for you. Look at you." She smiled wistfully “You have the perfect outfit that you always wanted, so I imagine you have a job. And a good one, as you always dreamed of. "

"But you..." he began.

“But I” Y/N interrupted again “But I'm going to have a child of yours. As we always dream." Y/N laughed “I dreamed, actually. Because you had other dreams."

And just like that, she began to walk away.

"No, Y/N, wait..." Michael yelled, starting to run towards her.

“I already waited too long for you. I won’t wait for you anymore, never again.” she sentenced, without looking at him as she continued walking.

Michael's chest sagged as he watched her walk away. He entered his house again, with a heavy heart.

"Michael" said Tommy, Michael looked at him heavily "A word?"

Both men locked themselves in the major's office, Tommy stood still and Michael sat in one of the chairs.

“Arthur had a girlfriend, before he went to war. The day before...” said Tommy, lighting a cigarette" The day before our departure, they fought. Shit, it was hell for him. They were so, so angry about something that I can no longer remember, that he went to France without saying goodbye. You know how much of an arsehole he can be." Tommy was going through a drawer, took out a sepia photo.

"She died within two weeks of smallpox, he never forgave himself." Tommy handed him the photo as he sat down in his chair across from Michael.

“We kill men, bad men. Hell, we even torture some. But we never break women's hearts, Michael. Because it is dying in life. So bloody go, and fix all the shit you've done." Tommy said, with an angry tone in his voice, but still not yelling.

"She won't even want to think of me, she'll kill me with her little hands..." Michael smiled sadly, remembering how Y/N's hands looked like baby hands compared to his.

“If she kills you, she will bring you back. Or have you not heard how she waited for you? Go, bloody idiot. Go and don't come back until you come back with her smiling and on your arm.”

PART TWO

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serwynterwulf · 3 years

Text

LFRP Braxis Wynterwulf

“The Savage Knight”

The Basics

Age: Late 30′s

Birthday: Unknown

Race: Highlander

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Balmung

Physical Appearance

Hair: Light Brown

Eyes: Icy blue

Height: 6′8

Build: Muscular

Distinguishing Marks: Three scars on his face, prosthetic magitek left hand, various cuts, bite, burn and claw marks are scattered across his body. Tattoo’s on his shoulders/arms.

Common Accessories: Wolf and Dragon Claws/Fangs, Family Ring, Various rune marked bracers and charms.

Personal

Profession: Dragoon / Mercenary

Hobbies: Fighting, Feasting, Hunting, Training, Fighting, Drinking, Fighting

Languages: Common

Residence: The Pillars

Birthplace: Limsa

Religion: Ancestral Worship + The Twelve.

Patron Deity: Halone & Rhalgr

Fears: Failure, Being too weak, Being the one his family and clan dies with.

Relationships

Spouse: N/A

Children: Io Saarwulf (Adopted)

Parents: Ragnar Direwulf (Deceased) Beatrice Beatsong (Deceased)

Siblings: Quill Sureshot, Roric Eldar, Venoiux Grinningwulf, Asmaria Soulmender and about 4 more he doesn’t list off often.

Distance Relatives: Asher Rukoth (Cousin), Aelin Stormwulf (Cousin), Kilaani Bloodwulf (Cousin, Deceased), Alexander Greywolf (Uncle, Deceased) Delvaani Songwulf (Aunt, Deceased), Astrid Redwulf (Cousin, MIA), Hunter Ironwulf (Cousin, MIA), Connor Wulf (Nephew, MIA) Siv Wulf (Niece, MIA) Jorgen Frostwulf (Grandfather….Frozen?) Sigrid Bloodwulf (Grandmother, also frozen.) Hugo Boulderfist (Uncle, Father like figure from mother’s side.)

Pets: Snow, a Coerthas bred Ghost Wolf. A silent, grumpy canine. Along with Pup a Natalan War Wolf and Coerthas Ghost Wolf mutt. A more friendly, slightly smaller version of Snow

Additional Notes:

Bastard: Born out of wedlock to a traveling Ishgardian Knight and a daughter of an Ala Mhigan merchant. With his fathers early death it left him and his newly disowned mother in Limsa for many years.

Prosthetic Hand: Losing his left hand near the end of the Dragonsong War was a blow to the highlander both in mind and body. But after four prototype hands and thanks to Asher. The man now boasts a well made and “Braxis Proof” Prosthetic magitek hand. Allowing him to control his aether more efficiently, even recently covered in various runic markings.

Card: https://braxis.carrd.co

ART: https://imgur.com/a/YOGOS

Traits

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

RP Hooks

Including but not limited to..

Hooligan Years: Despite acting as if he has lived in Ishgard all his years. This Ishgardian bastard born spent his childhood in the streets and waters of Limsa Lominsa. You might recognize this hooligan street rat if you stared at him long enough.

Former Dragoon: Serving in the Order of the Dragoon for six ~ eight years, being retired from the order shortly before the end of the Dragonsong War. Although temporarily brought back in when the battles climax rose to the heavens at the very gates of The Holy See. It would be easy for a fellow Dragoon to spot this war tested veteran.

Ishgardian Noble: A fact about himself he begrudgingly accepts. With the previous Lord of Wulves, Alexander Greywulf’s passing at the end of the Dragonsong War. Leadership of the Houses Warbands and the House Itself have fallen onto the shoulders of this Highlander. Any of Ishgards noble would have an easy time spotting this Savage Knight amongst a crowd of nobles.

White Wolf of Coerthas: Was a title earned in his years as a Dragoon. Leading small hunting parties or pairs with ruthless efficiency like a wolf hunting its prey. His most common partner was another dragoon of renown, Claude Duval the Bronze Dragoon. The two were well known for constantly one upping one another.

Mercenary Warband: Either it be earning coin and glory to keep their household a float. Dispatching The Holy See and her allies enemies, or plundering and raiding Garlean assets. It would not be uncommon to hear of his company’s boasting in local taverns or similar venues. ((FC Card: https://wm-rp.carrd.co/ )

Contact Information

Tumblr: @serwynterwulf or @braxis-ooc

Twitter: @BraxisRp

Discord: Braxis#1996

OOC information

I work from 8am - 4pm EST and I am normally not on till roughly and hour or two after that pending on what is going on IRL.

I am over the age of 21 and do enjoy Dark/Mature Rp, etc, even more so if it serves a greater story arc. Although I do find casual RP even more so with this character highly enjoyable. I am looking for all sorts of connections for this character. Ships and the such I am more then happy to discuss.

#FF14 #LFRP #Balmung #Braxis Wynterwulf

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arkaniist · 4 years

Text

I wrote 2.5k words about Tolkien, WWI, Le Morte d’Arthur, the Iliad and Odyssey, and more, all bundled happily in an essay about queer subtext in the Lord of the Rings revolving around the relationship between Sam and Frodo. I posted about this before, and someone asked me to post the essay, so here it is!

Homoerotic Subtext in the Lord of the Rings

In June of 1916, J. R. R. Tolkien shipped out from England to France to join his comrades on the Western Front. In July, he would participate in one of the bloodiest struggles of World War 1, the Battle of the Somme. Just a month later, he would be struck with Trench Fever, placing him in convalescence or behind a desk for the remainder of the war. Though his front-line experience was short, there is no denying the effect that the war and the loss of his closest friends had on Tolkien, nor the influence it had on his writing in the post-war years. Much has been written on that topic already. However, there is one aspect of Tolkien’s time in the service which is underexplored when it comes to the literary critique of his legendarium – of which the Lord of the Rings is but a piece – and that is his exposure to the widespread homoerotic attitudes which were a common undercurrent in the British armed forces during that time.

Homosexuality has always been an overlooked behavior on the front during wartime, even as it passed from common practice to taboo. One reason for this might be that people who are worried about being shot to death in a trench have other things to worry about besides who their mates might be kissing. Another might be that facing death brings a greater appreciation for love to the front of the mind, and it does not matter which gender that appreciation is directed towards. As a result, we find many examples in literature and letters of men expressing chaste but deep homoerotic love for other men. In The Great War and Modern Memory, Paul Fussel writes that in WWI-era battlefield poetry, one could not fail to notice ‘the unique physical tenderness, the readiness to admire openly the bodily beauty of young men, the unapologetic recognition that men may be in love with each other.’ (303). “War poetry has the subversive tendency to be our age’s love poetry.” he quotes Richard Fein. In that case, we must examine war literature for the same sentiments.

Most common in officers towards their men, we find ‘something more like the “idealistic,” passionate but non-physical “crushes” which most of the officers had experienced at public school. … What inspired such passions was — as always — faunlike good looks, innocence, vulnerability, and “charm.” The object was mutual affection, protection, and admiration.’ (Fussel 295) This makes sense, as ‘the tradition in Victorian homosexuality and homoeroticism [is] that soldiers are especially attractive. What makes them so is their youth, their athleticism, their relative cleanliness, their uniforms, and their heroic readiness, like Adonis or St. Sebastian, for “sacrifice.”’ (Fussel 302) In the Lord of the Rings, we find Frodo described as ‘taller than some and fairer than most, and he has a cleft in his chin: perky chap with a bright eye.’ (Tolkien 163). At his coming-of-age birthday party, he inherits the great evil that is the One Ring from his great uncle; he is an unintentional sacrificial lamb. Later, when he volunteers to take the One Ring to Mt. Doom knowing that it is likely a one-way trip if he can even make it that far, we find in our protagonist a young, beautiful, self-sacrificing hero.

Fussel writes that ‘although the usual course of protective affection was from superior to subordinate, sometimes the direction was reversed, with men developing hero-worshipping crushes on their young officers.’ (297) Enter Frodo’s counterpart and co-protagonist, Samwise Gamgee. Tolkien wrote in a 1956 letter to a fan that “My ‘Samwise’ is indeed (as you note) largely a reflexion [sic] of the English soldier—grafted on the village-boys of early days, the memory of the privates and my batmen that I knew in the 1914 War, and recognized as so far superior to myself.” (Letter 187)

A batman, in military parlance, was a soldier who, as well as fighting, oversaw an officer’s kit, cooking, and cleaning. (Garth) However, Sam is so much more than Frodo’s servant, though they start the journey as master of the house and gardener. Sam shows an incredible dedication to Frodo that cannot be explained as mere class-based loyalty. Take this passage from Return of the King when the enemy has captured Frodo. The Hobbits are separated, and Sam is up against what seems like impossible odds – faced with the task of raiding an entire tower he assumes is filled with enemies, alone, armed only with a short sword. He does not even know where Frodo is or if he is still alive:

‘… Except for that little frightened rat, I do believe there’s nobody left alive in the place!’

And with that he stopped, brought up hard, as if he had hit his head against the stone wall. The full meaning of what he had said struck him like a blow. Nobody left alive! Whose had been that horrible dying shriek? ‘Frodo, Frodo! Master!’ he cried, half sobbing. ‘If they’ve killed you, what shall I do? Well, I’m coming at last, right to the top, to see what I must.’ (Tolkien 887)

… He cared no longer for Shagrat or Snaga or any other orc that was ever spawned. He longed only for his master, for one sight of his face or one touch of his hand. (Tolkien 889)

Besides demonstrating Sam’s willingness to face certain death rather than leave Frodo, this passage is a perfect illustration of another one of Tolkien’s literary inspirations besides the Great War. Tolkien was a scholar of European mythology, drawing inspiration for his legendarium from epic myths like the Old English Beowulf and the Finnish Kalevala. Read the following lines from Le Morte d’Arthur regarding King Arthur’s death:

Then Sir Bedivere cried: Ah my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies? … And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest… (Mallory, Book 21 ch. V.)

Alas, said Sir Bedivere, that was my lord King Arthur, that here lieth buried in this chapel. Then Sir Bedivere swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide with him still there, to live with fasting and prayers. For from hence will I never go, said Sir Bedivere, by my will, but all the days of my life here to pray for my lord Arthur. (Mallory, Book 21 ch. VI.)

These Medieval warrior relationships themselves draw from an even older literary tradition, one with not so much covert homoerotism but overt homosexuality. Ancient homosexual pederastic relationships like that of Alexander and Hephaestion or Achilles and Patroclus form the model for many close male warrior literary relationships. Compare Achilles’ reaction to Patroclus’ death in the Iliad to that of Bedivere to Arthur’s and Sam to Frodo’s:

A dark cloud of grief fell upon Achilles as he listened. He filled both hands with dust from off the ground, and poured it over his head, disfiguring his comely face, and letting the refuse settle over his shirt so fair and new. He flung himself down all huge and hugely at full length, and tore his hair with his hands. … Antilochus bent over him the while, weeping and holding both Achilles’ hands as he lay groaning for Antilochus feared that Achilles might plunge a knife into his own throat. (Homer, Book XVIII)

Near-suicidal grief at the loss of the beloved is a common theme between the three of them. Achilles lives to avenge Patroclus, Bedivere lives to pray for Arthur’s soul, and Sam, as luck and Tolkien would have it, lives to save Frodo, who was not dead after all, though it was a close thing. Sam’s joy at finding Frodo alive is as poignant as his grief at having thought he lost him – unashamed physical affection and more tears follow the discovery of his master.

[Frodo] was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.

‘Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!’ cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. ‘It’s Sam, I’ve come!’ He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast.

…

‘Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

Sam felt he could sit like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed. It was not enough for him to find his master, he had still to try and save him. He kissed Frodo’s forehead. (Tolkien 889)

Tolkien’s earlier description of Sam as a combination of village boy and batman fits neatly with Fussel’s declaration that ‘to the degree that front-line homoeroticism was sentimental it can be seen to constitute another element of pastoral.’ (Fussel 300) In the Lord of the Rings, the Shire – Sam and Frodo’s home – represents the ultimate ideal of Pastoralism. In the Shire, Hobbits live community-focused rural lives with minimal conflict, drinking and feasting and partying, with little to no exposure to more advanced societies of the East. In that light, the entire quest of the Lord of the Rings can be seen as a removal from the Pastoral – the world becomes darker, less hospitable, and less natural the further East the Hobbits travel until they reach their end goal: a blighted, unnatural wasteland dominated by machinery.

As Frodo falls further and further under the sway of the One Ring, he forgets the Shire. He loses his connection to his pastoral home. Nevertheless, ever at his side is his loyal Sam, who recalls even in the darkest moments the comforts of home. Sam is Frodo’s link to the pastoral ideal when his suffering is the greatest. Sam’s yearning for the pastoral often comes up in the form of recalling Frodo as he was in the Shire. This is exemplified by the following passage near the end of their quest, just after the One Ring has been destroyed:

‘Well, this is the end, Sam Gamgee,’ said a voice by his side. And there was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again; and in his eyes there was peace now, neither strain of will, nor madness, nor any fear. His burden was taken away. There was the dear master of the sweet days in the Shire.

‘Master!’ cried Sam, and fell upon his knees. In all that ruin of the world for the moment he felt only joy, great joy. The burden was gone. His master had been saved; he was himself again, he was free. (Tolkien 926)

While Sam represents and thus easily returns to an idyllic pastoral existence after the war, Frodo remains haunted by his experiences. Finally, we reach the real end of Frodo and Sam’s journey, the temporary separation before the eternal unification. Frodo and Sam go to see off Frodo’s uncle, and there Frodo reveals he will be passing into the West as well – a form of eternal life in Middle Earth, but one that is forever separate from the rest of the world:

‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood, what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you. … You will … keep alive the memory of the age that is gone, so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more.’ (Tolkien 1006)

Here we see Frodo acknowledge that this separation splits Sam’s spirit – part of Sam goes to his home and family, but part always goes with Frodo. Frodo encourages him to live the rest of his life fully in the Shire, and when the time has come, he can reunite with Frodo in the ‘afterlife.’ Contrast this to Patroclus’ final request of Achilles in the Iliad:

“One prayer more will I make you, if you will grant it; let not my bones be laid apart from yours, Achilles, but with them; … let our bones lie in but a single urn, the two-handled golden vase given to you by your mother.” (Homer, Book XXIII)

Furthermore, the resolution in the Odyssey, as Odysseus reassures Achilles that his will was done:

Your mother brought us a golden vase to hold them—gift of Bacchus, and work of Vulcan himself; in this we mingled your bleached bones with those of Patroclus who had gone before you… (Homer, Book XXIV)

Return of the King ends with Sam riding home with a heavy heart to his family after watching Frodo’s ship depart to the West. Like the Iliad and Odyssey, we must read a bit further to determine what eventually happens with Frodo and Sam. The Lord of the Rings has a massive amount of supplementary material, including maps and family trees. In Appendix B, we find a chronology of the years before, during, and after the main novels. It reveals that at age 96, after the death of his wife, Samwise rides out to the Havens and passes over the Great Sea to unite with Frodo for the final time.

Queerness is often overlooked in serious examinations of literature, especially when the voices of cishet men dominate the discussion, as they do in Tolkien scholarship. Tolkien scholars have repeatedly dismissed the idea of homoeroticism in Tolkien’s works as silly fangirls making things gay for titillation, which erases queer voices and condemns queerness to the realm of the unrealistic and ahistorical.

I have been a fan of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit since I was queer child struggling with gender identity and sexual attraction. In sixth grade, I received my first copy of the Lord of the Rings, and I read it voraciously until the pages started to fall out. Although I did not fully recognize the homoerotic undertones back then, I still yearned for the deep, lasting, emotionally fulfilling, and life-changing same-sex relationships I saw in those books. Even 20 years later, as a queer adult, the idea that I might share something so intensely personal with my heroes is vitally important to me. J. R. R. Tolkien died in 1973. He was a devout Catholic who maintained a lasting friendship with a gay poet and spoke with great esteem of a novel about gay men written by a lesbian; one can hardly imagine what he might have said about the idea of queer subtext in his writing. But if I, a queer reader, recognize some essential part of myself in Sam or Frodo, if I see my bonds in their bond, is that not enough to warrant an entrance into the discussion and serious consideration? Whether you see their relationship as a purely platonic friendship or a great romance of the ages, Sam and Frodo are in love.

Works Cited

Fussel, Paul. The Great War and Modern Memory. Oxford University Press, 2013

Garth, John. “Sam Gamgee and Tolkien’s batmen.” 13 February 2013, [msg for link].

Homer. The Iliad. Translated by Samuel Butler. Project Gutenberg, 2000. [msg for link].

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Samuel Butler. Project Gutenberg, 1999. [msg for link].

Malory, Thomas. Le Morte d’Arthur, edited by Caxton, William, and Sir Edward Strachey. Project Gutenberg, 2014. [msg for link].

Tolkien, J. R. R. “Letter 187.” The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Tolkien, Christopher, and Humphrey Carpenter. Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

—. The Lord of the Rings. HarperCollinsPublishers, 1994.

#lord of the rings #lotr #queer theory #queer academia #sam x frodo #samfrodo #samfro #is that the tumblr shipname?#if u wanna cite this anywhere now that i'm officially publishing it (by posting it) u absolutely can #but please credit me as Alex Kakela and not arkaniis lmfao

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gingerwritess · 5 years

Note

It’s my birthday tomorrow!!! Can I get some wholesome Loki birthday content? 🥺 ilysm

sorry i missed it hon, happiest of birthdays to you and all the birthdays i’ve missed!! hopefully this makes up for it!

read on to get a little drunk with Loki on cheap champagne (this is the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written oh lord it’s my new favourite)

For the past couple weeks, Loki’s been plotting.

You’d say planning, but that’s not quite what’s been going on. He’s…plotting. Setting an elaborate plot, not just making plans, thinking he’s being slick about it.

Not quite.

The fifth mistake was his random “let’s play would you rather” attempt around the dinner table.

Starting subtly with “would you rather drive or fly somewhere?”

You’d opened your mouth to answer, but Elliot cut you off.

“I’m learning how t’ fly. Mr. Wilson’s teachin’ me.”

…which only caused immediate chaos in the Loka household, resulting in a few panicked calls to Sam wondering how in fresh hell he thought putting your six year old in a flying robot-bird-suit was a good idea.

Apparently it was only once, and Bucky was on the ground watching, and Elliot wasn’t wearing the suit, I was carrying him—‘cause that’s so much better.

So on the evening of the day before your birthday, when Loki insisted on starting the celebration, you didn’t call Sam or Bucky. You called Peter.

Why is trusting a seventeen year old kid with your children easier than trusting two grown adults? THOSE grown adults??

He’s a good kid, and actually had been Loki’s first choice of a babysitter. He arrives right on time, ever the politest, and immediately gets dragged off by an excited Elliot to go play Legos.

“Feel free to leave!” He yells from Elliot’s room, “I’ve got them under control!”

“I’m unassured,” Loki announces.

You have to agree.

After showing Peter where to find dinner, Frigg’s favourite blanket, extra diapers just in case, the fire extinguisher, and the other basic items needed for Loka-home survival, you both kiss your kiddos goodbye with a stern “be good.”

Loki lays your coat over your shoulders and offers you his arm.

“We’d better be off, and I’m driving. No arguments.”

“Goodbye forever,” you sigh to your children.

—

Loki’s evil scheme turns out to be…not so evil.

He did drive, rather well, actually, and simply booked a reservation for two in a chic, modern restaurant overlooking the city.

“Surprise,” he smiles, offering his arm once again when you step out of the car.

You take it, albeit suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“Elliot made me promise not to keep you to myself on your birthday,” he explains with a laugh. “So tonight is just for us. No obligations, no diapers, and absolutely no stress.”

Right there in the middle of the parking lot, you wind your arms around his neck and pull him close, pressing your lips to his.

“Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, grinning against your lips. “I adore you.”

There’s a skip in his step when you head off towards the city walk, hands intertwined and swinging mindlessly between the two of you.

A dream of golden darkness, night has fallen beautifully over the city, bringing an unexpected rain along with it as people hurry by, window shop, stroll aimlessly.

“Ah, your first gift,” Loki remarks when you step out from under the parking structure, lifting his face to the rain. “A kiss in the rain. Redeemable whenever you see fit.”

“Please tell me you didn’t put Thor up to this,” you giggle, grabbing the umbrella from his coat pocket. Opening it with a quick shake, you give Loki’s hand a tug and pull him under it. “Bribe him for rain tonight or anything.”

“Mhm.” A soft smile tugs at his rain-speckled lips. “I use my brother to seduce my wife, of course.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“Maybe,” he purrs, arms slipping around your waist to pull you against him. “I’d say it’s working, wouldn’t you?”

You just hum contentedly and let him sweep you off into this rainy, city-lit dream, complete with a kiss in the rain that leaves you breathless, the umbrella slipping from your grip.

“We really should be going now,” he whispers when the kiss morphs into an embrace, catching the umbrella and moving it back over the two of you. “Don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“To hell with the reservation—”

“No,” Loki laughs and pushes you gently away. “I did something relatively normal and exceptionally midgardian, so we’re following through with it, no questions asked.”

You huff and complain the whole way, grabbing Loki a few times in the middle of crosswalks to steal a smooch—not that he argues against it, at all—but eventually, Loki comes to a stop in front of the restaurant and pries his hand from yours.

“Remember,” he hums as he opens the door for you, “we’re perfectly average humans.”

“Gotcha. You definitely aren’t a wizard.”

“Exactly.”

Loki’s apparently in the mood to impress you tonight, judging from the beautiful restaurant and the prices on the menu. There’s a tiny hint of smugness to his smile as he helps you out of your coat and pulls your chair out for you before sitting down himself, so once he’s seated across from you, you quirk a suspicious eyebrow.

“So. What movies have you been watching, dear?”

He quirks an eyebrow right back.

“The same as you, my love, why do you ask?”

“You’re being weird.” You prop the menu up in front of your face, just to send him pointed glares right over the top.

“I am attempting to be romantic,” he replies, mirroring your actions with his own. “Now shush and let me spoil you.”

You give an indignant scoff, but go back to browsing the menu, pretending not to notice how Loki’s locked his ankle with yours.

That may be the worst conflict he’s had to face yet - whether to sit next to you and be within touching distance, or across from you to more easily speak with and gaze at you.

He’s left one hand empty, resting on the table as he scans the menu, so you take it and lean over to press a quick kiss to his knuckles.

“Heh—no, I’m supposed t—y-you don’t—”

“Shush, Loki.” Behind your menu you smile, overly pleased at his instant fluster. “Let me spoil you.”

After composing himself slightly—though not letting go of your hand—he flags down your server and asks for the “most expensive, hardest to acquire bottle of wine in your stock.”

The server, some twenty year old named Matt, looked slightly confused, but brought it nonetheless.

Loki, ever the showoff, pours it with a flick of his fingers all the while mouthing something close to you are so beautiful across the table. You don’t last long; crumbling into a fit of laughter, you shove his hand away and bury your face in your hands.

“You’re so weird,” you laugh, shaking your head. “What is your deal tonight??”

“Look, it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to go out.” He shrugs, a grin on his lips at the sight of yours. “I’m just trying to take every advantage of tonight! Just drink your wine and let me spoil you, norns.”

“I thought you wanted to be average tonight,” you snort and lift your wine glass. “But okay, fine. To spoiling each other.”

“To spoiling you.”

“No, you.”

“Don’t start this,” he warns, clinks his glass against yours, and takes a sip with you.

The drink hits your tongues and for a split second you consider—only to spit the wine right back into your glasses.

“Oh, my god, that was disgusting,” you gag, trying not to laugh when Loki takes the napkin straight to his tongue.

“I don’ think ‘at kid was e’en old ‘nuff t’ drink,” Loki responds ever so eloquently.

When Matt come back around, Loki spits out the napkin and orders the exact opposite of this bottle: “your cheapest, please.”

It’s a simple champagne in a golden bottle, and this one Loki pours by hand.

“Take two.”

Another clink, another testing taste—

“Oh, yeah. Much better.”

By the time you’re done with the bottle, it tastes expensive.

Ever since Frigg was born, it doesn’t take so much to get Loki tipsy—no more immediate need for some special “Asgardian” liquor, because with the general sleep deprivation and slow deterioration of hyper-masculine Asgardian “tolerance” levels, he’s been slowly relaxing.

You can’t complain. Luckily, alcohol only adds to Loki’s charm, turning him into a giggly, affectionate, ridiculously touch starved poet who doesn’t give a single crap about opinions on pda.

Judging from the flush of his cheeks and how he’s stroking your calf with his ankle, he’s teetering off the tipsy edge by the bottom of the bottle.

“You,” he announces, and points his fork at you, “are my lover.”

“Mmmhm.” The pride shines clear on your face, and you don’t mind him seeing.

“That’s so…so fantastic. You are the one who loves me. And I am the one who loves you.”

“Life is so cool.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Loki grins. He takes a bite of his dinner and washes it down with another sip.

And there in that much-too-posh restaurant, soaking in a bubble bath of golden champagne, you absolutely cannot die, it’s simply incomprehensible, so you lean in with a grin of your own and theatrically whisper one of his favourite words.

“Never.”

The wink you slap on the end of your promise seems to send Loki’s thoughts spiralling into elsewhere, and you go back to your dinner with a flustered little smirk.

Loki doesn’t hesitate to order dessert, waving off your tipsy concerns about how expensive the first three courses were, and when the pièce de résistance arrives in all it’s nine layer, dark chocolate, gold flakes and vanilla gelato glory, your protests drown in the second champagne bottle.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Loki tuts when you reach for it, and he holds up his own fork, visibly fighting back a laugh. “You are my birthday girl. This–this has to be something romantic.”

“But I wanna eat it all. Romantically.”

He plucks up a beautiful, decadent bite and lifts it to your lips, his chin resting on his hand as he watches you lean over to take the bite off his fork.

Even with your lamely “seductive” attempts to lick your lips, Loki promptly bursts out laughing.

“What??” You cry, grabbing a napkin and furiously searching your mouth for any messes. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you, darling,” he snorts and lifts his fork to show you. “I can’t–I can’t feed you anymore, I can’t—”

He can’t breathe, he’s laughing so hard, forehead on the table and shoulders shaking as you watch on in confusion.

“I’m kinda offended, baby.” You reach over and take your own slightly angry bite of dessert. Maybe it wasn’t the prettiest bite you’ve ever taken, but hell, it’s your birthday and you’re drunk.

“All I see is our kids,” Loki wheezes, nearly crying with laughter. “We’ve fed them both, so–so now I just—heheh—all I can see is feeding you—”

Then he breaks off into incoherent snorts, and you manage to piece it together.

The image of little Frigg, onesie-clad and head lolling back onto her high chair with her mouth consistently open and ready for food to fall into it, flashes through your mind.

She makes these little open-mouthed grunts if she doesn’t get food upon request, head still thrown back and mouth still wide open, like a tiny baby raven freshly hatched and begging it’s mother for a meal. With that striking image of your daughter in mind, you consider what you must have looked like just then, across the table, and burst out laughing, too.

The two of you give it a couple more tries, switching off with who’s feeding who, but when you decide to bounce the forkful of chocolate heaven towards Loki’s mouth with a giggly “here comes the train—choo choo!” Loki wheezes so hard he falls out of his chair, and you collapse onto your silverware, weeping with laughter.

Matt calls you a cab.

The driver is a wiry little man with a tough face and a shiny bald spot, and brilliant blue eyes. Todd, Loki deduces as he climbs in after you. He refrains from commenting on the bald spot, but norns, it shines like a diamond.

“Todd?” Loki asks after a moment of sitting primly in your seats, heads held high and hands folded in your laps.

The epitome of “too much to drink,” but to the two of you, right now, you could pass as perfect royalty.

“Yup.”

“If I were to double the price of this trip, would you mind if I kissed my wife?”

Todd ponders the request for half a second.

“It’s her birthday,” Loki helpfully adds.

And shoots you a ridiculous wink that seems ridiculously attractive, at the moment.

“Meh, what the hell.” Todd shrugs. “But clothes stay on.”

Loki salutes and is on you in an instant, and the rest of the trip is a complete blur of giggles and shushing and sloppy kisses with no seatbelts until Loki rips himself from your grip to gasp “here!” to Todd.

You blindly follow him out of the car, still ridden with giggles and not at all minding the view you get when Loki climbs out of the cab, only to find yourself standing on the sidewalk of an empty street, glowing under a streetlight in the leftover drizzles from earlier’s rain.

He pays Todd with a wad of cash that’s most definitely more than double the charge, but Loki thanks him profusely for the ride and the backseat and insists he keep it.

When the cab drives off, Loki jumps in a puddle, sighs, and walks over to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pressing his lips to your temple.

“We need to walk it off,” he says, and you agree. You’re only a few streets away from home, so you don’t bother with the umbrella.

The fresh air does wonders as you and Loki amble towards home, arm in arm and leaning on each other, the occasional leftover giggle escaping.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

You miss a step and glance over to him to find him already staring, a soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you wind your arms about his neck. “Thank you for everything, Loki.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.” You emphasise it with a kiss.

He returns it, not the most precise but still laced with effort, and it’s so gentle and warmly caressing that you know in the end, he still got the last word.

“Love you,” he mumbles, and you mumble it back, leaning into him with a tight hold of his arm to land another kiss on his neck as you turn onto your street.

Loki laughs and kisses you right back, ducking under your ear and pressing his lips to your pulse point before you can squirm away. Your hands find his shoulders and you shove him with a giggle, only encouraging him to pounce again and hold you tighter.

“Okay,” you gasp through giggles, “okay, stop it, stop, we’re home!”

He resurfaces with a grin and straightens your shirt for you. “To be continued.”

With a roll of your eyes you grab his hand and drag him to the door. “Remember. Sober and mature. We’re adults with kids.”

A solemn nod.

Then he bangs the door open and sings “we’re hoooome!” before you can say or do anything.

Peter looks blankly up at you from the kitchen table.

“Oh.” The two of you push through the doorway, fighting back more laughter. “Sorry, Peter. We’re home.”

“Hey, welcome back.” He stands with a grin and Loki sticks out his hand for a shake—which Peter gives, a little confused. “Everything was great here, just perfect, they’re great kids.”

“I know,” Loki sighs, still shaking Peter’s hand, “I made them.”

“We,” you correct.

“Right, right, couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Okay…cool.” Peter pries his hand from Loki’s grip with an awkward chuckle. “Anyways. I gotta go, um, just…just one little hiccup we had…”

“Did Elliot set something on fire again?” You groan, fishing around in your purse for your wallet to pay the kid. “Damn it, I told Loki he was still too young—”

“No, nothing caught on fire!”

Loki bumps you with his hip and holds up another wad of cash—I’ve got it.

“He was really hyper,” Peter explains, pretending not to notice Loki leafing through what’s got to be the biggest wad of cash he’s ever seen. “We went outside and ran around and everything, but nothing could get him to stay still, so uh…Mr. Loki, is it legal to take money you conjured?”

“Perfectly,” Loki assures him, pressing the money into the kid’s hand. “I worked for most of it.”

“O-okay…”

“It’s all real,” you promise him with a laugh. “Really. It’s not illegal. How’d you get Elliot in bed then?”

“Right, I might have kind of sort of had to…” he scratches his neck, laughs. “Um, well, I maybe had to usemywebtostickhimtothewall.”

Loki just nods understandingly and pats Peter on the shoulder. “Wonderful. As long as he’s asleep.”

You can’t bring yourself to mind too much, either. It’s certainly not the strangest thing that’s happened in this household.

After assuring Peter that you’re not at all upset that he webbed your son to a wall, Loki sees him to the door and waves goodbye after another very formal handshake, then he turns back around and lets out a giant breath of relief.

“I think I covered that perfectly. He had no idea.”

“Definitely.” You give him two thumbs up. “Wanna go see if Elliot’s really on the wall?”

A grin splits over Loki’s face, and he dashes down the hall to Elliot’s room with you hot on his heels.

“Unreal,” he whispers when he peeks his head inside, “he’s dead asleep. He looks comfortable.”

You stick your head through the doorway and have to pull back immediately, letting out a loud snort of laughter at the sight of your little son, spread eagle against the far wall and snoring lightly with his Iron Man plushie clutched in one hand, webbed and weirdly comfortable.

“There’s no way he’s—”

Loki claps both hands over your mouth with a very loud “shhhhhhhh!” before slumping against the wall with his own silent fit of giggles.

“Shuddup.” You lick his palm and he laughs harder.

Seconds later you’ve tackled him to the ground to smush your hands to his mouth, the two of you giggling and screeching and shushing and slowly forgetting your two kids are sleeping behind these doors.

He finally catches your wrists and holds them tight, keeping you above him as you catch your breath, still grinning and breathlessly laughing.

“Do you want your present now, my love?”

“Loki,” you gasp, pretending to be scandalised, “in the hallway? You dirty boy—”

“It’s an actual gift,” he groans, head falling to the floor with a thud. “Sometimes you’re worse than I am.”

“Yup.” You settle onto his hips and smile down at him. “I’ll take the present now.”

“You don’t want to move somewhere more comfortable?”

You wiggle a bit; he grunts and lifts an eyebrow.

“Nope, this is pretty comfy.”

“Careful.”

Resigning himself to your hallway-lap-straddle, he sighs and pulls a package wrapped in brown paper out of thin air. “For my birthday girl. Our birthday girl.”

You eagerly rip through the paper, and a thick leather-bound book falls onto Loki’s stomach.

“Ooh…”

Running your hands over the smooth cover, the stamped gold embellishments, you catch Loki’s eye.

“I’m writing you a book,” he explains.

“What’s it about?”

“You.”

He pushes himself up to lean back on his hands, guiding you to open the book and flip through it. Sure enough, it’s handwritten, about half of the book already filled with Loki’s beautiful script, a couple sketches, some pressed flowers, loose papers…

“It’ll never run out of pages.” He points to the spine, the thickness. “I used the entire book just trying to capture the kind of person you are and the beginnings of how we met, so I charmed it to always carry enough blank pages for our story.”

“Sheesh, that’s a lot of writing.”

“And there still aren’t enough words in the universe to describe you.”

You scoff, but Loki shushes you with a finger to your lips.

“It’s a constant work in progress, and one with an conclusion I never want to reach. But, I can assure you that it will have a happy ending, when it arrives.”

“Loki. Thank you.”

He looks up at you with those big puppy dog eyes and smiles, dimpled and ageless, and you lean forward and kiss him.

—

Midnight passes and it’s your birthday, officially, as you and Loki eat some bread and drink some water, sitting on the kitchen counters quietly laughing and teasing and reminiscing—among other things—until you’re exhausted and heading back towards sober.

The two of you carefully cut Elliot off of the wall and carry him to bed, slowly realising that Peter actually webbed your child to a wall and that maybe you should bring that up again with him tomorrow. Elliot clings to you for a minute when you try to lower him into bed, whispers “bappy hirthday, momma,” tries to kiss you on the cheek, and falls back to sleep.

Frigg, when you check on her a room over, is a little sack of cotton footsie pjs and dark hair, mouth wide open blowing spit bubbles as she sprawls across the mattress of her crib.

“I love her,” Loki croons, kissing the tips of his fingers and brushing them over Frigg’s round little cheek. “She sleeps like you.”

Your elbow finds it’s way nicely under his ribs and he hisses.

In bed, you’re snug under Loki’s arm smushing your cheek to his chest, ankles entwining. He’s tired, but still awake, so you reach over and grab your new book, setting it on his chest.

“Read to me?”

His drowsy chuckle rumbles under your ear and he takes the book, thumbing past the in-depth love letter/birthday dedication you already cried over twice.

“On this day, some years ago,” he begins, yawns, and scoots you closer into his arms, “you were born. You came into this world and I like to believe you cried a beautiful song, unlike our own screeching children (spoiler alert, I am so sorry). At this time, I was, of course, well into my adulthood, just waiting for the day you would try to kill me. Not to make this weird.”

“Brilliant.” You lean up and plant a sweet kiss on his jaw.

“Darling, you’re making me blush.”

“Shh, I know. Keep reading.”

“Luckily, this is not my story, and my wife has a thing for older men.”

You poke him in the gut.

He laughs and steals a proper kiss.

The two of you huddle even closer, trying to press yourselves into one, and Loki reads you the beginnings of your happy ending until neither of you can keep your eyes open.

You fall asleep in a tangled mess of searching limbs, Loki’s book lying open over his heart to save your spot.

― ― ― ―

fuel the writer?

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

~ breaking up the taglist to fix the scrolling problem! ~

@doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15

~ scroll here ~

@mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys

~ scroll here ~

@highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid @lokioneshot @brooksaza @wild-honey-piy @ellaenchanted91 @watermelon-lights19 @just-another-romantic @skinny-macncheese @lokisironthrone @rorybutnotgilmore

~ scroll here ~

@toozmanykids

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #dad!loki #domestic!loki #loki requests #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki series #elliot lokason #frigg lokadóttir

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dc-earth53 · 4 years

Photo

#0010 - Zatanna (Zatanna Zatara)

Age: 44

Occupation: Stage magician, adventurer.

Marital status: Single

Known relatives: Giovanni Zatara (father, deceased), Sindella (mother, deceased), Luigi Zatara (great-grandfather, deceased), Zachary Zatara (cousin).

Group affiliation: Justice League of America, Sentinels of Magic

Base of operations: Shadowcrest, San Francisco, California

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 127 lbs.

History:

44 years ago: Zatanna is born to Sindella and Giovanni Zatara, at their family home in New York. Sindella passes away shortly after her birth.

35 years ago: Zatanna meets Bruce Wayne at his ninth birthday party, less than a year after his parents’ passing.

31 years ago: Zatanna begins to be trained in the arts of sleight-of-hand, and in real magic, by her father.

26 years ago: Giovanni Zatara mysteriously vanishes.

23 years ago: Zatanna follows in her father’s footsteps, becoming a professional stage magician.

22 years ago: Zatanna meets Dinah Lance while on an expedition to the Himalayas in search of her father.

20 years ago: While travelling the world, Zatanna meets John Constantine, and the two begin a brief relationship. The two would irregularly rekindle their relationship in the following years.

18 years ago: Zatanna meets Hawkman and Hawkwoman, and enlists their help alongside the Justice League in the search for her father, eventually locating him in the world of Kharma, where he was .

17 years ago: Zatanna is inducted into the Justice League.

15 years ago: The villain Doctor Light breaks into the Justice League satellite, learning the identities of several of the team’s members. With the consent of the present Leaguers, Zatanna wipes his memory.

12 years ago: After the Justice League disbands, Zatanna joins the Martian Manhunter in his new, more informal League, based out of the Secret Sanctuary in Happy Harbor.

11 years ago:

Zatanna participates in the battle against the Anti-Monitor.

Constantine recruits Zatanna and her father, among other sorcerers, to fight the Great Darkness. Zatara perishes in the battle.

10 years ago: Zatanna, along with the Spectre and several of the Earth’s other mystic protectors, form the Sentinels of Magic during the Dominator invasion of Earth.

6 years ago: Zatanna re-joins the Justice League when its active membership travels to the past in search of the vanished Atlantis.

5 years ago:

Dr. Light remembers his past and allies with Eclipso to target the Justice League’s loved ones, with Zatanna in the crossfire as well.

Zatanna joins the newest incarnation of the Seven Soldiers of Victory in their fight against the Sheeda.

Zatanna is on the front lines against the Spectre when, without a host and seduced by Eclipso, he begins a crusade to destroy all magic in the universe, ushering in the tenth age of magic as a result.

4 years ago: Zatanna joins the restructured Justice League.

3 years ago: Zatanna travels to Hell alongside the Shadowpact to take part in the war between Neron, Blaze, and Satanus. During the war, Giovanni Zatara’s spirit is destroyed.

2 years ago: Madame Xanadu reunites the Sentinels of Magic, Zatanna included, to combat the rise of a vampire army.

1 year ago: Zatanna is transported to Gemworld alongside the Justice League, allying herself with Amethyst in the fight against Dark Opal’s forces.

Present day: Zatanna remains active with both the Justice League and the Sentinels of Magic, along with maintaining her professional career as a stage magician.

Commentary:

Etirw na gnitseretni eliforp!

Everyone (especially Paul Dini) loves Zatanna, the DCU’s resident magician for when something isn’t important enough to get Doctor Fate involved. She’s perky, fun, and flashy, and has been a staple member of the Justice League for a while - none of that is changed here. There’s not much to talk about with regards to her history, either - it’s fairly straightfoward, as she only has a few major storylines. Most of the Rebirth-era Justice League Dark stories are canon to some degree here, notably, although the group keeps the Sentinels of Magic name in this universe.

Zatanna is a character who refuses to be pinned down to one relationship for too long. She’s got histories with both Batman and John Constantine, but neither of them became a long-term relationship, and it’s unlikely that she’ll end up dating again in the near future. Her road crew is the closest thing to a family she’s got, and she’s fairly close to all of them. She also has a special bond with Black Canary, the two of them having been friends since their youth.

What’s in store for Zatanna’s future? Well, there are still many unexplored facets of the Tenth Age of Magic, and with the Rock of Eternity empty, Hell’s order upturned, and the Lords of Chaos and Order slaughtered, other magical beings will be seeking to fill that power vacuum and Zatanna will doubtless be on the front lines of fighting them.

Zatanna’s stage magician outfit (her “work clothes,” as she calls them) is iconic, and no other costume she’s worn has ever stuck. Sure, it may be sexualized, but it fits her personality - she’s naturally showy and it doubles as her outfit as a Vegas performer. In that context, it makes perfect sense. And as for how she can operate in those heels? “It’s magic, I don’t have to explain it!”

Next up: the Enchantress, and then Oracle!

#dc #dc comics #earth 53 #profile #zatanna #zatanna zatara #sentinels of magic #justice league of america #justice league dark

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covrtofnightmares · 4 years

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&&. cauldron above, ( james deerling ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the spring court ). ( he ) is a(n) ( 650 / appears 38 ) year old ( warrior fae ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( david gandy ). ( he ) has been said to be ( loyal & courageous ) but also quite ( ferocious & stubborn ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( the deerling patriarch / consort of the spring court ).

— ❝ you have to be a little bad to make history. ❞

name: james henry deerling

birthday: june 11th | gemini

scent: juniper, mandarin, oakmoss, cedar greens, fresh blooming roses, gentle seabreeze + ( SIGNATURE COLOGNE: light blue - dolce & gabbana )

appearance: james towers above most at a whopping 6′3″. naturally muscular and strong, both from being born into the warrior fae heritage and from years of training, james easily dwarfs most who stand around him. with a thick head of dark, wavy hair and his signature groomed beard, james looks every bit the rugged, rogue, wild warrior fae descending from the mountains.

current familial / relationship status: james is married to faun deerling who, up until recently, was presumed to be dead in astralis. he is aware of two children he bore legitimately with her, aurora and arielle, but is unaware at present that ares and apollo are his natural-born sons and believes them to be his step / adopted children.

biography: james henry deerling doesn’t know much about his origins. his mother, a warrior fae who had been cast out from her family for refusing to adhere to some of the more rigid, violent guidelines of their people, turned to prostitution in order to feed and clothe herself. she developed an affair with a highly regarded warrior fae among the spring court, giving him pleasure in return for coin, and when marietta discovered she was pregnant, she begged and pleaded with her lover to provide financially for the baby she was carrying. she did not believe she would make a fit mother, and when her lover--henry deerling--begrudgingly accepted to take james into his home, marietta left the child on the warrior’s doorstep and disappeared without a trace. henry deerling was a revered knight in the high lord’s army, responsible for training young recruits around the castle, and believed he had little to no time for a child. he intended to raise james as a servant, or similar to the way noblemen handled their bastardized children. but, as a widower with no close relatives, he soon came to love having a child about the house and made james his official heir.

growing up with a knight for a father did not make things easy for james with other warrior children who lived in the outskirts of the spring court. they often referred to him as a bastard, the son of a whore, or dirty blood, due to his unknown mother’s exile from their people. james was often assumed to be weak, due to his mother’s own fickle nature and his father’s strange behaviors, so when one boy shoved the young child into the mud while another, older child attempted to carve james’ wings off his back, telling the deerling heir that he didn’t deserve the wings of a warrior, something inside of james unleashed itself, his magic and might striking out against the other children around him.

children stopped making fun of james henry deerling after that night.

though his father was a knight, james earned no special favors among the spring court. he had to earn his keep, and after refusing to allow the other warrior children to demean his bloodline any longer, james took to the training field. honed fighting was a skill his father had always hoped james would take an interest in, and the two bonded over their sessions with great fervor. henry deerling trained his only son everything he knew about fighting and protecting their people, raising his child to become a man of great strength, power, and passion dedicated solely to protecting the spring court. he fought and clawed his way to a title of honor, first as a guard, before eventually making his way up the ranks to serve as the spring court’s official captain of the guard by the time he was in his mid to late twenties. it was a title he revered with great honor. after his induction ceremony, when james realized that his father had not been present at his ceremony, the deerling boy slipped into his quaint family home to find his father on the ground, his wings crumpled beneath him and his face purple. an empty goblet lay askew on the ground, indicating ingested poison, along with a letter henry held clutched in one hand. james, desperate and consumed with grief, was barely able to read the letter that had been addressed to him.

the elders in his clan had not forgotten the child born out of wedlock, a surprisingly severe crime among their particular branch of warrior fae, nor had they forgotten that the child had been borne from an exiled member of their pack. henry was subsequently punished for allowing the child to live, and not sacrificing him, as any good member of the family ought to, and for the first time in his life, james deerling felt overwhelming grief, loss, and guilt.

james deerling is a good man, but not every story has a happy beginning. so when the deerling heir composed himself, steely resolve had him track down every last member of his mother’s clan. with a burst of magic and a fury of wings and might, killed every last remaining member of his matriarchal clan, until he was the only one left aside from the mother who had abandoned him.

james devoted himself entirely to the protection of the doefoot clan and the high castle following the death of his father. grief was something james had not yet been accustomed with, so losing the only person in the entire world he had ever loved felt like walking through a forest blindfolded. several decades would pass before james learned to properly love another creature. faun doefoot, the glittering princess of the spring court, was sunshine and daisies; she was a warm spring breeze and the color of sunflowers and cherry blossoms. the spring court princess was a delight among astralis, and so when she approached james one day and begged him to teach her how to train herself in combat and self-defense, even stoic james deerling failed to be immune to her charms. james thoroughly believed learning combat techniques was important, given his own colorful background, and spent evenings training faun on how to best to defend herself in case of a siege, royal duel, or even against a random attacker. she became his closest friend and, along the way, something clicked into place deep inside of james’ chest. there was no denying it every time he exchanged furtive glances with her at balls or galas he worked for the royal family: he was desperately, hopelessly, achingly in love with faun deerling. she was stunning, of course, but it was not just her beauty that james became enamored with; it was the strength of her character and the passion in her soul. it was the way that he looked at her and the rest of the world seemed to stand still. he had imprinted on the crown princess of the spring court. and fiercely.

the two began a passionate, whirlwind love affair, each privately acknowledging that his rank and profession did not make him a suitable consort for an heiress who was meant to rule an entire kingdom. but whatever his reservations might have been about his own questionable lineage, faun was determined to tell her parents she would take no other suitor than james deerling; her captain, her confidant, her closest friend.

that’s when erik newblood happened.

the siege on the spring court was bloody, and though james and the rest of the guard and knighthood tried valiantly to defend the doefoots, they failed. they were outnumbered: in men, in power, in brute strength. it was a devastating loss, and faun was left in the hands of a monster. he wished, desperately, to be able to free faun from the marriage she now found herself in, but his mate informed him that anything he was thinking would be too risky to perform. hell descended upon the spring court, and the only moments of comfort and solace he found in the terrifying darkness that hovered over the spring court were the times he spent alone with faun. erik, in his vainglory, ordered james to the front of the line as the spring court’s war general, choosing to exploit their shared heritage as warrior fae for militant prowess. but while erik was a creature who consumed everything in sight, james preferred to preserve. still, more often than not, james had an inkling that the real reason erik promoted the captain of the guard to a high and prestigious position was so he could keep an eye on him.

it was much easier to keep an eye on a dog you’d leashed to you, after all.

presently, james has no idea that the two boys faun gave birth to, ares and apollo, were not sired by erik, but by himself. though he worried about their patriarchal heritage, james loved the boys as fiercely as if they were his own children, if only because they belonged to faun. he helped raise them in private, without the knowledge of erik, and slipped the boys gifts every solstice and birthday. sometimes, james pretended that the boys were his own; if he looked at ares and his sweet, chubby cheeks long enough, he even thought he saw something of himself in the dark-haired beauty that had captured the hearts of the spring court. perhaps if he pretended they were his sons, it would be enough. perhaps, though he’d never be a father to them, he could be something.

but faun was nothing if not resilient and strong, and through the skills he had helped her hone over the years, was able to covertly destroy the beast who had shackled himself to her. erik newblood was no more, and though james was petrified that faun had behaved so recklessly without him there as support, he felt overwhelming relief flood his system as a semblance of normalcy returned to the spring court. he and faun wedded, after so many years loving and mating in secret, and began to repair the damage erik had wreaked over their home since the regicide of faun’s parents. the two wed, in a beautiful ceremony praised and applauded by all of astralis, and james deerling rose from the role of war general to high lord and consort.

this was his home--anywhere faun, ares, and apollo were. though james still believes ares and apollo are not his children, he spent his rule treating them as if they were his own children by flesh and blood. when the time came for them to expand their family, however, james was only all too eager. and thus...their first baby girl was born: aurora deerling, the crowned jewel of the spring court, and a princess who had carved out a piece of james deerling’s heart and kept it for herself. james became a dutiful father, and when arielle was born not three years later, james swore he had never been happier in his entire life. four children, two of which were even his by blood, and his treasured mate by his side. perhaps the gods had forgiven him for failing his father so many centuries ago; perhaps they had told him he deserved to be happy.

or perhaps the gods were still angry.

when faun was taken from james this time, with great force and jarring suddenness, james felt something inside of him wither away and die. erik newblood was dead again, this time at the hands of an enraged ares, and james blamed himself. it was difficult to face his family, realizing that he had, once again, failed to properly protect that which belonged to him. unable to face a throne that did not belong to him, james left the spring court and fled to the mountains. grief consumed him, shaping james into a vengeful creature, the likes of which he had not seen since his father’s untimely passing. he was not the monster that erik newblood had been, but he was his own manner of beast.

most believe that james deerling escaped to the mountains solely due to the loss of his wife. and while grief consumed him, james deerling was also a man of hard-headed, stubborn ferociousness. he spent the next two decades researching--faun’s body had never been properly buried, nor did he have clues about the whereabouts of his missing child. he inhaled books, ranging from modern to ancient texts, about enchantments, curses, and loopholes in the very fabric of astralis that could explain the things james refused to look in the face: death. and still, he trained: not just with himself, but with others. there were other warrior fae who lived in the mountains, clans who had despised his mother’s family for their rigid, cruel, and archaic ways, who recognized the man who had slaughtered the spring court’s most notorious warrior clan without the bat of an eye. their children and grandchildren, having grown up on the fable that was james deerling, poured forth and offered their services to him.

if james deerling was going to take on astralis with his bare fucking hands, he’d need to rally an army.

his nights were spent in loneliness, craving faun’s absence, but his days were filled with research, training, and questioning leads he uncovered that led to any possible clues about his wife’s death and his missing child. finally, after years of digging and training, and the solstice hanging above their heads, james held a breakthrough: he knew where faun was. it was just a matter of returning her where she rightfully belonged. and if he could get faun back, then he’d be able to find out what had happened to his sweet aurora, as well.

james deerling is coming back from the mountains. and unbeknownst to his son, he’s bringing with him an entire army of trained warrior fae who plan to serve the spring court unfailingly as they wipe out their enemies.

affinity: as a warrior fae born into the spring court, he possesses some of the natural affinities of spring, though james’ strength is almost exclusively in his combat abilities

wings: as is typical with the warrior race, james has durable wings perfect for flight and combat. his are large, taloned black wings, similar to that of a dragon, marking him as a strong predator in the sky. james’ regal wings are built for endurance, battle, and instilling fear into those who dare to oppose him.

#JAMES //#the white wolf: ( intro )#prostitution tw

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enby-crisis · 4 years

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Me Before You (Draco Malfoy x Reader) Pt. 1

Okay let’s give this a shot... I've had this one for awhile and its actually a series I was writing for Watt-pad but lets see house it does here as a test.

Masterlist

Summary: Follows the timeline of Half Blood Prince. Reader is the cousin of Voldemort. That will make more sense later. I solemnly swear. Reader is a Slytherin. (Sorry to the other houses... mostly Ravenclaw) Y/n Guant is the first born girl in two generations to not be born a squib. Before the disappearance of Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord ordered Marty Crabs Jr. to make sure that her halfblood father and squib mother were murdered and take her to be raised by her uncle as his own and to have pureblood beliefs so one day she can marry the Malfoy's son to keep the bloodline going. Lucius and Narcissa were to make sure that the children were to be married and for that reason always loved her around. Since she looked just like her uncle she never doubted she was anything else but theirs. She’s known Draco all her life and by her sixth year already had a relationship with each other. Not all endings are happy are they?

Borgin And Burkes

I wait for the Malfoy family to arrive in the small shop. Pacing and pacing until the door eventually swung open. I sighed in relief when I lay eyes on the tall platinum blonde boy that I've known since childhood.

I made eye contact before looking down to take the stride over to go hug him. I hadn't seen him since the hearing for his father that Voldemort had me attend with Draco and Narcissa to oversee the event of Lucius being placed into Azkaban but were not allowed to speak until Draco was to become a death eater.

"Not so fast there, (Y/n)," Voldemort spoke in monotone, "His family has disgraced us. You must do your casualties after the ceremony. Please let him prove his loyalty to you and I once more."

I take my steps back to my cousin's side obediently and give an apologetic smile to Draco. He nods discreetly in understanding of the situation.

I looked back to Voldemort who smiled cunningly at me. I shivered but gave a small smile of my own.

"Good girl," He praised, "This is why you don’t need my mark." Draco looked at me in confusion and I pulled my blouse sleeve up to explain the comment a bit. He looked back to Voldemort when he figured out what was going on.

"I knew you were loyal from the start. My own blood runs through you my sweet girl. You are bound for better! You don't have to prove yourself to me. Ever. Now! All of you follow me."

He ordered and took Bellatrix's arm and my own as we apparated to a large field with steps leading up to show an angel statue. It was probably a dead relatives grave but he didn't care. The rest of the people in Borgin and Burkes were soon behind us.

I followed my cousin up the stairs and stopped on his left side, always a step behind him. Whatever he did, I was expected to do as well.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Voldemorts voice rang directly in my ears.

Draco turned around and ripped his arm out of Narcissa's grip. She dropped her hand and walked to go stand by her sister at the first step. Other loyalists were standing behind them. Mostly the last heirs to the pure blood families known as the Scared Twenty-Eight. Any family that still remained pure blood at the end of the 1930s. These ones were loyalist who pledged themselves to Voldemort the first time during the first wizarding war. Before I was born. Not too long before. I was born almost exactly eight months later.

"Come forth to receive the mark that so many before you find as a great responsibility and honor to receive." Voldemort continued.

Draco took slow and careful steps up to where we were standing.

"Pledge your loyalty to me as your father and aunt did before you all those years ago. Swear your inevitable allegiance to me as your lovely betrothal to my sweet (Y/n) has done." Draco reached the top of the stairs and rooted his feet at the top step a pace in front of Voldemort.

"Promise to continue the pure Slitherin bloodline for generations to come."

Voldemort asked for my wand with a closing motion of his hand. I placed my 13 inch wand in his hand. With its core of a dragon heart string it will do just fine for this task of drawing the ink in Draco's forearm. Why he wasn't using his own wand confused me but asking questions wasn't an option for me. Voldemort grasps my wand with both hands admiring the Brazilian Olivewood carving of a snake before pushing Draco on his knees and pulling his sleeve that covered his left forearm. Always the left.

Draco looked at me as tears had welled in my eyes. Fear of the future rooting my emotions. I'm also mad. It seemed unfair for the two of us to have our lives planned so thoroughly. I placed my hand over my mouth for a moment to stop myself from making any unwanted sounds. Then they were back in tight fists at my side as the scene unraveled.

"I'm sorry" I mouthed to him the second his eyes glance to mine.

"Don't! Look at her. Look at me." Voldemort said with anger laced in his tone as he began to cast the spell to draw out the dark mark. Draco's attention shifts while I adverted my eyes to the another tombstone nearby but focused on the spell casting as well. He grabbed Draco's arm and spoke only to say the spell "Morsmordre."

Draco winced as a snake and skull had woven themselves together on his arm. It wasn't quite the most comfortable spell that can be casted. Or so Voldemort told me. He wanted there to be pain. He wanted control.

Voldemort dropped his arm and turned to me, returning my wand with bitter words. "Foolish girl." He murmured. I assumed due to the tears still pricking my eyes. I have truly fallen for this boy. "There. You can have him."

Draco stood and I ran to him almost pushing both of us down the stairs. Once he wrapped his arms around my back whimpers escaped me as my held back tears flowed more freely.

"Please." I murmur in Draco's ear. He knows what I mean. "I wont let you do this alone." He whispers back. "Nor will I." I say while staring at his mother and aunt.

Voldemort descended the stairs. All thirteen of them by floating back down to where Bellatrix was.

"Make sure she gets what she needs for school, Bell. I need the boy alone for a moment." She nodded.

He didn't bother to face us as he called for Draco to return to the small alleyway with his mother to reenter the shop once more that day and Bellatrix didn't mind pulling me out of Draco's death grip to apparate in front of the bank. Narcissa and Draco were next to us in a swirl moments later. They walked off towards the shop and I followed Bellatrix who was heading to a nearby store. Draco glanced at us before Bellatrix pulled me into a book store next to Olivanders. She handed me almost twenty five Galleons and turned around to walk off back to Bogin and Burkes but I grabbed her wrist to delay her.

"What happened to the wand shop?" I tried to hide the concern in my voice.

"Nothing that concerns you. Go get your supplies-" She spoke to me as if I was just an innocent child.

"But-," I tried to protest. I guess I still was.

"Now! (Y/n) please just do as you are told. Or we will both be in trouble." I have no idea why people like to remember my status and importance to the Dark Lord after they raise their voice at me.

"Yes, of course Trixie," I mocked with a swift crossing of my arms.

She growled at me before disappearing in a swirling motion before me. I quickly get the books and what small amount of school supplies we need for the new year for Draco and I so I can explore Olivanders.

I walk in pushing my way though broken glass and scatted wands. I bend down to pick one up. An 8 inch oak wood wand. It sparks in my hand in protest to it being out of its place on the shelves. Unicorns hair.

I wave my own wand in the air to repair the broken glass. The wands that were broken laid on the floor or shelves, lifeless. I started to pick up all the irreplaceable wands to discard of them later. I spend quite a few hours cleaning up the shop and remembering the summer of my third year that I spent in here helping Mr. Olivander.

Since the day I walked in here with Evan, my father, Mr. Olivander told me that I was capable of great things. I knew as much information about the wands he presented to me as I could. He was the wizard responsible for me raiding the train my first year looking for the wand with the almighty phoenix feather core. He told me how to feel the cores of wands.

Its how Draco and I became friends all those years ago and eventually more then friends. I may or may not have stolen his wand. Before that he never did like me as our parents forced us to be around each other. Go to birthdays and holidays together. Never anything either of us wanted to do but were both too polite and scared to speak up. When I stole his wand he finally saw me as a person. He wanted to kill me but grew respect for me taking it out of his sleeve without him noticing until I gave it back.

I was told stories about his mother and aunt. Bellatrix was never around when we were kids due to her arrest and when she was around she treated me like a kid. She though that any other treatment would be disrespectful to Voldemort's little princess. Since I was related to him, somehow she began fearing my rejection as well.

As the dark night sky settles in I walk out of the shop, locking the door before making my way to Malfoy Manor.

Me Before You pt 2

#draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #slytherin #x reader #draco lucius malfoy #hogwarts #fanfic #draco x reader #me before you

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 4 years

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Mimes Mimes Mimes || Group Chatzy

Kaden really didn't want to be here right now. Birthdays had never been a big celebration for him and he was honestly fine with it. A beer on the house, maybe a free coffee, that's all he wanted. This year was so strange, he had people. Who cared. Still not sure why. Of course, one of them wasn't going to be there but he tried to push that aside. When he showed up to the Strip(e) club, he wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away, go home. Instead, he felt a pull, a strange need to stay and have fun. Well, try to at least. He didn't know why, maybe it was just that whole conscience thing or something from telling Regan he'd still go. Either way, he was not prepared for anything he saw inside. He stood still in abject horror at the... everything happening. There was only one solution to his. He b-lined it to the alcohol. "Bourbon on the rocks," he looked around briefly at the glitter and the mimes and the fucking werewolves. "Make it double."

Nora Pine, a fan of the Mime, had no clue that she'd stumbled into someone's birthday party. Today she was here for her own personal mission. To see a Mime strip. Why did she want to see a mime strip? Why not! People needed life goals and Nora thought this one was admirable to say the least. Plus she'd recently become very passionate about defending them as lovers on the internet. She figured it was time she actually saw what action they could bring to the table. When Kaden entered the club, Nora saw him instantly. Standing in a dark corner, she raised her glass of whiskey in a silent greeting to him.

Honestly, Winston was so far from sure why they had bothered to come. They didn't like mimes. The idea of strip clubs made them come out in hives because they were that uncomfortable and they already needed a drink. Heading past 'Tyler' they headed straight for the bar and smiled at the bar tender. "That sounds like a really good idea," Winston said even though they hated bourbon, "please can I have like the exact same." They weren't drinking this for the taste of it. "Happy birthday by the way," they said to Kaden as they stood next to them at the bar, "hope it's a ... good one." If Kaden had wanted a good birthday why would they have chosen to host it here?

What do you wear to a mime strip club? That certainly wasn't something Artie thought she'd be asking herself. Ever. In her whole life. But here she was. Dressed to impress Red's work colleague at a mime strip club. Grabbing the bag wrapped bottle of booze in one hand, and Red's arm in the other Artie wandered into the club. "Maybe there is something in the air here." Artie had been going on about this town's obsession with mimes their whole trip, "like in the pollen. Supernatural pollen that makes people obsessed with mimes... And mooses."

Luce had wandered into the Stripe Club, more out of boredom than anything and her expression of confusion morphed into one of horror. Not only was it a mime-filled horrorscape, there was the making of what looked like a cross between a five year old and a cheese loving furry's birthday party. Grimacing, she turned to leave, but found her way blocked by a burly looking mime who looked weirdly familiar. What the fuck? Grimacing, she walked over the the bar, sliding next to Winston and the other man. Catching the tail end of the conversation, she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you're the Birthday Boy?" Pausing, she looked him over. He didn't look like a furry. Hm. Weird. "Neat." She said before gesturing to the bartender. "That's also how I'd like my whiskey, please."

Joanne wouldn't miss her Rat King's birthday for anything. Everyone at the station knew Kaden was into mimes, so she slid into a striped mime shirt, donned a beret, and stuck Kady and Cadin in her pockets, despite their chittering protests and adorable twitchy rat tails. What a party! This was perfect for her sewer lord. Not wanting to disrupt the quiet atmosphere, she silently prowled around, looking for Kaden.

Bea had been rather excited for Kaden's party until she saw where it was being held. She tried to give it the benefit of the doubt but having a party at a mime strip club for a guy who was just stabbed by a mime seemed a bit insensitive. She had walked in with Kaden, though she had lost him when he had basically run to the bar, she had been distracted by the mime strippers. Refinding him wasn't hard he had already had a few drinks with her earlier and the bar seemed like the obvious place to be in this situation. She came to stand next to Kaden again,"Are you okay being here after everything?" She asked quietly before turning to grin at Winston and Luce. "Winston and Luce, hi! I didn't know you knew Kaden, Luce?"

Ohhh boy, Simon probably made a mistake as he slid in through the door as inconspicuously as he could. He could add "mime strip club" to his list of things he wasn't expecting - he couldn't remember the last time he was in a bar in general and the mixture of different scents made him bring a hand to his nose. Okay, he was here to mingle, observe and maybe meet some townsfolk (he wasn't sure how popular Kaden was but he was willing to guess "pretty"), then jet. No booze, no... wolf-shaped cheese snacks? Well, those were pretty cute. Still though, he kept close to the outer perimeter, noticing only one person he had met before. He assumed Kaden was the one at the bar but... everyone else was a tossup.

Kaden gave a nod to his past hunting partner at the bar. A little worried that she seemed more interested in the mimes than anything else. Ew. "Thanks," Kaden told the guy next to him. Had he seen them at the station before? Maybe, who knew. That would require spending time there. And someone who looked pretty similar to Bea. Third sister maybe? "Yeah, that's me. This, uh, this wasn't my idea. By the way." He smiled at Bea when she came over and confirmed his theory. "Uh, I'm alright. Just going to need a lot of this," he said gesturing to the glass in hand.

Alain gave Evelyn a glance of concern mixed with panic. The last thing he expected for Kaden's birthday, was to end up in a place swarming with the most vile species that had ever existed in this town : mimes. Figuring that gifting the man a Breton shirt was bad enough, Alain had decided to wear one himself, but now knowing that they would be surrounded by striped demonic fuckers, he felt a urge to turn around and leave the place. He doubted that Evelyn would agree to that, since he had offered to pick her up and drive her there. "We can still turn around," he offered. Maybe she would not want to be there either, considering what had just happened at her bar...

Since coming to White Crest, Red's life had become even stranger. Which was saying something, considering they were married to a weremoose and hunted fairies for a living. "Whatever it is that makes people obsessed with mimes, I want it to stay far away from me," Red grumbled to their wife. "And away from Violet, I heard people saying they think they like them because the grew up with them." They scanned the room with a grimace on their face. "Why did I agree to come to this again?" They knew that it was a fellow hunter's birthday, but they didn't think whatever this was was worth being a good coworker. "We only have to stay for a little right?"

Luce's expression of mild amusement soured as she saw her sister walk up to the bar. Taking the drink that was slid her direction from the bartender, she tilted it in cheers towards the man next to Winston. "Happy birthday. Someone must either really love you or hate you to throw this kinda party." She said conversationally before staring at her sister. Her arms were still covered in small cactus spine-shaped pin pricks and her ego still slightly bruised. But... She was going to be calm. And chill. "And no, I don't. Just... right place, right time."

Felix was overjoyed. The place looked like a living nightmare. All glitter and stripes, plus glittered and striped strippers. He hated the mimes but it was worth it just to see the chaos in black and white. The fae wore his finest crimson suit, a cut of red in all the black and white, and watched as people started to file in. Thoroughly confused people at that. Perfect. After a small misunderstanding with the bartender, Felix took his martini glass in hand, found himself a dark corner, and waited for the man of the hour to show. When he did, the fae beamed and headed straight towards him. Raised his glass in a mild cheers. Disgruntled, disgusted, looked like he wanted to leave but couldn’t. Must be a Frenchman. “And a very happy birthday to you, sir! Enjoy your stay, huh?” More people came and they all seemed to coalesce around the bar. “If anyone needs anything, let me know, huh? Anything at all!” Louder than anything else in the relatively silent place, he turned and readied himself to mingle.

Evelyn made a face when she and Alain arrived at the - Stripe Club? No, no, absolutely not. Who had thought that this would be a good idea at all in the first place, and especially after everything that had just happened to him. Besides, her dress and heels did not suit this place. She rolled her eyes. "We can, but I think we should go and check in on Kaden, give him presents at least." This had to be one of the tackiest places in town - strip clubs were tacky enough by themselves, and with the addition of mimes? Absolutely awful. But this was for Kaden and so she'd suck it up and deal with it. "Let us go?"

Arthur really wasn't sure why he'd even been invited to a stranger's birthday party but Regan had sent him the invite and... well, he felt rude to decline even if the idea of spending a single second in mime hell sent a batch of heebie jeebies down his spine. But stepping in, he seriously began to reconsider every single decision leading up to this point. He'd seen a lot in his lifetimes and this was... probably the single most traumatising place he'd ever stepped foot in. He'd need a lot of help to handle this particular experience and sought out the nearest drink he could find scanning the crowd for any kind of familiar face. He didn't even know who Kaden was...

Artie nodded adamantly. "Right. In and out. We wait for a lul in his conversations, go in wish him a happy birthday. Get one photo of us doing something interesting and leave. Then when people say "Oh I don't remember seeing you there." We have photo proof, and we gave a gift. Birthday boy remembers and we're free of these..." Artie lowered her voice to hiss out the words, sure that the silent monstrosities were staring at her and Red, absorbing every word heard around them to offer to whatever demonic creature mimes worshiped. "Vile zebra wanna-bes." She let out a sigh, allowing her voice to raise to a normal volume. "Why, in the name of all things green and full of chlorophyll, did you think we should come when you found out it was here? We could have said Vi was sick..."

It wasn't hard to notice her sister's expression when Bea joined them at the bar. She wasn't even sure what she had done now to piss off the middle sister, but she tried to ignore it. She had bigger issues to deal with and one of those was making sure the birthday boy himself didn't lose it at the chaos of this party. "Well, let me know if you need anything," She reminded Kaden, trying not to sound too much like a worrywart. (She was sure she failed). Then she heard a familiar voice and turned with a bright grin,"Felix! You're here! You set this party up?" She asked with an amused eyebrow raise

Simon had managed to find a table that wasn't completely decorated in... er, decorations and he sat down tentatively, pausing for a second before leaning back and pulling out a notebook. He noted the three empty chairs also around the table and decided to try to appear friendly so if people wanted to take them, they could... after all, they weren't HIS chairs. Time to take some notes on some of the individuals, and the room was filling up fast.

Marie-Jeanne tilted her head at the crowd. Fresh blood. She tapped the corner of her lips until they spread into a wide smile, and slowly shimmied her way through the crowd. Her clothing was minimal, made mainly of taped on black stripes, evenly spaced from neck to ankle. They smelled good, these newcomers, she thought as she wound her way through them, moving to a beat only she could hear. She tapped the occasional shoulder, giving them a wink and blowing a silent kiss before moving onto the next one. The winks were the only time she closed her eyes at all. Her make-up indistinguishable from her skin, as if it had always been there. Perhaps this was a celebration?

This was... absolute chaos. Glitter and stripes and music... GLORIOUS. Mercy could already feel the discord. She hadn't been invited exactly, but word traveled. And she couldn't pass this up. It had entirely too much potential. So she made her way through the crowd, trying to find someone she knew. Or someone she didn't. New friends were always a good time.

"You're a genius, that's a genius plan and that's exactly what we're going to do. Photo, conversation, and then we're out," Red went over enthusiastically. There was a lot going on here and it was pretty overwhelming to be in the middle of. Red didn't want to think about how Kaden felt about the whole thing. "Vi could get sick while we're here..." They said, before they tensed. Leaning to whisper in Artie's ear,"There's fae here." This wasn't a location to go hunting which made it an even more frustrating situation to be involved in. "Let's get your plan done quick."

Nora, who had been here since opening, was silently enamored with one particular mime. She'd first noticed this mime when she came up, tapped her shoulder and blew a kiss. Nora, literally just there to watch mimes, noticed that she did this thing where she didn't blink. Nora loved it. What a show. She wondered how she kept her eyes moist. Did she alternate the winks? Did she have fake make up eyes? Mimes were just the greatest. Nora leaned back in her corner, intent on enjoying the show despite the sudden uptick in people.

Alain grimaced. She was right. They could not leave Kaden alone in this place of terror, although his idea of getting the poor guy a breton shirt was starting to smell even more like a big turd than it already did. But, since he could not return the thing, it would have to do. "At least, you don't have to worry about being underdressed for the place..." He parked the car and raised his eyes up at the sky. "No amounts of drinking are going to make this acceptable." There was a pause. "Alright, let's go."

Blanche was certain that she had made something similar to a mistake. Whether it was joking with Felix about the Taylor (Tyler?) Lautner and the glitter thing or actually showing up to the birthday party at a mime-themed strip club, Blanche wasn't sure which. She was horribly amused and mortified all at once, as she went to grab a drink. She saw Felix floating around here somewhere, maybe she could beg him for something the to make her forget that she was here - and then she saw Alain and.... "Evelyn?" Blanche said, her voice too loud in the club. She scurried over. "Alain! Hey - uh, hi!"

Kaden wasn't sure which it was, love or hate that led to this monstrosity. He glanced at his phone a moment to send Regan an update and, uh, question how much of this was left up to her. Maybe see if she'd change her mind about showing up. He doubted it but he had to try. He could guilt her, right? One photo of this mess should send anyone into a guilt spiral for causing this nightmare, right? Shit, maybe that was too mean to do to her right now. His brow raised at Bea's reaction to the smarmy smooth talking guy in a suit. "Felix, huh? You two know each other? I guess I have you to thank for this.... Whatever this is. How'd you come up with this exactly?"

Luce raised an eyebrow at the man who'd just made a big showy gesture of "anything at all" and caught her sister say his name. Felix. Interesting. Red suit like that, he stood out well enough. As Bea turned to speak to him, Luce slipped away from the bar. There were other people here to mingle with and she didn't really feel much like trailing after her sister like some kind of puppy. "Happy Birthday. Enjoy unwrapping your gifts," She said with a glance over at one of the more attractive mimes-- if such a thing could be said. Patting the man, Kaden, on the shoulder, she walked away from the bar. As she made her way through the crowd, she spotted a person with a very intricate hand tattoo, standing next to a woman. "Nice tattoo. Where'd you get that done?" She asked the person, intrigued.

Cece was going to need a lot of drinks to get through this party. Who would have thought that there would actually be a bar that Cece couldn’t have fun in? Turns out, there really was a first time for everything. Regardless, if she was going to make it through this party, she was going to need some booze. “Please give me two of whatever your strongest shots are.” she sighed from a barstool. The bartender didn’t say anything. Oh fuck, of course he didn’t say anything. Because it was a fucking mime bar. Cece immediately downed both drinks and requested another one. She could totally have a fun time at this party. She just wasn’t sure how much booze it would take for that to happen. But here’s to starting off strong.

Winston was not sure what Bea and Luce were doing here, but at least there was someone to talk to that they didn’t work with. Maybe they could actually have a good time. Swallowing as much Bourbon as they could to try and get them sociable enough to not trip over their own proverbial feet, they spotted Blanche and grabbing one more drink they made their way over to her. “You here for Kaden too?” They asked curiously, spotting Alain. Was there anyone in this town that didn’t know Kaden?

Evelyn gave Alain a quick shrug. "This is true, and I agree, I do not think much of any amount of drinking can make this worth it." As they entered in, someone came running over to them - "Blanche?" She asked, her lips curving up into a small smile. "Well, though I would have preferred we meet under just about any other circumstance, I am pleased to finally meet you in person." She pressed her hands against her dress, letting out a small sigh. "This is certainly one of the more eclectic parties I have been too, and let me tell you, some Dukes back home have some bizarre hobbies and habits.

Mercy had just ordered a large drink when someone grabbed her wrist. She spun around to see that it was Arthur, who she couldn't believe was actually here. In a bar. In a strip club. She coughed on her whiskey. "I was about to say... why wouldn't I enjoy this?? It's amazing." She took another drink. "I take it you're not having fun?"

Red glanced at the woman who just came up to them, surprised that anyone would want to actually have a conversation with a stranger at a party like this. They glanced at their hand before nodding at the woman with a little smirk. "Got this one done in Oregon. Haven't gotten any since I moved here though, you look like you'd have suggestions on where to go to get some quality work."

Artie tensed as soon as Red said the magic word. 'Fae.' "Babe, do you think... Do you think the fae are making the town be in love with mimes?" She was whispering into Red's ear, her eyes darting back in forth. Artie had gone through life with the intense pleasure of never having met a fae, and she wanted to keep it that way. "Classic life ruining shenanigans." Artie smiled widely and with the sincerity of a teenager agreeing to do the dishes as a mime walked past them. Artie gripped Red's arm even tighter. It was nice knowing they were there. They were a pillar of security in this unknown world. looking at the woman who joined them, Artie attempted another smile.

Miles had almost spat his coffee all over his desk when he'd received an email inviting him and the rest of the department to the party of one Kaden Langley. This guy worked in law enforcement? Figures. The field did tend to attract a lot of people who liked to throw their weight around. He walked in, cautiously looking around for anyone he might recognize.

Arthur blinked, mildly bewildered as he accidentally caught the eye of a blond mime tantalisingly?? lifting their striped shirts, he blinked again swallowing thickly and reaching for another drink. "What gave that away? Who in their right mind thought a... Actually no, don't answer that. Do you know Kaden?" he asked instead, taking a healthy swallow of his drink.

Felix smiled at Bea over the rim of his martini glass. “Bea! Oh, you better believe I did. I had some help. A certain Harlow character let me know about all the very interesting things the birthday fella likes, so...” He trailed to gesture at the everything around them. Tyler, the Taylor Lautner impersonator, seemed very popular with the mime strippers. When Kaden spoke, Felix turned his attention to him and nodded. “Yeah, we know each other! Bea’s a real good friend of mine,” he said with a comfortable smile. “I had plenty of creative suggestions, so I can’t take all the credit on this particular striped jigsaw puzzle! Sure is something, huh?” When a familiar blonde made her way to the bar, he called out. It was nice to see her not at a crime scene. “Hiya again, Cece! It’s an open bar so do with that what you will, huh?”

"I think all of us would have preferred to be literally anywhere else," Blanche said, honestly, glancing over at Winston as they showed up. "I .... think some of this might be my fault. Namely the glitter. And the... uh... That." Blanche pointed vaguely at Tyler Lautner, who was enjoying some cheese. She glanced at Winston as they came over, feeling better to see a friend. "Sure am. You, uh, work with him, right?"

"Gods, can't you feel it, 'Ren?" Mercy whispered aside as she watched the mime move by. "And we've chatted online... and I know what he does.... otherwise not much, no," Mercy said of knowing Kaden.

Luce nodded approvingly at the art. It took skill to do something like that. "Nice. Whoever did it had a good hand." Raising an eyebrow at the comment, Luce held out a tattooed hand of her own for the person to shake. "You're in luck. I'm Luce. I work at Ink Inc. Best tattoo place in Maine. I'd say White Crest, but we're the only one in town and that doesn't count." She said, extending the same hand to the woman at their side. "Luce. You guys know Kaden?"

Alain heard a familiar voice calling him and turned to look at her. "Blanche ! Well I'd hug you but your shoulder must still hurt," he patted her on the arm and smiled warmly. Winston making their way toward the little group, he smiled politely at them. "I am certainly not here for the mimes," he looked down at his striped shirt and shook his head. "This has to be the most awful place I ever had the misfortune of finding myself in. Whoever planned this will have to pay."

"Yeah, I came here because of the bar," Winston glanced at one of the mime strippers and immediately looked away. This was the worst. But at least they weren't on their own here. Either way. They needed more booze to get through this. Swallowing a mouthful of whiskey they almost spat it out at Alain's words. "You know, I think that you're right. This is the most detestable place that I've ever had the misfortune of finding myself in and now I have to agree that whoever planned this will pay," turning to Blanche they smirked slightly, "so you're saying you had a hand in this catastrophe?

Marie-Jeanne felt someone watching her. She glanced over her shoulder to the person with pale skin and black hair, smiled, and shook her derrière in her direction, and planned to return to her later. Her eyes were searching for the center of all this. The one who'd brought them all together. Picking up an invisible tray from the bar, she walked over to the one known as Kaden, running her striped fingers down his arm to catch his attention before carefully picking up an invisible glass of bourbon and holding it out to him, her hips swaying enticingly as she looked him over.

Miles barely had time to speak to anyone before he was flabbergasted by the sight of Mime strippers. "Oh... Oh no." Was this why he'd been stabbed? Mime fetishizing?

Simon wasn't actually feeling too bad about this, all the weird stripper-mimes notwithstanding though his gaze kept wandering over to Nora occasionally, finding himself curious on whether or not she was actually there for Kaden's party. He jotted something to himself in his book when a new yet very familiar scent drifted over to him. Without even really thinking about it, he stood up and starting looking around, wandering through the people and gently moving past bodies. Table? No. Cheese dogs? No. Mime stripper #4? Definitely not, deeefinitely not. He kept following the smell though - it was weird, it was... bad yet good. He didn't realise that he had circled around the bar before standing a little close to ???(Miles), furrowing his brow. Yep, it was this kid.

Mercy watched the mime with narrowed eyes, but found them more amusing than anything. This was... she couldn't but grin and wonder if her own brand of chaos was even needed.

"I wouldn't put it past them, they really are awful enough to come up with a plan like that," Red replied with a look of distaste plain on their face. Only fae would come up with something as terrible as this. No one else would make everyone suffer by falling in love with mimes. Red took Luce's hand, looking over the tattoo she had there as they did. "Hm, I'll keep that in mind. What's your usual style?" Maybe Luce would be able to give Red the Violet tattoo they wanted. "Yeah. Kaden's a coworker. Though, right now I wished I hadn't known animal control was part of the police department."

Nell remembered hearing Bea talking about Kaden's birthday today, and hadn't really been planning on attending. After all, she didn't think an attempted stabbing and some words exchanged online exactly warranted showing up to his birthday party. Though...she did loved birthday parties. Still, she'd been planning to sit it out until she looked up the address. Mimes. Who in their right mind would have their birthday at a mime strip club, of all the cursed places? Especially after being stabbed by one. There was, quite literally, no place she'd hate to be more, but she was also curious. Maybe she could scope out if any other mimes were 'cursed' here like Kaden had seemed to think his was. So here she was, feeling as if she's stepped into an actual, living nightmare. Glancing towards Blanche and Winston, she naturally gravitated towards the pair of them, joking in with Winston and his words. "Blanche, you helped? I can't believe you'd betray us like this? Of all the things. Mimes."

Making a small face as Blanche described what part she had played in this, Evelyn replied with, "well, is it a bit of a joke?" before she turned to the newcomer to their group. Someone she recognized, vaguely. "Winston?" Well, apparently everyone really did know everyone else in this town. "Well, it is a pleasure to see you again although most would have thought it would be under different circumstances than these. At least the company is nice." She glanced over to Alain briefly before looking back at the other two, and at the new figure who had joined them.

So she'd dumped him, but maybe it was a little in haste. After all, Lydia wanted to know just how Jeremiah the mime had taunted Kaden as he'd promised. What she hadn't expected, of all things, was to find people she knew in the Strip(e) club. Perhaps... perhaps she would find this Jeremiah later.

Arthur side eyed her for a moment, "what? Sick? Yeah." He frowned a little bit as he somehow found his current glass empty, putting this down he reached for Mercy's to quell his racing mind but his hand was intercepted by a white glove. The blond mime having very silently made their way over in an attempt to drag Arthur onto one of the stages and apparently join in their act. Oh no. Oh nope. Nope. No way. Mildly panicked he tried to pull back, but the mime was surprisingly strong and managed to tug him a step away. "Oh fuck, help, Mercy help."

Go to the co-workers birthday party, her brother had said. It'll be fun and you'll make new friends, he said. Jane was horrified. Wasn't this the guy that got stabbed by a mime? Wasn't she working that case with Stryder? Did she imagine that? Had Felix slipped her something? Jane stood in horror by the enterance, shaking a bit og glitter off her boot before hightailing it to the bar. She saw Cece doing shots. Perfect. Tunnel visioned to the alcohol, Jane said, "Give me two of those shots too - Oh. Felix." Jane stared at him a moment. She turned back to the bartender. "Four. Make that four shots."

"Felix is a great friend. We've been hanging around each other for the past three years?" Bea told Kaden warmly. Though she doubted he was going to take to Felix as warmly, since he was involved in whatever this was. "Harlow?" She asked before realizing that meant Blanche had been involved with this. That checked out she supposed. "I see Blanche continued her reign of terror on you, Kaden." She said with a little laugh.

"Artie." Artie said as introductions went around. Artie vaguly paid attention as they talked about tattoos. Artie loved Red's tattoos and thought they were beautiful, but tattoos had never been her thing. "Never met the man. Just here for support and to be the bearer of gifts." She laughed, holding up the present she still needed to give. She didn't see a present table set up, so she'd just have to hand it to him when they got their moment to talk to him. Right now a mime seemed very interested in talking to the man she could now identify as Kaden.

Miles couldn't help but wonder if he was supposed to bring a gift. He was morally opposed to bringing gifts to potential murderers, but figured a good middle ground was to bring him a bottle of whiskey or something. Something to endear Kaden to him and perhaps loosen his tongue a little. There were a few familiar faces in the room, so Miles slowly approached the bar area, ordering a beer.

Mercy saw a few other people she recognized. Felix - gods, what a suit... but it suited... hah - and Blanche. There was Evelyn too. She was about to say something when Arthur spoke instead. "Huh? Oh... woah there. Not. Yours." Mercy reached for the white-gloved hand (it had a helluva grip on Arthur) and removed it from his person. The mime merely looked at Mercy for a long moment, but she stared back, crossing her arms and making a pointed shooing motion with her fingers.

"The shoulder is still a little sore," Blanche admitted, grinning back at Alain, before scowling at Winston and then Nell. "Hey, don't look at me, I didn't say to set it up at a mime place! He just got, ya know, stabbed by one. I just suggested glitter and the Taylor - I mean Tyler - er, Taylor Lautner impersonator. Though I didn't know that was even a thing." Blanche looked around, grimacing. "I think this place is cursed."

Oh, he was moving. And so Simon did too. He did realise then how close he was standing and he took a couple steps back but he was still following. Hey, people followed people all the time, right? He pulled out his notebook with a sniff, writing down details about the boy with the familiar scent-- oh wait, they were at the bar. Might as well pencil in some gossip while he was at it.

Kaden nodded, thin smile pulled tight across his face as Felix yammered. "Harlow. Helped? Of course she did." He downed his drink and motioned for another. The one thing he had to say about the mimes was they caught on to the gesture no problem. "I'm going to get some of that cheese. Have fun. I'm sure I won't." He was about to leave when a fucking mime came over with, uh, nothing in her hands at all and stared... no. No. There was no way this was happening. "Uh, I don't-- Please don't." And yet he was frozen still in shock, unsure of what the fuck to even do about this. Other than down that second drink.

"Nice to meet you both." Luce said with a nod. As the the person asked about her style, she pushed up the sleeve of her jacket, showing them the geometric design that wrapped around her wrist and went up her arm. "My personal style is geometric, black work. But, I'm flexible. I'm pretty good with traditional and neo-traditional." She said with a shrug. When they mentioned that they were coworkers, Luce grinned. "White Crest does things different. And, good on you both for even coming by. I'm here because." Luce grimaced. "Bad luck, I guess."

Cece was what, five? Six drinks in by now? All while making pointless conversation with a speechless bartender. She spotted Miles coming up to the bar and flashed a friendly, if not way too drunken smile. “Oh hey, you showed up too? Sorry for your loss, dude.”

Winston nodded. "This place is definitely cursed, I can't believe that we actually came to a mime themed strip club." They weren't sure why Nell was here, but they didn't really care. It was nice that there were this many people that they knew. Otherwise it might've been weird or something. "How long do we reasonably have to stay here before we get another drink?" they were itching to head for the bar, hoping that if they drank enough then maybe this place would be palatable. "I wonder how much it cost to hire this place for an afternoon?"

Simon peeked out from behind Miles. "D-Dr. Bishop?" He asked, only just now recognising her face for some reason, and certainly never having seen her outside the morgue.

Wow, Kaden had a lot of friends... Joanne scoured around, pouting, as she realized it was going to be harder to pick out her Regal Rat from the crowd than she thought. She mimed a tear falling down her cheek, and practically walked into a woman who also seemed to be looking for someone. Kady chattered from inside her pocket, she calmed him with a hand. He'd be back in the sewers soon enough. "Have you seen Kaden?" she asked quietly, not wanting to completely break character. "I have something for him."

Arthur staggered as he almost lost his balance when the tight grip around his wrist suddenly released bumping into someone near the bar who a moment later he recognised as Miles "oh shit I'm sorry." The mime stared at Mercy, unblinking in its intensity before black-painted lips suddenly cracked into a toothy grin and the mime... mimed laughing. Silent as its body shook while it stood there a few feet away making no move to leave. Arthur could only stare in mild horror at the scene leaning in to whisper "what the actual fuck??"

Nell wasn't sure about being in such close proximity with Alain, but she figured she didn't have to talk to the man, right? Instead, she focused on Blanche and Winston, or rather- on anything but the mimes. "Is the Taylor Lautner impersonator because of why...I think he's here?" Nell asked with the beginnings of a grin, uncertain of how to phrase the question with present company. "Wait- do you know Kaden, Winston?" But at Winston's prompting she was ordering quite the strong drink from the bar before saying. "I'm already thinking of getting a second. But any amount to pay for this place is too much."

Cece burst into laughter, “You’re sweet, but I’m no doctor dude. Just a toxicologist. Four years strictly for me.” She patted his shoulder, taking another long drink from her glass. “You started at the worst time, clearly. I have no idea how we ended up getting roped into coming to this place.”

Marie-Jeanne was used to the new ones being shy. They had no idea how easy it would be to lure them in over and over- oh. She turned her shoulder to press it coyly against her cheek, inviting him to play along. After a moment, she shrugged, returned the drink to her tray and set it aside. She stepped just a little closer, and took his hand in hers, nodding encouragingly. He'd enjoy this, she knew, as she lead his hand to her shoulder, and used it to began peeling away one of the black tapes that striped her body. As it peeled away tantalisingly, it revealed another black stripe on her skin underneath. She smiled down at him, unblinking.

Mercy didn't laugh... she merely mimed reaching into her pocket, being surprised, and then pulling her hand out with the middle finger raised.

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston shrugged in Nell's direction. "Kaden is animal control, they work at the station, so I got an invite through that and it seemed like it was the place to be..." they trailed off and slugged back more of their drink, praying that if they drank more this place would be slightly less terrible, "How do you know Kaden? I know he and Blanche are friends, even though she's referred to him as a dick multiple times, did you just feel afraid of being left out?" If you couldn't tease your best friend then what could you do.

Red's hand moved now to cover the hand Artie had on their arm, their thumb brushing back and forth on her hand. "Looks like in a place like this, Kaden is gonna need as much support as he can get," They said looking around once again. They nodded again at Luce's tattoos, she did good work, but they were, personally, more interested in neo-traditional. "Well, maybe I'll come by the shop to see you there. I need a tattoo for my daughter anyway." Red had one for Artie already and had been waiting to get one for Violet. "You come to mime strip clubs often?

Wait a second, you are behind this?" Alain's eyes went from Blanche to Evelyn. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he then looked around him, searching for Kaden. Maybe it would be nice to start looking for him. They could leave once he had his present, right? "How about we find the birthday boy, mmh ?"

"Jane! Always a pleasure. Have another one on me," Felix laughed. In most cases, people were getting some level of inebriated. This party wouldn't be any different. Looking at Kaden's clear discomfort at the mime brought a bright smile to his face and he slipped his glasses down long enough to wink. "I'll leave you two alone. Enjoy yourself, huh? Regan wants you to have a great time and you did promise to stay, after all!" A promise was a promise, after all. He grabbed another martini and stepped off to the side, immensely pleased.

Lydia turned as a mime approached her, her voice dropping low. Lydia's eyes widened. "Sorry, Kaden's here?" She repeated, before shaking her head in disbelief and looking around. This was beyond belief. "You have something for him? No, I haven't seen him, but I believe I could help you look, if you like?"

Miles was usually just fine with parties, but this entire situation was unsettling and uncomfortable. Mime themed strippers. Mime themed lapdances. Miles was all set to down his beer and bounce. "Hey, Winston..." He managed to find someone he actually knew. It was lucky nobody could see a guy blush in this kinda lighting. "You know this Kaden dude?"

"I agree." Evelyn replied, running a hand through her hair. "This is the only reason to bother staying, so we should at least attempt to find him." She spotted Arthur and Mercy as well - perhaps they would be nice to talk to, even if they appeared to currently be near a mime. "After this, I am truly and utterly done with mimes forever."

The longer Bea looked around to see what was happening the more confused she got. What the heck is that mime doing? Why does she have more black tape underneath the black tape? Who came up with a mime strip club? Why was the party here? She expected this from Felix, but not Blanche. Maybe she'd have to talk to Blanche about therapy. Waving down the bartender, she asked with a sigh,"Can I have a martini?"

Glancing up, Winston spotted Miles, who was a werewolf. That was something that they weren't sure that they had really processed yet, but you couldn't judge people you didn't know. Besides, most werewolves were cool right? They tried not to think about their big black wolf form. "Hey Miles, these are some of my friends by the way, I work with Miles too..." they shrugged gently and swallowed more whiskey, "Not very well, I got the invite because we work together I guess, we've talked a few times online but not really y'know."

"When in Rome..." Mercy said to Arthur as she and the mime proceeded to stare at one another.

Miles nodded, giving introductions to Winston's friends. "Hey, nice to meet y'all."

Simon noted Miles' departure - he must not've been comfortable in crowds-- or maybe just mime gang-hangouts. Gangouts. He winced ever-so-slightly at Cece when he turned back to regard her though... she already carried the sharpness of alcohol. "I just... came because I thought it'd be a good opportunity to watch," He replied, giving her a small smile. "You seem to be enjoying yourself, at any rate."

Marie-Jeanne briefly turned her head towards Felix and winked, miming a promise to see him later, before turning her attention back to Kaden, slowly sliding their hands to the next stripe.

Joanne's eyes widened. This woman didn't know about the grand event happening? "Don't you see?" She waved her gloved hands in an arc. "It's his birthday! He's really into mimes, you know." Joanne giggled, and Cadin started climbing up her sweater. The rat perched on her shoulder and starting biting her earlobe, but that was fine. "Please help me look, won't you? All of the right planets and stars are aligned tonight, the sacrifice has been made... it's important he receives his Sewer Crown."

"No!" Blanche said, quickly. "That would be Felix - I may just, uh, given him the glitter idea." Blanche rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. Her bad, really. Though this was a shit show and it was really sort of hilarious. "And yes, it is because of that." Blanche told Nell, snickering slightly, before glancing at Miles. Oh. Miles. She remembered Miles. From the Remmy situation. Aw hell. "Hey, man. Nice to, uh, see ... you."

Oh, right. Nell should have probably pieced that together, but honestly she'd forgotten that animal control would be roaming around the same station as Winston. "Tell me truthfully, now," she said to Winston. "How quickly did you run over here when you heard it'd be at a mime strip club? I didn't know you were into this. I guess old friends really can learn new things. And I...will tell you how I know Kaden...later." No doubt Winston would pick up on her telling tone that the meeting might have been supernaturally charged. "You know me, though. I'm like a little leech. Latching onto whatever I can get." Then she was leaning over to the newcomer to give him a small wave. "Hi, there."

Miles gave a small smile to Blanche. Maybe Kaden was the Hunter she'd had the problem with too. But then why would she be at his party? "I don't really know him either, just figured it's rude not to show up."

Late, as per usual, Marley dropped off her "gift" at the "gift" table and headed straight for the bar. If she was going to be here, she was going to be tipsy. Not only was this a mime bar, it was Langley's birthday. Just her luck, the newbie was there. "Hey Newbie," she said, ordering a drink, "same idea, I see."

The blond mime flicked his floppy hair out of the way, its cracked lips thinning into a pressed line as his head cocked to an exceptionally odd angle a white gloved hand raising to its chin as it mimed thinking before suddenly raising its index finger. It moved eerily gracefully, towards a nearby wilting flower pot and mimed picking a flower, smelling it and swooning. It returned dropping to one knee, hands clasped and proffered forth as though offering this imaginary bouquet batting its eyes in its silent attempt at cuteness that made it all the more distressing to watch. Arthur could only stare, utterly horrified.

Alain took a deep breath. This place was too crowded for his liking, and the fact that it was crowded with striped fuckers certainly did not help. At least he had someone he was familiar with to accompany him across this hell, right? "Weren't you already done with those things?" His eyebrows shot up. "Learning new things everyday."

Kaden didn't know how it was happening but somehow there was a mime stripping in front of him with stripes that... revealed more stripes? Were there too many people there to try and fight her? He was pretty fucking sure this was a monster. It had to be. His eyes went wide as Felix and Bea left him there "Hey, wait, I did nor promise to--" The mime put a fucking finger to his lips to silence him. Nightmare. This was an absolute nightmare.

Laughing at Nell, Winston found themselves grinning despite themself. A mime strip club really wasn't their thing and Nell definitely knew that. "Well, I am glad that you were able to latch onto this so we could enjoy my obvious ..." they paused to highlight their obvious disgust at the idea they would flippantly admit to in moments, "kink for this sort of thing." They swallowed the last of their whiskey and ordered another one, they definitely needed this.

Felix felt the sudden and immediate need to be incredibly less sober than he was the very moment Marie-Jeanne looked at him. He waved over to Bea with his not martini occupied hand and reached into his suit pocket to pull out a slim joint just slightly. "Think the cops are too occupied with other stuff to give a damn? Because I sure as heck do."

Luce noticed the stance, the hand on the woman. Mm. A couple. She probably shouldn't have barged into their conversation, but still. She couldn't resist good art, or the opportunity to network. She needed to drum up business in a small town like this. "Sounds like a plan, I look forward to seeing you in the shop then." She said with a confident smile. Though when they mentioned the mime situation, she made a face of distaste. "Not at all. I hate mimes. But, the weird buff one wouldn't let me leave so... Guess I'm here for the mean time." She said, pointing to the one who looked like disturbingly similar to Taylor Lautner.

“Well you certainly chose one hell of a spectacle.” Cece laughed, looking back at the horrors of the party. Someone had chosen this place on purpose for Kaden’s birthday. Either it was a cruel joke and Kaden should seek an immediate lawsuit for defamation of character and emotional burden, or Kaden was into some really weird shit. Which, no judgement but also… okay a little judgement. “You need a drink? I was just about to order another one. Or two.” She tipped her glass back and downed the rest of it for sure. “What do you want? The bartender isn’t much for conversation, but luckily I make great convo.”

Bea stared at the joint and then glanced at Kaden, she had promised to save him from whatever horrors this party brought, even though she hadn't expected them to include a mime stripper. Nodding to Kaden, she smiled at Felix apologetically,"Can I bring him? I think he needs to be saved from whatever that is."

Lydia looked around, at the large banner. "Oh, how wonderful. Do you know who planned this?" She'd have to tell Deirdre about this. Someone wanted him dead as much as they did. Her eyes widened at what Joanne said next. "Really? Well, come along, we will find him soon enough." Lydia began to wander through the crowds, poking her head around. "Oh, there he is. But he's being entertained." This was the first time she'd seen him in person, and under that mime's hands, he looked like he might have preferred Miccy's knife. "Let's give him this moment first, shant we? I'm sure that mime is terribly enjoyable, and we can't deprive him, can we?"

Jane was in the process of downing shots. "You," she had pointed at Felix, "We're talking later!" Though if she arrested Felix at the party, maybe they would both get to leave. Jane shook her head, before glancing at Stryder. "You can call me Jane, you know," She said, knocking back another. She leaned over, "Uh, is Langley trying to get stabbed again? Or is he just into some weird shit?"

Nell watched in abject horror from across the way as the mime seemed to latch onto the birthday boy. Someone should save him. Not her. God no. She wouldn't go near the mimes with a ten foot pool unless it was to start another mime fight. But... someone. Hopefully this one wouldn't stab him, at least. He amusement only grew as Winston went along with her joke, wishing she had a recorder stashed to catch this moment of their apparent newfound kink. "Oh, Winnie. i'm really just so proud of you for embracing this. Unfortunately, I think this is the end of the road for our friendship, though." Then she was taking a hearty draw of the drink the bartender had delivered. "What about you, Blanche? Is this your newfound fetish, too?"

"Already more than done with them." Evelyn sighed. In a brief moment, she hooked her arm with Alain's. "Well, now I am only all the more certain that I am done with them." She pouted for a moment. "And to think, I got a nice new outfit for this. Well, let us go find Kaden, or at least someone else who we know."

Simon gave a rather noncommittal shrug - drinking wasn't a hobby he'd ever participated in, but... he gave another sniff and nodded faintly. "Sure," He took her offer though his eyebrows arched as she downed the rest of her current drink. "Yeah, it's... I wasn't expecting this sort of turnout," He admitted, straightening up and glancing around at the forming sea of people. "Where... IS Kaden, anyway?" He asked quietly. From their chat, it sounded like the guy didn't really like mime so the aspect of making a mime-themed birthday party seemed... either ironic or cruel.

"You're right," Marley said, "I could. I won't, but I could." She shrugged, ordered herself some shots, glancing at whoever it was that Jane had shouted at. He looked a little more out of place than most of these people, but it didn't matter. This was a party! And they were all off duty. She glanced through the crowd again and spotted Cece somewhere far off. Red and Artie were off somewhere, but no sign of Regan. This was going to be a shit show, if it wasn't already. A familiar blonde caught her eye as well. Evelyn. She was with an older looking man, and Marley's eyes narrowed a little before she turned back to Jane. "Here's to an open bar!" she said, clinking their glasses together. "Eh, just ignore it. Who cares what Langley's up to. I just came for the drinks."

Blanche was in desperate need to get a drink, especially as Nell and Winston started joking about mime kinks. She shook her head, before looking over and seeing the worst possible thing she could imagine. Kaden getting a lap dance from a stripped mime. She stared loudly. Before she turned to Nell and Winston and Miles, and announced, "I need to consume copious amounts of alcohol immediately to forget what I just saw. I found the birthday boy and I wish I didn't."

Marie-Jeanne pressed her finger to his lips to let him just be quiet, and enjoy the music of silence and the sound of against his seat. He seemed to be enjoying this, she thought, and so she leant even closer, gyrating the air just above his hips as she placed her hands on his shoulders, and slowly, slowly dragged them down his chest. Right to where his heart was. She waved to Guillaume, inviting the mime over to join them both, and he immediately mimed removing his shirt for Kaden. Her hands still rested firmly on his chest. Soon his heart would beat for her and her friend.

Mercy watched the mime as it moved off and came back with an offering of a 'flower.' She glanced at Arthur, raised an eyebrow. The glanced back at the mime... suspiciously. Eventually she rolled her eyes, but gave the mime a curtsy - yes, a proper one... - and took the 'flower.' She mimed tucking it in her hair before miming something that Arthur couldn't see. The mime tilted it's head again, pretending to cry, sighed wistfully, and then with a rather... odd.... look, it did a handstand and crept away. On it's hands.

Winston definitely did not to need to see the birthday boy getting grinded on by a mime in a thong, and immediately followed Blanche to the bar after starring as equally loudly. "Like as many doubles as I'm allowed please, i need to try and drown that memory."

Red watched in horror as the lapdance got worse. "Felix I'm going to be right back." She basically power walked over to Kaden and put her hand on his shoulder, grinning at the mime. "I need the birthday boy now please. Get off him. Thanks."

Miles followed Winston's lead. "That's him??" He turned his head, desperate to un-see whatever in the ungodly hell he'd just seen involving Kaden Langley and an almost nude mime. "Whose idea was this venue?"

Bea watched in horror as the lapdance got worse. "Felix I'm going to be right back." She basically power walked over to Kaden and put her hand on his shoulder, grinning at the mime. "I need the birthday boy now please. Get off him. Thanks."

Felix looked over at Kaden, who was thoroughly suffering, and thought it over. "Is that a man who looks like he needs saving?" If he did, the fae wasn't about to do it. "Tell you what, doll. You take this," he said as he took her hand and slipped her the joint. "For the birthday boy. I'm gonna go check in with Tyler and I'll meet up with you later, huh?" He squeezed her shoulder lightly and made his way over to Tyler, who immediately grinned. "This is really dope, Mr. Doyle! It has been so hard to find work as a Taylor Lautner impersonator the last ten years so this was really rad of you." The fae smiled thinly. "Oh, I bet! But hey, looks like you're in demand again. Go get 'em, tiger!" Tyler laughed and started to howl. "I'm a wolf, bro!" Felix downed his martini. "Aren't you just!" He still had a few joints to last the evening.

As if she'd read Blanche's mind, Nell handed a drink over to Blanche that she'd ordered as soon as she'd seen her friend. She had a feeling they'd all need a lot of alcohol to cope with what was going to happen tonight. What was already happening. "Take it. Take it and run." Then she followed in suit with Winston's idea, simply saying to the bartender, "What they're having. I need two of everything... please. There went Bea to save the poor birthday boy, at least.

Cece grabbed the two drinks from the bartender and slid one over to Simon. “Who knows? Maybe he’s really into this whole mime thing?” This was a strip bar afterall.. Maybe Kaden had found some mime to uh… mime with him. No words needed. She was taking a drink when she spotted more familiar faces across the bar. Jane and Marley, thank god. “Ooh, more friends, come with!” Cece all but dragged Simon over to the rest of the crowd. Jane, Marley and… Felix? Interesting addition. “Guys thank god you’re here too. Please drink with me.” She raised her beer to the group and pointed at Simon, “Hey, here’s the new guy at the morgue if you haven’t met him yet. It’s Simon!”

Was it a tinge of jealousy Nora felt as not one but two mimes started to give Kaden his own public lap dance? A little. Mimes were.... How could she describe them in the perfect words? There were no words to describe just how powerful and majestic they were. The feelings they conveyed. It was art to its purest form. Even the idea of no sound crossing their lips. Honestly, it just made since for mimes. The emotions they were able to convey and convict is just too powerful for words to handle. An ancient godly language would have to be made up to contain it.

Marie-Jeanne smiled at Bea as if she didn't understand her. Did she also want a dance? Or maybe to peel off one of her many stripes?

Was Bea going to have to push a mime stripper today? She didn't want to push a mime stripper.

Alain glanced over at Evelyn's arm. It was actually comforting, in a time like this one. She probably must have noticed him tense, and he was thankful to be with someone who got him. His eyes eventually found Kaden, with a mime on his lap and Beatrice stepping in to rescue him from a certain death. "Jesus Christ," he exclaimed, approaching the pair and giving the mime stripper the most disdainous look he could afford to give. For an instant, he must have looked exactly like his father.

Luce caught sight of other people turning to look at one of the mimes and immediately wished she hadn't. Good luck, Birthday Boy. Tossing back the rest of her drink, she held up the empty drink to Artie and her spouse. "I need a lot more of this if I want to pretend I hadn't seen that. Nice talking to you." She said before making her way over to the bar. Settling next to her sister, she spoke up. "Two of whatever you've got that's strong and will make me forget that." She said before turning to watch the shitshow unfold. Aw. There went Bea. Good luck with all that. "Better her than me." She said to Nell.

With the mime gone, Mercy huffed and turned back to the bar. She ordered something large and strong - and one for Arthur too - before pulling her own pre-rolled 'cigarette' out of her pocket. Lighting it, not even bothering to wonder if it was alright or even safe, Mercy took a pull. "This is more fucked than that time in... what year was it? With the..." Mercy waved the 'cigarette.' "... the orgies and the naked grape-crushing?"

Jane snorted. "I mean, I guess we don't have to do anything unless someone actually gets stabbed," Jane agreed to the toast, laughing lowly. She grinned at Marley, happy to be in hell with someone she knew. And more people she knew. "Oh! Cece!" Jane said, happily. "And - oh, hi Simon! I'm Jane. You can call him Newbie, Stryder."

Artie smiled to herself at the light reassuring touch of Red's thumb on her hand. The woman, Luce, who had been talking tattoos with Red held up her drink and left. "She seemed nice. I bet that's going to be a great tattoo she gives." She cracked a smile. "But now my question is, how do we leave when we obviously can't be the one to interrupt the special boy's special lap dance."

Simon had just taken the drink from Cece when he heard someone start to howl and he had already started to lean his head back when he slammed a hand over his mouth, stopping just short of shoving his knuckles into his teeth to stave off the need as he was dragged compliantly by Cece over to people she presumably knew. He cleared his throat loudly and took an alarmingly large drink as she introduced him and he coughed his breath out from the sting of the alcohol combined with... everything else. Great first impression. "H-hi," He choked.

Evelyn was grateful that they finally found Kaden - and someone else, who she also did not recognize. "Kaden, what exactly is," she motioned vaguely, "this? Seems a little out of taste for you." She looked at the mime and narrowed her eyebrows.

Joanne frowned. She should have been the one to plan this, but someone stole it from right under her hands. "I don't know, but at least there are plenty of mimes. Not enough rats." Kady chattered his teeth in agreement. She followed the other woman, eyes peeled for the Rat King's magnificent mane. A mime had him. Joanne snarled and rolled up her striped sleeves. Kady and Cadin started running around on her shoulders in a frenzy. She was going to tear the stripes off that mime for stealing her Kaden away. And then, she had a king to crown.

"Let him be tortured for a little bit," Marley grinned. "It feels nice." There was certainly a lot of chaos here, and a tinge of horror. Not enough to enjoy or feed from, but it was still nice to enjoy. Marley raised her glass when Cece approached. "Cece! Join us! You, too, new guy! All are welcome in the all night drink fest, here--" she held out two shots to each of them. "Catch up." Grinning behind her sunglasses.

Bo had been staring decidedly at a wall, her back to the stage. The plate of cookies in her hands rattled. She saw nothing. She wanted to see nothing. She couldn't look at the strippers (stripe-ers?). All this time, her gaze lost to the shadows of the wall. Somehow, with great courage, she walked backwards towards the bar. "C-cookie?" She offered meekly to the people there. Her face had become permanently etched with redness. She could see nothing. Hear nothing. She placed the tray down sadly. "I would like some of alcohol please." She had never had a sip of the stuff before. But what better place to try than at this nightmare.

Arthur stared as the mime left on its hands, flipping gracefully down to then crab walk backwards through the crowds somehow avoiding bumping into other people as it vanished. "What... the actual fuck?" it seemed to be all he'd been reduced to saying. He blinked, staring at the spot it had vanished into before looking back to his friend with a shake of his head. "No that's totally not comparable... That was a rather enjoyable experience with a lot of wine at the end of it this... was definitely not... I feel like I need to meet this Kaden dude... If only to get an idea who the hell would want this for a birthday party?" He glanced around the crowd noticing Evelyn stood by someone he didn't recognise currently being... tended to by a scantily striped mime. "Think that might be the birthday boy?"

Blanche immediately downed the drink Nell had handed to her. "What would I do without you, Nellie." She said, sniffing slightly, before looking at Miles. "Freaking Felix's idea. Unless he got the idea when I said he, uh, got stabbed. Oh god, I hope not." Blanche blanched, before ordering another drink.

Kaden winced as the mime jammed her hands right on his wound, right at the stitches. Yup, this was hell. He'd found hell. Could she just stab him now and be done with it? He was relieved to see Bea. "Uh, I'm going to go now," he said as he pushed her away and climbed out of the chair, making sure no knives were about to make an appearance. "She, uh, really needs me." And Evelyn and Alain, too. "Hell. This is hell. Hi. Sorry you had to come," he said as he stood up and tried to practically hide behind his friends from the mime that was still staring, not blinking. Shit. "I might need something stronger than alcohol soon."

Spotting Bo, Winston smiled and waved for her to come over and join them. “If you want an alcohol Bo then you’ve definitely come to the right place,” they hadn’t been paying for drinks all night so they really hope it was open bar, “can we get four of whatever we just ordered please?”

Nell nodded along with her sisters words, wondering if this was how the Stripe Club stayed open. They just horrified their patrons into buying more alcohol. "Let's hope this one doesn't have a knife," she said about Bea having gone to help Kaden. "Otherwise, I can't guarantee there won't be more stabbing in this Chili's tonight if the striped bastard decides to be a dick."

"I think if we take a picture in front of Kaden getting a lapdance that will count as the photo of us being at the party," Red replied. They sighed as they watched Kaden get up from the lapdance. There goes the photo they were going to show at the Silver Bullet. "Want to just leave the gift on one of the cheese tables and get out now?"

Marie-Jeanne looked at the growing crowd, her shoulders sinking and a pout extending. She wiped an invisible tear from her eyes, bent over (salaciously) to pick up one of her stripes and tied it around Kaden's hand, finishing it with a bow. The perfect gift. He pushed her away and she pouted more, before blowing him one last kiss, perking up, and sauntering to find someone else to give presents to.

Later, he would find that bow hard to remove.

"Are you... having a stroke?" Mercy asked. "Here." She held out the 'cigarette' to him. "And there's a lot of wine here if you'd get to drinking like the rest of us." She looked around to where Arthur motioned. "It's a solid chance... come on..." Mercy snagged their drinks and gave Arthur a small push towards the man in question.

If nothing else, at least Cece had these people to drink these horrors away with. From the corner of her eye, she caught a mime pass by them and it only made the desire to drink even stronger. If Cece wasn’t black-out by the 5pm, then she was clearly doing something wrong. “There’s nothing I’d want more than to do shots with you guys. Holy hell I need this. I'm clearly not drunk enough yet. Let’s keep these shots rolling, she yelled over to the silent bartender, who she had decided that she hated. So strongly. God that bartender was the worst. “Here’s to hopefully forgetting this ever happened!” She said, downing the shot.”

Felix moved back over to the bar and forewent another martini, instead opting for a straight tumbler of Jameson. He had put this monochromatic nightmare together and he was going to see it through, like any responsible Fun Supplier. When he caught Marie-Jeanne's eye, he gave her a short thumbs up. His eyes slid down the long line of the bar and the people that had gathered there. "Enjoying yourselves one way or another?" He raised his brows before he gestured to the bartender. "Bartender, top us all off, will you? I think we might be in dire need of liquid courage!"

Not enough... rats? Lydia eyed Joanne for a moment, before realising that there were rats on her shoulder. Lydia couldn't help herself, she recoiled in horror. Fucking vermin. As bad as being surrounded by humans. "Good luck giving him his gift! I hope he enjoys it!" She said, before backing away. Swiftly. Oh, so, very swiftly.

"That was interesting," Bea said to Kaden. "Sorry I didn't grab you sooner." She smiled over at Alain and Evelyn,"Hi, Alain. I don't think we've met before," She said to the woman. "I'm Beatrice," She offered a hand to shake towards Evelyn. Glancing at Kaden,"Felix can set you up with whatever you need. If you wanted that." She could grab Felix and Kaden and smoke with them both outside...

Simon, meanwhile, took the shots the one called Marley offered him but hesitated on drinking it - he hadn't even finished the one he had yet and the different sounds and smells were already mixing up his system, not to mention he still felt the burn of the first swig. So now he was up to two and a half drinks, held in spidery fingers and he couldn't help but give Cece a look of mild concern. She was... really putting those away.

Arthur took the stick without a word and took a slow inhale, exhaling the smoke to once side slowly as he tried to steady his nerves. "Fuck, this is the worst place I've ever been to and that's saying something..." He took another drag before he offered it back to her. With the light shove he made his way over to Evelyn and the guy he assumed was Kaden? "Hey Evelyn..." he smiled warmly "you look lovely as always." Noticing Bea who he hadn't seen since the beach incident he gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Ah... so this was Kaden.

Alain glanced down at Kaden's hand and wrinkled his nose. "You better take that off before you end up turning into one of these things..." His expression softened as the mime stepped away, at last, and he patted the man on the shoulder. "I don't know whose idea this is, but they'll have to suffer for what they have done to us, good taste, and human dignity." His brow shot up and he shook his head : "You really want to be drunk and high in a place like this? I'd want to be alert, if I were you..." Then turning his attention toward Bea, he smiled back at her "How have you been?"

Bo held on to Winston like a life line. She hobbled over. Shocked, mostly. When had the shots come? Winston ordered four but Bo downed all four of them. Then ordered more. "Hi guys," she smiled at them. The alcohol had not done it's work yet, but it would. Then...they would see. "Winston, I love you. Marley, I love you. Jane, I love you. Kaden...he's okay." They would all see.

Winston didn’t take too long to find themselves back with a number of their colleagues. Somehow a shot got passed into their hand and they swallowed it alongside Jane and Marley. Blanche and Nell weren’t far away but this might be the first time . Somewhat tipsily they grinned at everyone. “I’m starting to think if we do enough of these it might not be that bad.”

Artie frowned as Kaden got up from his dance also noting they were losing their picture opportunity. "You know what? Just stand in front of a mime, I'll snap a picture we can make it our Christmas greeting card and lets shove the gift at Kaden and blow this popsicle stand."

Mercy followed, grinning at the lunacy going on around them. "Please... you're being dramatic," she said to Arthur as they moved through the crowd. She waved a greeting to Evelyn as well, before taking a moment to look at the poor sap who's birthday it was.

Luce frowned. "Wait, Kaden got stabbed by a mime? That's why he was in the hospital?" The fact that he was having this party, here of all places? She doubled over laughing, shaking her head at the thought. "Well. If it comes to it, I'll be right next to you. I'm not about to stab anyone though." She said, before holding her fists up jokingly. "But, I'd love to see what happens if you punch a mime in the face." She said with a shrug. But, when the mime relented and left Kaden alone, Luce couldn't help but feel a bit dissapointed. She would have loved to have a bar brawl in the Stripe Club.

Nell didn't have the best track record with Bo, having been in the back of her cop car a couple of times, but she knew she meant well enough. So she was a bit surprised when Bo downed four shots all in quick succession as she leaned around Winston. "Bo- uh- I don't know if that's a good idea." Had she ever even seen Bo drunk, before? As for taking four shots herself...well that was a different story as she picked up another one from the bar and handed a shot to Winston, as well. "I think tha's very sound logic."

Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief as the mime left, and smiled at Kaden, before turning to the woman. "Oh, it is a pleasure. I am Evelyn, you have a lovely name. Shakespearean, even if that was not the intention when naming you." "Honestly, I might need at least one shot of something," she motioned to the bartender for a small drink and took it, downing it in one go. "Luckily, I have a high tolerance."

Then Nell turned back to her sister, offering her a shot as well. "I'm honestly not sure who's idea the venue was. It seems...questionable after he got stabbed, though. Ugh- my own sister....won't even stab a mime with me. I mean...it wouldn't be the first time I punched a mime. You know this."

Luce belatedly noticed that Bo had walked up and she immediately turned to face the bartender, who seemed to be sweating heavily through his thick mime make up, clearly very busy. He pushed her the drinks she'd ordered and she slid a five dollar bill across the table. "If you need help, blink twice." She said. The mime stared at her, unblinking. Drink in one hand, Luce accepted the shot from Nell and clinked it together. "To Kaden. And to punching mimes." She tossed back the shot.

Marie-Jeanne slipped through the crowd to the bar, to the woman who smelled like chemicals. She was so pretty, and Marie-Jeanne knew instantly that her name was Cece. She smiled, touching Cece's shoulder, before waving a quick number of gestures to the bartender. He rolled his eyes, and served an invisible shot of tequila, complete with invisible lime and the very visible salt shaker. She picked up the salt shaker and shook it over her hand - no salt fell out of the visibly full shaker. Then she raised her glass in toast with Cece, licked the invisible salt, took the shot and bit on the lime, cringing. Do you want some, she gestured? Pouring out a fresh shot of invisible tequila shots for the whole group. Obviously, her eyes were on all of them, but her wide smile (Fun mime fact: Marie-Jeanne had too many teeth) was aimed entirely at Cece.

Looked over to Arthur as he made his way over, along with Mercy, Evelyn waved hello. "Well, I would say it is a pleasure to see you both, and it is, though again, I would prefer different circumstances. Plus side, they serve decent alcohol."

Joanne debated: track down Kaden to deliver her gift, or go fight the mime who got to him first? There'd be time for Kaden later, but her rats needed some fresh blood. She located one of the striped fiends who'd danced for Kaden and trailed her, figuring that her own stripes and beret afforded her some camouflage. But a gloved hand was placed around her wrist. The rats panicked, going after the mime, but there was another. And another. And another. The mimes enveloped her, and she had no choice to be swept away in a striped current.

"Drink!" Marley exclaimed to Simon. "You're falling behind!" Somehow, the bartender kept providing shots, and Marley was more than happy to suck them down. Finally feeling that tingle in her fingertips. She nudged Jane. "Feeling better yet, Newbie?" she grinned. "If you need any help, just say so." Someone was suddenly near them, someone Marley didn't care for, licking salt and smiling. Ugh, salt. She turned back to Jane. "Having fun yet?"

Arthur grimaced ever so slightly. "You and me both, I think a mime just tried to make me strip..." he shook his head a little bit still mildly traumatised at the thought. "And..." he glanced to the man nearby having heard him be addressed as such but feeling inclined to confirm just in case "you must be Kaden then? Happy birthday."

Kaden put his hand on Alain's shoulder. "Look, I need to be drunk to survive this. Do you see all this? Do you see that?!" He gestured to the room. All of it. He tried to pull the bow off his arm, no luck. Merde. He found another drink in his hand as some sort of toast was happening. Great. That was fine. He turned to the new person in their circle. "Hey, I don't know you. Yeah, that's me alright. This shit storm is all for me. So glad."

"Alcohol makes it all better," Mercy said to Evelyn. "And man who did you piss off for this debacle? I mean... it's fucking great... but holy shit..." she laughed at Kaden.

Nell glanced around to the next group over, raising her hand to take the opportunity to wave at Kaden and say, "Happy Birthday! Try not to stab anything tonight, you're doing great."

Cece felt the touch on her shoulder and turned smiling, assuming it was someone else from the department coming to join in on the drinking fun. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to her. “Oh. No, no. I’m definitely going to need way more alcohol to deal with this.” She shook her head and reached out, grabbing the drink from a random patron sitting at the bar. He gave her a look, but she just took a long drink from his beer, “Look, I know why I got dragged here. What’s your excuse?” She narrowed her eyes at him and went back to drinking. After more alcohol and the room had finally started spinning, she raised her glass of invisible tequila that the horrifying mime had poured and downed it. Or well, pretended to. Someone please shoot her. This was a police department. She knew someone here had a gun.

Simon didn't realise that he had shifted all three drinks to one hand as he rubbed at his nose, turning his head as that smell caught him again. Different, still new and bad but good. He snapped his head back to Marley as the latter exclaimed to him and he absently. "Oh, er... sorry," He apologised and half-heartedly took another sip, sticking his tongue out at the taste. He handed one of the shots he had BEEN handed back to Marley as he caught the mime out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't explain why but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was just a mime, it was just a mime...

Red basically sprinted over to Kaden with Artie on their arm and handed the gift to Kaden. "Gotta go the kid is sick at home. This party was fucking weird. See you around dude. Good luck." Turning to Artie,"Let's go."

"Cheers to forgetting this all ever happened!" Jane agreed with Cece, knocking back another shot. She clapped Simon on the shoulder lightly, "Keep up, keep up. Or they'll get you," she said spookily, though there was some part of her that believed that. She laughed when Stryder nudged her, nodding. She felt warm and fuzzy by now, ready to settle in and watch the chaos. But if any of those things came near her, there was going to be a problem. "I wouldn't say fun," Jane said, shrugging slightly, "But a little better. If I squint things are less sparkly."

Arthur raised his hand a little and smiled, "nice to meet you Kaden... Arthur - Regan sent me an invite..." not sure why, but here he was. Hearing Mercy's remark as she arrived at his side he laughed quietly, "Mercy's right, what happened to result in this level of punishment?"

One moment, the mime that had murmured to her was there. The next she was gone? Or perhaps she was just one of the many unrecognisable mimes in the room. Either way, Lydia snapped a photo of Kaden looking traumatised to send to Deirdre, and ducked out for later.

Luce set the empty shot glass on the bar and took a long drink from her whiskey glass. Glancing down the bar, she saw the familiar red suit down the way. "I'm going to see if I can get something to liven up the party. Don't do anything I wouldn't." She joked to her sister before walking over to the red-suited man with the strange glasses. "So, you're the guy to see if we needed anything, huh?" She said with a grin and holding her glass out to clink with his.

Marley gave a loud laugh. "What? You don't like glitter, Newbie? Well," she ran her finger across the bar top, scooping up some glitter onto it, "get used to it!" And swiped her finger across Jane's cheek, leaving a streak of glitter. Laughed again, taking another shot. This was great. Maybe she would have to thank Langley after all.

Dario walked in through the front door, having completely misread the sign for this place, thinking it was a regular, old strip club, and wondering whether it might actually be any good. He didn't actually enjoy strip clubs that much, but he'd been curious. Imagine his surprise when he was greeted by nothing but...stripes And far more people that he'd expected to be in here. He recognized some of that faces, but other were lost on him. He paused there in his confusion, a simple "What the fuck" expressing his feelings on the whole matter.

Blanche decided that she was never, ever going to speak of that awful lap dance again... unless it was a few days after this and she saw the opportunity to roast the poor birthday boy. But now? IF she drank more, she could pretend only that Tyler Lautner was the only thing she had a hand in in this hell scape. She glanced at Nell. "Wait, are we stabbing a mime? I thought that wasn't allowed."

Bea was too busy staring at the woman who was being taken by mimes to pay attention to what was happening around her. When she finally looked back at the group she was in there were suddenly more people. This was one of the most overwhelming parties she'd ever been at. "Hi," She said to them all, before looking back to where the woman had been. "Did anyone else just see that lady get pulled away by mimes?"

Kaden narrowed his eyes. "So you're the pie guy, huh?" The alcohol might have been taking effect. A little. Thank god. He almost missed Red leaving. He tried to wave goodbye, he guessed. Did that mean he could leave too? No, something told him not yet. He turned back to Mercy and Arthur. "Fuck if I know. I think a certain pipsqueak is to blame. And a guy in a red suit. And my girlfriend. Maybe."

Marie-Jeanne clapped as Cece downed the shot, and immediately poured her two more, handing them to her, before beginning a sultry dance for her. She was interested, after all, she'd drunk the tequila. And maybe her friends would like them too. Then Marie-Jeanne could introduce them all to her Friend. her Friend was so hungry, after all. All of them were hungry.

"You mean Blanche??" Mercy asked. "The pipsqueak? Doesn't surprise me. She's weird like that. Good weird. She's my new assistant, did I tell you??" she suddenly said to Arthur. "I've got... a protege."

Bo could feel it. The alcohol. Finally. "PARTYYYYYYYY!!!" She screeched. She jumped forward. She kissed someone on the cheek, and then someone else. And then she ran around. Kissed some more cheeks. "PARTTTYYYYTYYYY!" She kissed a mime. Or maybe that was a chair. She thought she saw someone get taken by mines. She cheered. "TAKE US ALL AWAY MIMES!!" She was drunk, very drunk. Which was a lot for a woman that had never had a sip before. She ran off to find more cheeks that needed smooching.

Jeff never made it into the building because he showed up, saw the Mimes, Mimes, Mimes neon sign, and said "What the fucking fuck is that?" and then made the only smart decision he had ever made: He said "Fuck that" and turned around and went home, promising himself to give Kaden's birthday gift to him at a later date.

Arthur blinked tilting his head a little. Regan had mentioned that Kaden might have an issue with the pie thing but he didn't really see what the issue was. What had Regan said? That he was fragile? "Uh... Yeah I guess so? She seemed upset, so I figured it was the best thing I could do to help." He tipped his shoulder in a little shrug, not really understanding what he meant about a pipsqueak but he'd seen someone in a red suit. "That's... yeah, wow. This whole thing is... something else entirely."

As Bo began her apparent tirade through the room, Winston immediately wondered if perhaps they had encouraged a little bit too much of a good thing. Stumbling after them, they tried to keep the main group in sight. But they realised in that moment that they had somewhat lost track of time and perhaps more importantly just how much they had had to drink. "Hey Bo," they said quietly as the world swayed gently around them, "I'm gonna get some water, do you want to come get some water with me?" they could barely stand up anymore. They really hoped Bo said yes because the world was spinning a bit and they needed to sit down.

Dario winced as a near screech hurt his sensitive ears, but then he realized he recognized the shriek. "Bo?" he asked as the women went around on her tirade of cheek kissing, and he quickly darted out an arm to try and latch onto the girl and keep her from continuing this....mess. "Are you like...okay?"

Bea supposed there wasn't much to do for the lady now and shrugged it off, looking back at Kaden and then Arthur. Oh no. The pie guy was Arthur. "Oh, you made the pie. That was nice of you," She wanted to be polite but Kaden had been baking so much because of Arthur's pie and she was honestly a little concerned now that the two men were meeting.

"I'm sorry, what?" Alain looked at Beatrice, a confused look on his face. She was joking right? Although, he was soon to divert from someone possibly being abducted by mimes, hearing Kaden finally call Regan his girlfriend. "What was that?" He looked over at him, with his eyebrows raised. "Nah, Regan would never allow this. She would have planned a skeleton party or something," he observed. Much like Kaden, Alain ended up with a glass he did not ask for in his hand. Maybe he could drink that, after all. This would save him a little from this hell.

Luce ducked out of the way from Bo's cheek kissing with a grimace. Fuck that.

Simon clutched his remaining two glasses tighter, feeling Jane's hand on his shoulder but instead, he handed her his other drink firmly to ensure she didn't drop it. He kept his eyes on the mime stripper now, noting everything she was doing or rather, NOT doing. Pantomime, a talent unless it was like this. He didn't like it at all. "Ms B-- Cece," He whispered, perhaps more to himself. "I don't know about this."

With a lit joint in hand and not a single fuck to give, Felix pushed away from the bar and caught the eye of one of the mimes. He did his best to motion a cake. Apparently, it was good enough and they nodded. “Alright! Who’s ready for cake? I’m sure it’ll stack real nicely with all the tequila and whiskey, believe you me!” He took a long hit and waited. The vague music shut off and enveloped the room in a thick silence. Until slightly squeaky wheels, amplified by the quiet, squeaked in the distance. In rolled a large cake. A cake large enough to fit a mime. No one seemed to be actually rolling it, as a gaggle of mime strippers made vague pushing motions behind it. It moved on its own. Tall candles sparkled a top of it. The cake came to a stop in front of Kaden and Felix started to grin. The mimes that had been 'pushing' the cake started to make accordion motions to some distant tune of Happy Birthday as a mime, barely clad, started to slither their way from the top. It didn’t even sound like it was in the same building. The fae smirked at Luce and clinked glasses. “Absolutely anything,” he said. “Whatcha got in mind to really spice this up?”

Mercy wanted pie. Why didn't she have any pie? Who was screaming?? Was it a fun scream? Or a death scream? She couldn't tell.

Jane watched as Marley stuck her finger in the glitter, before - "Don't you dare!" she said, before she scowled at Marley. "You just - did you just - .... I'm sparkly now." Jane said, the alcohol making it hard to really process what the fuck that was. Jane grabbed a pinch of glitter and sprinkled it on Marley's shirt. "There, now you're sparkly too - oh NO. Bo!" Jane said, in horror, pointing. "We should go get her."

Bea watched in horror as Felix made an announcement with a lit joint in his hand. "This is a cop party!" She mouthed at him, eyes wide, hoping he would get the memo that that was not a good idea in front of them. "What the heck?" She whispered as the cake began to pull up in front of Kaden. "Do mimes have magic?"

Oh. Cake. A... fucking... wow, that was a big cake. Now Mercy wanted cake. Wait... did she? When did it get quiet? Was she talking to herself? Or out loud?

Arthur furrowed his brow a little bit, was there some kind of context he was missing here? He looked to Bea and smiled, polite if not a little reserved trying to understand what he was missing out of the situation. "Uh... thanks? I think? Just a once off... I don't know Regan well so..." he shrugged again, slightly awkwardly. The moment was cut off by the arrival of the cake and Arthur stared at it in mounting horror. Why was he by Kaden at this point? Good gods above... This was something else entirely and he had no words to describe it.

Marley watched as Bo took off. Oh, she should've realized that Bo was a lightweight. Oops. Shrugging, she turned back to Jane. "Nah, looks like the computer guy and Mister Pecs have that covered," she said, pointing towards the two scurrying after the drunken Bo. "Hey, I don't need sparkles. I already have the MOST sparkly personality in the entire precinct," she said with a deadpan stare. "See?" Before sprinkling more glitter on Jane.

"Oi! No fucking... the fucking cake.... you... fucks..." Mercy promptly threw her glass at one of the mimes. The mime somehow slithered to the side, and the sound of breaking glass echoed through the eerie silence. The mimes did not notice. Only continued their mimery.

Winston stumbled as they noticed the cake, Nell was saying something about it being defiled and if Winston knew mimes, which they didn't, then this wasn't beyond the realms of possibility with them. "Really?" they slurred, reaching up to adjust their glasses somewhat haphazardly, "Is nothing sacred anymore?" they stumbled towards the bar, hoping there would be something non alcoholic they could eat.

Luce stared at the cake that the red suited man had brought in with growing horror. Fuck. Taking a long drink from her glass, she turned to the culprit. At this point, she was going to take whatever she could get to make sure that she never remembered seeing anyof this. "Drugs. Drugs to forget... all of that." She said, gesturing to Kaden, to the cake, to the cursed fucking mimes. "What would you recommend?"

Marie-Jeanne turned as the cake rolled in, miming applause. Her face slowly went blank. Her eyes widened and stopped moving. The silent music inside her stilled. it wasn't just her. It was many of them. Watching, silently, the miming writhing stripers (spelling entirely correct).

Oh yeah, Cece was totally about to get back alley murdered by this creepy ass mime. She had been way too excited about that fake alcohol. Had she just gotten mime roofied? She did feel more drunk, but maybe that was just a placebo effect. Or all the other alcohol she had consumed. She heard Simon behind her speaking, but it mostly came out as a buzzing noise instead of actual words. “I’m-it’s fine. We’re fine.” She waved away the someone, she wasn’t sure what direction she was facing at this point. What the hell had that fake shot glass been? Oh fuck, was this mime magic? Shit that’d actually be kinda cool if it wasn’t the worst. “Simon, my friend. Cece says that she’s fucked up.” And then, because horrible decisions were a cornerstone of her character apparently, she mimed drinking the other too fake glasses.

"Arthur, as nice as you are to look at, the idea of you stripping is about seven-thousand shades of 'absolutely not' in my book." Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Yes, somehow I do not feel as though Regan would be the sort to organize this." Alain had gotten a drink, somehow - but wasn't he not drinking? Hadn't he told her that? "You are so kind to get me something else to drink." She said, raising an eyebrow at him, a grin crossing her lips as she took the drink out of his hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his. She downed that drink too, though then she couldn't help but watch as a cake was brought out and - no, absolutely not - she looked over to Alain. "Would you like to stay, or should we use this as a chance to get away?"

Arthur shook his head at Evelyn's remark and huffed "right? in your books and mine, don't worry." The clatter of glass however made him wince as he looked aside at Mercy, before muttering under his breath "make a scene why don't you?" The mimes just seemed to continue their mimeockery oblivious to the act.

Mercy turned to stare at the side of Arthur's face. "Make a scene? What's that supposed to mean??"

"I think... I think everyone here is going to need therapy." Bea said softly.

Felix tilted his head and knowingly smiled at Luce. “I’ve got some Blue Velvet,” he said as he pulled out a very small bag of said drug, as well as a handful of rolling papers. “You’ll feel better about the whole thing, cake and the candles. Got a party discount of fifteen, because I might need it too. You in? Also got more than a few mushrooms to go around of the blue, red, and purple variety.”

The glass shattering also made Simon grimace if only because it was an unexpected noise after silence. He shook his head, wrenching his gaze away from the nightmarish... thing they rolled out and called a cake and he set his half-empty glass on the bar. "Cece, I think we should go," He said with more urgency, placing a hand on her shoulder this time. He would apologise later.

Alain looked over as the mimes did... things with what was meant to be the birthday cake. His eyes rolled at the sight of it. Gross. He had always hated those cakes with icing and fancy designs that Americans were so fond of. "Yeah, I'm not enduring anymore of this, especially not for a bland vanilla cake," he did not protest one bit as she took the drink from his hands. He was actually thankful, and even more so now that he had a good reason to leave. "Let's get out of here," he agreed.

Bo screamed in Winston's face. "I LOVE YOUUUUUU". She turned to Dario. "You're like so hot. Like hotter than all these mimes, and these mimes are pretty hot." And then she ran off again. More cheeks to kiss. Was that Evelyn? She'd smooch that evil cheek. Did she see Luce? Nell? Those were cheeks to kiss. That guy over there? Lonely cheek. "PARTTTTYYYYY!" She screamed again. Bo stood up on a table, "ONE TIME KADEN BLASTED MAMMA MIA THROUGH THE STATION AND HE WAS SINGING ALONG AND I'M SENDING YOU ALL THE VIDEOOOOO!!" Then she tumbled off the table. She paused. "Ooh. Cake."

Luce let out a sigh of relief. At least Mr. Red Suit wasn't some shitty undercover cop or something. The thought had crossed her mind, but honestly, jail probably would have been a welcome sight from this hellhole. "Blue Velvet sounds great to me. I'm Luce, by the way." She said with a nod. "Mushrooms aren't my thing though. But, consider me down to clown." She grimaced. "Or mime, I guess."

Arthur gestured vaguely to Mercy, "I mean that... You. You know?" He was distracted soon enough by a woman as she climbed up on the table announcing something about Mamma Mia... "Ooookay, on that note... I think we should... get going?"

Bea turned to Kaden,"Did you actually do that?" She had been at the Silver Bullet and they loved ABBA. She supposed it made sense if he loved them too.

"Me? What about me? Are you implying that I..." Mercy huffed. "I don't make sce-" SHe blinked at the woman on the table. "That's a scene."

Kaden wasn't ready for any of this. Not any of it. "Well I'm sure it was incredible," he told Arthur. He caught the vibe from Bea to be nice but he didn't give a shit. He made a promise to have fun, right? This was fun. Maybe. That cake was fucking cursed. This whole place was cursed. And so was Bo, apparently. "Maybe," he grumbled to Bea. "Did Felix say something about drugs, did I hear that right? Super hearing. Your sister's doing drugs right now by the way."

Wasting no time at all, Felix rolled the both of them a nice blue cigarette and handed one to her. "Enjoy. You might try walking into some walls and stuff, but compared to the rest of this mime shit show, wouldn't be the worst. Pleasure to meet you, Luce. I'm Felix, the reason everyone is currently suffering. Pretty fun, right?"

Normally, Dario would enjoy a pretty girl calling him hot. But Bo was absolutely blitzed, it seemed. One moment she was there, and the next she was off again, leaving him in vaugely concerned confusion. At least she didn't seem to be a danger to herself. Then she tumbled off the table. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, trying to follow her like her own personal nanny or something. "That looked like it could have hurt." Absently, he looked towards the woman pointing towards Bo, frowning in her direction. "Pretty sure throwing a glass out of nowhere is more of a scene than getting on a table."

Evelyn nodded in agreement with Alain. "That cake looks terrible - perhaps you should send Kaden something better, since the two of you are both excellent at baking. I bet he would appreciate that." She waved a goodbye to Kaden, making a mental note to send him really good alcohol and probably many other things later, before she looked back to Alain. "Yes, I agree. We should get out of here. You are welcome to come over, I have coffee and tea and no mimes."

Alain handed the box that contained the striped Breton shirt to Kaden. Following after Evelyn, he nodded. "Sounds like a plan. We can discuss this fiasco over coffee, tea, and better cake."

Bo passed out in the corner.

All of the mimes had stopped moving. Only the mimes that continued to slither out of the cake still moved, and the ones playing accordions. The mimes all looked to Kaden and his party. Every single one of them. Marie-Jeanne walked over to the cake, picking up an invisible plate and knife as she walked, swaying her stripey hips. She mimed slicing into the cake, and again, and slid an invisible slice of cake onto her invisible cake. She turned her blank face to Kaden, stepped forward, and hurled the slice at him, where it splattered all over his features. The cake was still whole, but somehow, he was visibly covered in icing and cake crumbs. She laughed, silently, her eyes fixed on him. What a fun birthday party!

#wickedswriting #chatzy

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thaneirstaer · 4 years

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LFRP Thane Eirstaer

Details under the read more, feel free to message to clarify anything

THE BASICS ––––

Age: 26

Birthday: 21/Guri/Ahnvis/Burning

Race: Human (Ondathion)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bicurious

Marital Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––––

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Blue

Height: 5ft 7inches

Build: Strongman build, 91kg/200 pounds

Distinguishing Marks: I mean, just look

Common Accessories: Usually in plate armor, with a necklace of dark iron, wrapped around a beautiful ruby.

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Knight, Rebel, Wandering Sell Sword

Hobbies: Sketching, writing, singing, horse riding, exercise

Languages: Common, Giant, Elvish, Dwarvish, Draconic, Celestial

Residence: Ondolathom Captial, Dragonhorn Castle, Any tavern on the road

Birthplace: Ondolathom Capital/Greenland for modern au/Stormwind for WoW

Religion: The Setonian Pantheon(canon) The Light (WoW)

Patron Deity: Tenerahs, Of the Onyx Blade

Fears: Failure, Death, Disappointing others

RELATIONSHIPS –––-

Partner: None

Children: None

Parents: Lord Lairge Eirstaer, Lady Onorach Eirstaer

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: Arda& Leocroi Eirstaer (Grandparents)

Pets: Cagfir, one big happy mutt boy

TRAITS –––-

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ––– –

Smoking Habit: N/A

Drugs: N/A

Alcohol: Occasional drinks.

RP HOOKS ––––

The Wandering Knight

You can almost always find Thane in a tavern, on the road, passing your usual place of work or local haunts.

The Resting Artist

Find somewhere beautiful in your world your character likes to relax at? They can find a tired paladin sat down, sketching out the scene be it sun rise to sun set he would be there drawing it.

Wherever The Road Takes

Thane is a wanderer, wherever his dreams command him to go, he will wander, so it’s very easy to just say he is familiar with your world and setting to make interactions easier.

Modern Armored Warrior

Be it Overwatch, a Comic verse or other modern interpretation, Thane is from an old money family, with contacts with anomalous organisations to travel the world and bring thunder and steel to wrong doers. Or maybe he’s just out at a nightclub who knows.

#Thane Eirstaer #LFRP #DnD #WoW #OC #Human #Paladin #Warrior #Knight #feel free to reblog #trying to interact with more folxs

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

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Forty-Seven G [Part 1 of 3]

youtube

"U r flying aboard the Seduction 747 And this plane is fully equipped with anything your body desires

If 4 any reason there is a loss in cabin pressure I will automatically drop down 2 apply more

2 activate the flow of excitement Extinguish all clothing materials and pull my body close 2 yours Place my lips over your mouth and kiss, kiss

Normally, in the event there is overexcitement Your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device…"

Prince – "International Lover"

Summary: Erik Killmonger takes a break from M.I.T. to fly to a friend's wedding and gives a flight attendant working on her birthday a lovely gift. Mature Content. Basically, smut y’all. Enjoy.

Fa'aana Brown greeted each passenger on board the Boeing 777 with a practiced charm and a wide smile of her pearly whites. She had stepped in for the lead flight attendant, Lucy, who had to take care of a surly passenger who insisted that his first-class accommodations were not to his liking because he wanted a window seat instead of the aisle seat he had already paid for.

Thankfully their international flight to the Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport wasn't crowded. It was the offseason in Rome, so many of the flight attendants would be able to rest on this leg of their trip. Fa'aana would be in charge of the galley in the rear section of the plane, and when she glanced at her watch, she saw they would actually leave the gate relatively early by the looks of the dwindling number of passengers coming down the ramp.

"Whew, problem solved, our Mr. Clayton has been satisfied," Lucy said, tucking a loose strand of her chemically-treated blonde hair behind her ear.

"Did you move him?"

"No, just set him up with some bourbon and cookies. He just wanted to be catered to." "I bet it was that southern accent of yours too."

Lucy smirked.

"A Charleston, South Carolina belle here at your service Mr. Clayton," Lucy said in a breathy voice and batting her false eye-lashes.

"Work it, honey," Fa'aana said handing the speakerphone to Lucy so she could make final announcements before take-off.

"See ya later," Lucy said as Fa'aana made her final cabin check from the mid-section to the back, closing overhead bins and assisting passengers with bags that didn't fit under their seats.

Her temporary work husband Mark, a soft-spoken flight attendant from Spain, was in the galley filling up their snack carts and checking supplies for the ten-hour flight.

"Looks like a cake-walk," Mark said glancing out and peeping the less than full cabin.

Fa'aana checked the pre-heat timer of the convection oven as it waited to be used for the in-flight meal of penne pasta and meatballs.

"Let's hope so. Lucy put out a little fire with a man in first class. Other than that, we are looking good," she said.

Fa'aana did a final check to make sure things were secure before take-off in the galley when she noticed a last-minute passenger making his way toward the back.

Something about his swagger down the left side of the aisle made her know he was American. He was Black and a part of her always got excited when she saw Black people on international flights. So many of her friends back in Atlanta complained about working so hard and not being able to afford overseas travel. Staycations were the theme in her clique, so seeing another Black person going out of the country was exciting for her. It was part of the reason why she became a flight attendant, even though her workload didn't really allow that dream of fun/leisure world travel to come to fruition as much over the past two years. She did her best to encourage others to get out of America. She even wrote a little travel blog that got quite a few hits. She aimed her tips toward single Black women trying to make the globe-trotting lifestyle worth their time and coins.

Round black sunglasses, form-fitting black woven Nike tracksuit, and expensive track kicks. Nice dark mustache, a soul patch, and a light scruffy beard. Fresh cornrows with intricate braid patterns decorated the top of his head, with the sides shaved low. His head bent down to check his ticket and when he found his seat, he opened the overhead bin to toss in a small duffle bag. He pulled a small black computer bag from his back and sat down, tucking the bag under the seat in front of him.

Fa'aana walked down to his seat when she noticed that the straps to his duffle bag were sticking out from under the overhead bin. She opened the bin and tucked in his straps. When she glanced down, his dark lenses were looking up at her and she saw his lips. Up close.

Lord have mercy.

His lips were so lush and full. And his braids smelled so good, fresh coconut oil…

"Thanks, Ma," he said.

"Welcome aboard," she said.

He took off his dark glasses and stared at her chest. She was about to feel offended but then he glanced back up at her face.

"Is that a Polynesian name?" he asked. She realized he was looking at her name tag.

He had a regional accent she was trying to place.

"Yes, it is. Samoan."

"You Samoan?"

"My father is half. Other half Black. Mother Black too."

She thought she looked obviously Black. She was darker than he was by a shade and her hair texture was thick like her Mama's and shrunk up tight when she washed it. Her shoulder-length curls were slicked up with aloe gel and knotted on top of her head for work. He nodded staring at her face. His eyes were kind of intense. She felt like he was studying her.

He tried pronouncing her name and she laughed. So did the passenger sitting at the window seat. The middle seat was empty.

"I sound like a dolphin saying it, huh?" His smile revealed dimples in his cheeks.

Her fingers went to her lips to keep herself from laughing at him again.

"How do you say it?" he asked.

"We pronounce all the vowels like this…"

She said it for him and his eyes watched her lips. She felt her stomach flutter and she was beginning to feel warm.

"Pretty," he said, "Fuh-ah-nuh…"

"Close enough," she said as he tried several passes to catch the right way.

In her periphery, she saw Mark waving to her from the back.

"Enjoy your flight," she said heading toward the galley once again.

Mark pulled her to the side.

"Is he famous?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is he a singer? Rapper? Actor?"

"I don't know—"

"He has that look. He carries himself like a celebrity. Dark glasses and all…"

"Lots of people wear dark glasses on long flights, Mark. Red eyes from being tired."

Mavis, an older Black flight attendant who could run circles around the entire crew burst into the back carrying a small plastic bag of trash.

"Ooh, y'all see that cutie in forty-seven G?" she said putting the trash away.

"Does he look like someone famous?" Mark asked.

Mavis patted her short cut wig and looked at them both.

"Not really, but man, he got it going on. Body all tight…lips all—"

"Okay, okay, let's focus on the job at hand you guys," Fa'aana said.

The pre-flight video played on every individual passenger screen and Fa'aana was happy to feel the plane backing away from the gate. Once they had reached cruising altitude, she could start the drink and snack cart run and then relax for a bit before the dinner run.

Buckled up into her galley seat she could see down the aisle and saw the arm of the man in forty-seven G lying on the outer armrest.

A young white woman sitting across from him in the middle row was talking to him with animated energy, and he was holding an earbud in his hand while listening to her. The woman leaned across her armrest and Forty-Seven G stuck his earbud back in and turned away from her. The woman looked shocked and eased back into her seat.

Fa'aana chuckled wondering what transpired to make him ignore the woman so abruptly.

She thought of him trying to say her name. Most people would slaughter it and then try to pronounce it the way they wanted to say it, making it easy for them. Or, they just nicknamed her "Ana". But as her Daddy used to tell her, if people can pronounce fucking Schwarzenegger or Tchaikovsky, they could pronounce her name correctly too. And Mr. Forty-Seven G did his best to get it right. God bless him.

Cruising Altitude.

She unfastened her seat in the galley and began the careful push of the metal snack/drink cart down the aisle. Mark worked the left side of the plane and part of the middle and she worked the right and the other half of the middle. Most of the passengers wanted the free wine and peanuts, and because their section wasn't completely full, they were moving right along.

When Fa'aana made it to forty-seven F, she was able to see the tight-lipped white woman who tried to holler at forty-seven G. The woman looked to be in her early twenties with overly caked make-up, and hair teased to look like a wavy cascade of light brown curls.

"Cookies, peanuts?" Fa'aana asked giving the woman a pleasant look.

"Peanuts, and can I have a white wine?"

Fa'aana handed the woman two bags of salted peanuts and poured wine into a plastic white cup.

When she turned toward forty-seven G, she asked the window seat passenger what he wanted first and the older white man sitting there dismissed her with a smile and a wave of his hand. He was focused on his movie.

"And you?" she said.

"Kentucky Straight on the rocks," he said holding his earbud from his left ear.

She smirked.

"What?" he said smiling at her flashing those dimples again.

"Nothing. I'll have to get that from the back, so give me a minute to finish and I'll bring it right back. Snack?"

His eyes felt like they raked across her whole body even though they just stayed glued to her face. She felt a shiver ghost her neck as she glanced at his lips again.

"Lemme get summa them cookies."

She reached into her cart and pulled out two packages of cinnamon cookies and handed it to him with a couple of napkins. His fingers brushed against hers and then he let down his service tray in front of him.

"Where are you from?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oakland," he said.

"I was trying to place your accent." "Erik," he said holding out his hand. She shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Erik. Be right back."

She moved down the aisle and completed her run, and as she moved back to the galley, she had the sensation that he was watching her. She didn't look behind her.

She checked the liquor cabinet and pulled out the whiskey he wanted. She poured him an extra serving over the ice and tried to figure out why she was feeling a certain way about this dude. He looked young, but his demeanor seemed older to her. In seven hours, she would be turning twenty-six years old. She planned on celebrating when she returned to Atlanta. She felt like she looked her age, but forty-seven G…no Erik, his name was Erik,…he could be early twenties or maybe younger.

She wasn't into younger dudes. She also wasn't really into guys her own age because they were so un-focused to her. She liked older men, at least six to seven years older. In fact, a nice thirty-year-old city planner was waiting to take her out for her birthday when she returned home from the Italy turn-around.

She walked carefully back to Erik's seat and handed him his drink with more napkins.

He took a sip right away.

"Hmmm, not bad. Thank you, Fa'aana," he said.

Whew, chile. She felt her clit thump when he said her name the right way in a seductive tone. It shocked her and she just stood there feeling like he knew what happened inside her panties.

"Enjoy," she said scurrying away from him.

What the hell?

She stood in the back of the galley and wiped her forehead.

"You alright?" Mark asked turning on the convection oven.

"Yes. Just feeling a little warm."

"Really, it's a bit chilly out there. I passed out a few extra blankets."

"It's just me."

"You're not getting sick are you?"

"No."

"Drink plenty of water."

"I will."

The dinner run was smooth and when she served Erik his in-flight meal, he was gracious but focused on a movie he was watching. Clean-up was a breeze and once several rounds of free wine went out along with some black coffee, passengers began to batten down the hatches for sleep. Lights were lowered and Fa'aana snacked a bit before snagging a row of seats to herself in the last middle back row. She sat on the right aisle side so she could keep an eye on the floor. Mark stayed watch hidden in the galley seat and Mavis took no shame finding a row for herself on the far-left side a few rows up from Fa'aana.

Killing time, she started playing a trivia game on the video screen. She was kicking ass playing with seven other passengers. Passenger forty-seven G was hanging neck and neck with her.

Wait. That was Erik.

She stuck her head out and leaned over to look up his way and she could see him pressing buttons on his screen fast. He turned his head to look back, and she ducked back in her seat so he couldn't see her.

After thirty minutes when she won three games out of five, she switched over to a card game of solitaire.

"Nah, go back to the trivia screen."

She was startled to see Erik standing next to her row.

"I was wondering who was sitting back here in fifty-seven F messing up my scores," he said, a sly smile on his lips.

"Busted," she said.

"You're good."

"I've been known to keep a ton of useless trivia in my head. It just comes out in my favor on here."

His eyes were relaxed and he seemed to hold his liquor well after two glasses of wine after his dinner.

"You mind if I sit back here with you and play another round? I want to see if you're cheating or not."

"Cheating? Brain power, Sir."

"Alright, Ma. Let's see then. Scoot over."

She thought about it for a moment.

"You still on the clock?" he asked.

"Yes—"

"Most people are sleep. Just a quick game. Your boss comes through I'll say you were helping me with my screen."

It was tempting.

"One quick game," she said scooting her petite frame over in order to allow his much taller and well-built one to squeeze in next to her.

They both went to the trivia game screen. There was only one other person playing with them.

"Oh, so that's how you pick your answers so fast, you keep your finger on the screen the whole time," he said.

He followed suit, and soon they were matching scores. He beat her for two rounds, but she cleaned up on the last one.

"You want another drink or anything?" she asked.

"Another whiskey would be nice, thanks," he said.

She stood up and scooted past him, straightening her skirt when she reached the aisle. He watched her hand smooth the back. She had a little booty that poked out a bit, but she didn't think it was that obvious, but the way he was looking at her made her self-aware.

She stepped into the galley and poured him another big drink. Mark was asleep. She had to keep her eyes open just in case a passenger needed anything.

"Here," she said handing him the drink along with another packet of cookies.

"Look at you taking care of me," he said winking at her.

It felt odd to be sitting next to him while he drank.

He must've read her mind.

"Here, have a sip," he said handing his cup to her.

"Umm…"

"You can use the straw, I didn't. I'm healthy as hell, just so you know," he said.

"That would not be a good look for me while I'm working. Plus, that drink is really strong."

"It is. You hooked me up though. Not even one sip?"

His eyes had a puppy dog look to them and he tilted his head staring at her.

What could it hurt? It would be her birthday soon enough.

She took his cup and had a tiny sip.

"Stop playing, girl," he said.

His voice sounded raspy. His scruffy beard and mustache really started to look sexy to her. She normally liked men to have neat facial hair, but Erik's looked free and easy- Black hipster chic. She wanted to rub her cheek against it…

Her face felt warm again and she took a bigger sip of his drink.

"There you go. Good, huh?"

The heat hit her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut and gasped. He laughed.

"Amateur," he teased. She started coughing and he reached over and rubbed her back, "My bad, you okay, Ma?"

She held a hand up to her chest and he kept rubbing his hand up and down her back until he was touching her neck.

"You can finish that all by yourself," she said.

He removed his hand from her neck and sipped down his drink.

They talked for a bit and she found herself warming up to him. He was easy to talk to. He was going to a friend's wedding in Rome and would be flying back to Massachusetts afterward. He was in his second year of grad school at M.I.T. and damn it to hell, he was only twenty-one.

"Don't think I'm rude for thinking this…I know you're part Samoan, but they some big ass people. But you, you're so petite—"

"I'm supposed to be buff like Dwayne Johnson or something?" she said rolling her eyes.

"I mean, I've met a lot of Polynesian folks in Cali, and they ain't tiny like you—"

"Tiny?"

"Petite, petite! Short?"

She gave him side eye. And then took his cup of whiskey and took another big sip.

"I'm five foot four."

"I'm six one. You little."

"Pfftt."

She eyed him a bit.

"You want to hear a terrible joke?" she asked feeling a bit loose with him.

"Go 'head."

"I hope you're not easily offended."

"I'm not."

"What do get when you mix Samoans with…."

She trailed off.

"What?"

"Does the N-word bother you?"

"Nah, I use it from time to time. Not in mixed white company usually. But we good."

"Okay. Because if I try to tell this another way, it won't come out right."

"Tell it straight."

"Okay, what do you get when you mix Samoans with….okay why are you looking at me like that?" she said and started laughing.

He had his index finger up against his face like he was judging her. He laughed with her.

"Tell your joke, girl. C'mon…"

"What—"

She started snorting and laughing, the whiskey hitting her and making her goofy.

"Forget it," he said smiling at her and taking his cup from her hand, "You can't handle this Miss Lightweight."

He started up another trivia game and she leaned in toward him.

"What do you get when you mix Samoans and niggas?"

"What?" His eyes had a twinkle in them.

"Some more niggas."

"Your parents hear you tell that joke?"

"My Mama was the one who told my Daddy."

"I'm offended."

His eyes became real serious looking. She stopped laughing.

"I'm sorry. That was unprofessional-"

He burst out laughing.

"I'm just fuckin' witchu!"

"Oh my God. I thought you were really upset."

"You had the look of unemployment on your face!"

They both cracked up.

"You're really pretty when you laugh. Your whole body gets into it."

"Thanks—"

"But that snortin' has got to go!"

"Shut up!" She slapped his shoulder and found herself intrigued by him. He was twenty-one, totally not her age bracket at all, but somehow, he acted…grown? Mature? Acted like someone she could be interested in?

"I was going to watch this foreign flick. Would you like to watch it with me?" he asked.

"Let me go do a quick round first?" she asked. He nodded and finished off his whiskey.

She went to the lavatory to relieve herself of the liquor and then she checked in with Mark who was still snoozing in the galley. Several rows from their seats were empty or only had one occupant, and most were asleep. Nice.

She returned to their row. Erik's hand reached up and turned on one of the reading lights above him.

"This will help keep you awake in case someone calls for you," he said.

He pulled out one of the free earphones that they passed out to passengers earlier.

"We can share this. One ear for the movie, the other free to hear a call for whatever."

"You think of everything," she said.

He was so easy.

A complete stranger, but in less than four hours they had shared a drink together, a crude joke, and now she was kicking off her work heels and curling up on a seat to watch a Korean gangster drama.

The movie was fucking intense.

Even though it was edited for public consumption, Fa'aana found it to be filled with graphic violence and so much…sex. Implied sex really. She was glad they were in the last back rows alone; she would feel embarrassed if other people saw what was on the screen.

Erik took up a lot of space in the middle seat.

"You mind if I lift this up?" he asked.

She looked down at his hand. He wanted to pull up the middle armrest.

"Go ahead," she said without thinking, and he lifted it up opening up the only barrier between them. He stretched his legs and widened his thighs. His right thigh brushed against hers.

"Sorry," he said.

"S'okay," she answered.

She glanced at her watch.

"W'sup?" he asked. "Huh?"

"You keep looking at your watch. You gotta be somewhere?"

"Funny. Um, my birthday is about to drop in…oh, snap, my birthday is here already."

"For real? You're working on your birthday?"

"I'll celebrate it when I get back to Atlanta. I have a birthday dinner date at a fancy restaurant."

"With your boyfriend?"

Erik's eyes looked playful.

"Sort of-"

"Sort of?"

He smiled at her.

"We've been dating for a minute."

"Is he your man though?"

Her lips got tight. No, Hugh was not her man. She was hoping he would be, but thus far they just ate out for meals and had sex at her apartment when she was in town.

Erik's eyes grew soft-looking.

"Happy Birthday, Fa'aana.., hold up—"

He reached into his left pocket.

"I couldn't finish this at dinner, but it can come in handy now."

It was a Godiva chocolate brownie still wrapped inside the plastic. The dinner dessert.

"Hold on," he said.

He pulled out some pocket wetnaps, opened them and cleaned his hands. A rich lemony smell filled her nostrils. Unwrapping the brownie, he placed it on one of the drink napkins she gave him.

"I don't have a candle, but you can pretend to blow one out," he said.

"That's really sweet, Erik."

"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…."

He sang quietly to her and when he finished, he held the brownie up to her mouth. She puckered up her lips and pretended to blow out a candle. When she did, he turned off the overhead reading light.

She could still see him in the glow of their video screens. She took a bite of the brownie and he took a piece too. He broke the remainder in half and fed her a piece then popped the rest in his mouth. She felt a few crumbs tumble from her lips and he reached over and wiped the rest away.

His thumb touched her bottom lip and she felt a tingle from his touch. He traced her lips with the tip of his thumb and she felt her jaw go lax, her mouth parting. Erik inserted part of his thumb in her mouth and she wrapped her lips around it, her tongue licking him. She heard him groan and he pulled her face toward him removing his thumb from between her lips.

"Can I kiss you, Fa'aana?"

"Please," she panted.

No armrest between them he pulled her in tight and his juicy lips took hers. When his tongue licked the seam of her lips, she opened up to him and took him in her mouth.

What are you doing?

She was on the job. She was supposed to be on post waiting to serve passengers who may wake up and want water, or coffee. Here she was with this fine young thing making out like she was trying to be a mile-high club patron.

Her hands went up to touch his hair and his left hand rested on her thigh inching its way up her uniform skirt…

"Hey, wait," she said breaking away from him. She rubbed her cheeks against his facial hair.

She heard a rumble in his chest and an irritated groan escape his lips.

"Too fast?" he asked staring at her eyes with a dreamy look on his sexy ass face.

"Let's just watch the movie."

"You sure?" he said, licking his lips and staring at her.

"That would be best. Safe."

"Okay, Birthday Girl."

He sat back in his seat and he rewound the movie to the last part they watched. Of course, it was a sex scene. A long one too. They stuck the earbuds on.

She folded her arms across her waist.

"You cold?" he asked.

He handed her one of the flimsy blankets and turned down the air above them. She spread the blanket over her legs.

"Lay on me if you want. I stay hot," he said.

She gave him a smirk.

"No, for real. My ex said I'm like a furnace sometimes," he said.

She allowed her left arm and leg to lean against him, and goodness, he was really warm. A nice cozy warm.

They continued watching the movie, and in the scene, a beautiful woman beckoned to her lover, a gangster she had betrayed throughout the movie, and they were lying in bed having passionate sex. The man was squirming in the scene like he was having convulsions.

"Shit that good, homie?" Erik said.

She giggled.

"He actin' like that thang yanks," he said.

"Oh my God, Erik—"

"What? Look at him. Damn…let me find pussy that good."

She found the crude talk exciting. She pressed into his arm a little more.

"You comfortable?" he asked looking down at her.

He lifted his arm and put it around her shoulder. She wanted to curl up and fall asleep on him. He smelled so good, a mixture of coconut oil and some subtle scent like a smoky clove scent. She rested her head against his chest and shifted the earplug to her other ear.

The movie turned into a chase scene and actually kept them both riveted despite having to read the subtitles. It was hard to concentrate because Erik was rubbing on her arm.

There was movement a few rows up and Erik removed his arm from her and she felt a grimace paint her face. God forbid a passenger would want her to work right now. She felt wrong for thinking that because of course she was on the clock, but it felt so nice…so right lying up against him.

She stuck her head out to look for anyone needing assistance, but it was just a passenger about five rows up shifting in their sleep. She opted to stay alert and not lay on Erik. She pressed up into her seat but kept her thigh next to Erik's. He rested his arm and hand on his thigh and part of hers. When she didn't move away from his touch, his hand crept over and rested totally on her thigh. Her breathing became a little heavier even though his hand was on top of the blanket.

"Here comes ole girl again…oh snap. Now she's with the head dude? Nah, she's triflin'…" he said.

She could only focus on Erik's warm hand stroking her thigh in small movements.

"This woman is putting it on these niggas and yoking them up," he said. He started chuckling. His eyes glanced over at her. "Damn, Ma."

"What?" she whispered.

His eyes trapped hers in his.

"You look sexy as hell right now. This movie got you excited?"

She shook her head.

"What got you lookin' like that?"

He already knew it was him. She could tell. He was toying with her. His touch hypnotizing her body. He pulled his earplug from his ear and hers.

"Let me give you a little Birthday present," he said.

"What kind of present?"

"Take your stockings off."

"Why?"

"You know why."

She hesitated. They had reached the point of no return.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. We can still just chill, or I can go back to my seat…"

She didn't want that.

Shit. Why not? It was her birthday. She would never see this man again. Enjoy him. Take whatever he wanted to give. She reached between her legs and pulled down her stockings and shimmied out of them. She balled them up and stuck them inside the pocket of the seat in front of her.

"You have to keep quiet," he said lifting up the blanket and placing part of it over his lap, "Pull your skirt up."

She gave thanks and praise that she had shaved her legs and trimmed up her chocha before she came to work. She wiggled a bit under the blanket fixing her skirt for him. Her eyes fell to his right hand and his thick fingers. The veins in his hand were up and she felt a whimper leave her parted lips.

His hand moved under the blanket and she felt the heat from his skin as his fingers found her damp panties.

"Damn, you're wet already. You been waiting for this, huh?" he whispered. He slid her panties to the side and her vulva slickened his fingers. She could hear his breathing become heavy. Three of his fingers pressed into her mound, easily finding her swollen clit and gifting it with tight slow circles. She widened her legs for him.

"Look at you being a wet slut for me," he said.

She slammed her right hand into her mouth to help herself keep quiet.

"Don't let your boss hear you," he said.

She could hear him panting.

"Can I play in your pussy?" he asked.

"Yes."

He moved his hand from under the blanket and lifted her up easily, placing her sideways on his lap.

"Hold your legs open," he said.

His left arm supported her back and she without a shameless bone in her body let her knees bend and her legs spread for him.

He dragged his fingers up and down her dripping slit, her panties twisted to the side.

"I bet you got a tight pussy," he hummed into her ear.

She whimpered and squirmed a bit in his lap.

"Shhh, be quiet, take these fingers," he said.

She felt him at her entrance, spreading her folds wide open, and then the sudden pressure of three fingers sinking into her slowly.

"Tight as fuck…damn," he gasped keeping his voice low and close to her ear.

She could feel the hard bulge of his erection under her ass, but she could barely focus on that when her walls were being tapped by his thick digits with expert precision. He pulled his fingers out and licked them, then placed them back inside of her.

"You a tasty bitch—"

"Fuck—" she hissed trying to swallow the word. Jesus, what if Mark or Mavis came looking for her? And God forbid one of the other passengers woke up and walked to the rear lavatories to take a piss.

His fingers found her swollen clit again and the mewling coming from her made him rotate his hips so that she could feel the girth of his shaft. He was a big boy for sure. He reached over into the seat and picked up the blanket that was once on her lap. He balled up a small part of it and shoved it in her mouth. She bit onto it as he slipped his fingers back inside of her, the in and out movement simulating a righteous birthday fucking.

"Shit, Ma. I wish I had a condom with me right now. I'd fuck you outta this plane."

She was breathing in hard through her nose and exhaling into the cloth shoved in her mouth. The sound of his fingers working her pussy was loud and obscene to her ears. People had to be able to hear all the squelching noises his fingers were causing her sopping folds to make. Her face felt tight and her eyes were rolling back. How could this be happening? A fine man walks onto a plane and hours later he's fingering her like he loves her?

Most men she had been with took a while to know her body well enough to make her pussy fall apart like that. Erik made her pussy jump the moment he said her name right, and now he had her ready to follow him anywhere. If this is what his fingers could do, what the fuck could his tongue and dick do to her?

Goddamn, he was hitting her clit with his fingers.

"My big dick would fuck this pussy up. Your boyfriend in Atlanta wouldn't be able to feel your pussy when I was done with it," he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut. He was slapping her vulva now and pinching her labia. She arched her back and it was like he could read her mind again. He spit on his fingers and rubbed them around her clit once more, pressing down as he rubbed so that he was covering part of her mound. His timing was impeccable because she came hard and fast and he watched her face as she did.

"Happy Birthday, Baby," he said as she collapsed on his lap, sweaty, wet between the legs, and feeling beyond satisfied.

[Part 2] [Part 3]

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading/sharing/spending your time here.

Be sure to check out “Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Vol 1 & 2. Book series details Erik’s Mom & Daddy N’Jobu meeting, hooking up, fucking (a lot), having Erik, raising his lil ass in Oakland, and creating the man you see in this story and others you can find HERE.

#erik killmonger #eriklives #erikkillmonger #black panther #njadaka #n'jadaka #blackpantherfanfic #black panther fanfiction #killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger oc #oc #erik #erik killmonger smut #erikkillmongersmut #erik stevens smut #erikstevenssmut

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 5 years

Text

Thoughts/Background on Chamber of Secrets

There simply cannot be neighborhoods like this, where there are miles upon miles of cookie cutter homes that stretch out into the horizon. Does anyone know if this is a real shot? Or did they multiply the houses like they do to extras in a battle scene?

I never noticed that this photo album is this detailed. There is a little J and L on either side of James and Lily’s photo here. Hagrid is an artist.

It’s on every page? Was this supposed to be something that Hagrid found from Godric’s Hollow? How did he get something so specific? Or is that rumor true that Hagrid owled Lily and James friend’s and Remus, who had been left things like this when there was no one else left to claim them, got it off his bookshelf and sent it to his best friends’ son?

I like how Harry’s room progressively becomes more his own. Look at it in this movie, the walls are bare, everything is relatively tame and plain verses in Order of The Phoenix, when Harry’s room has distinctly more decoration.

Those pink candlesticks are ghastly.

Harry, my darling, you have been getting letters it is merely a well meaning house elf who has stopped them. I wonder what everyone else thought about Harry’s silence? Especially Hermione. Did she think for even a moment that Harry and Ron had decided that they didn’t want to be her friend at all? Ron isn’t much of a writer, and Harry wasn’t responding. I don’t want to know what kind of a mind fuck that must have been to 12 year old Hermione who had just got home from “magic school”, and none of her new “friends” were responding to her letters.

We have heard that theory that James is Harry and Sirius is Ron, etc. But Dudley is Petunia. Dudley and Harry were raised in the same house, closer than cousins because of location alone. But whereas Petunia never got over the resentment that she felt towards Harry in book seven Dudley was more concerned for Harry’s well-being when they were leaving for the safe house then I think Petunia ever was if Lily ever mentioned how hard and dangerous things were getting during the First Wizarding World. Dudley received some characterization and growth where Petunia never bothered.

Harry sounds so sarcastic when he says that.

Dang! Every time Harry leaves his room he has to see a pencil drawing of Dudley’s face? The Dursley’s cruelty knows no bounds.

All of this decoration, and the shelf are missing from the first scene with Harry in this movie.

Harry is just like, “Fuck it all.”

But he’s got manners galore.

At this point, Harry has never seen a house elf. He has no idea what a house elf does. He has no idea why one would be in his bedroom. He has no idea that this even is a house elf? Why is he so calm? This could be a blood thirsty toga wearing creature that they only study in seventh year, and yet, Harry is all but like, “Can I take your coat, sir?”

And now he’s crying, (those could have been lethal gas releasing nerve agents), and now he’s hitting himself (gearing up for attack.) Oh, Harry, number one at defense my arse.

And their champagne flutes are pink? You can’t buy taste.

Those people look so offended like, “You have a cat? How common.”

I know that the fanon is that wizarding children all heard bedtime stories about Harry Potter, but Dobby is proof that other beings also heard about Harry’s triumph over the Dark Lord.

Who painted that picture on Harry’s wardrobe? Dean Thomas, fanon artist. Or does Harry Potter have latent creative talent? Or can you buy these out of the Hogwart’s catalog? Lol

Dobby is like, “Oh, shit, I should not have said that.”

This is where Harry’s Gryffindor really shows because he could just lie to Dobby, but he doesn’t. It’s that Gryffindor honesty.

The man is just like, “Oh, look, cake. Neither of them even looks angry.

Vernon bowered Niall Horan’s hat for this scene.

Harry sleeps with the scrapbook right by his bed. Someone shoot me.

I love that to Ron, Fred, and George that this is a completely normal thing for them to be doing. None of them look nervous about flying a car in a Muggle neighborhood. Destruction of property? Who gives a fuck? They are just like, we have to do what we have to do for our bud. Just a regular drive around.

Hedwig is very annoyed at being called a pigeon.

Ron knows to appreciate the simple things. Tell you mate Happy Birthday, no werid shows of masculinity here.

I love the Burrow. I love the position of the Burrow. I love that they are surrounded by land and a little pond. I love that it is secluded, and that it looks pieced together.

The inside of the Burrow is stunning. You have the Farm House sink. The detailed windows. The hardwood surfaces. The eclectic but perfectly fitting furniture. It would be considered chic to many a Muggle. And that DOOR, that opens up, and then also opens out. The extra space above that little cubbie. Fireplace. Hand, or magic, knitted blankets.

There is a wooden orange cat, a la, Crookshanks on the fireplace there.

Ginny is me.

He says, “Morning Weasleys.” Like they are a clan. He could totally use that tone and call them all to action.

I feel like Mrs. Weasley could sound more disappointed here. I feel like she is kind of annoyed, but also kind of interested in their little stunts as well.

The stainglass windows, the open placement for the dishes, like this house is amazing!

“Dumbledore must know that you’re here.” So, the headmaster is the one who can keep track of the placement of certain students and their whereabouts, or is this simply a case where Mrs. Figg informed Dumbledore that Harry had taken off. Can you imagine that letter? Like, “Super sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but it seems as if Number Four Pivet Drive has been attacked by three red haired boys in a flying car. The red haired youngsters seemed to be on quite friendly terms with Mr. Potter however, as they helped them into the flying vehicle. Just thought that I should mention it.

Sincerely,

Arabella Figg

So, does Appartition take a lot out of a witch or wizard? Why don’t Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just apparate all the kids to the Diagon Alley? Is there such a thing as flooing by twos or threes? Because that would also be useful. Are there many fireplaces lining Diagon Alley like the tones that are shown in seven part one in the Ministry? Where to they floo into? Just one of the thousands of questions that need answers, Mrs. Rowling.

There is a gilded head of an elephant behind Harry’s head before Harry examines closely a cabinet that seems to follow a very tight skull aesthetic for maximum creep.

On the top shelf, there seems to be a lamp? A magical one?

More skulls. The hand of glory, that is mentioned in the books. And then a vase full of eye balls. This place is a health hazard. I know the wizarding world lacks mental health professionals, but you’re telling me they don’t have health inspectors?

Harry looks like he has been covered in spiderwebs. When was the last time that Floo was used?

Who are these random people just immediately accosting a twelve year old boy?

They pass a book seller. Knowledge is the root of all power.

The sign in front says from top to bottom: Quality. Value. Ease. Style. Then I think, Variety.

Hermione is internally shrugging because of course her ride or die new friend is covered in ash and has broken glasses. Of course, he is.

The girl behind them as they walk away looks back at them like, “Oh, Harry Potter.”

The fashion and lighting in this movie went from drab and seventeen hundreds to really flamboyant and really stylish with bright colors. I love that the dashes of color really followed them into the other films. Even Prisoner of Azkaban with its more muted color scheme is still vibrant.

The front page that reads: Gilderoy Lockhart gives Wizarding Wolrd Hero Hygiene Tips. Ash free for the cameras, always.

They are literally crammed into the bottom floor of this shop, and Draco Malfoy has an excellent view from above?

Ginny’s got some balls. Love her. All the boys are silent, and she just ain’t taking no shit.

Like Lucius, it is not okay to fondle people’s foreheads, you creepy mother f-er.

Hermione is a bad bitch. Like she knows how dangerous magic can be know, and yet, she doesn’t back down from this grown wizard.

They are all dirty. What happened to scourgify? Or were they scouring grate after grate trying to find Harry, and just didn’t have time after the relief of finding him? Literally, no one else is dirty.

Ginny’s trunk has a Hogwart’s emblem. And we all know the Weasley’s use hand me down items. Whose trunk does she have?

Like Ronald, this is not logical. Dang! I know y’all aint in Ravenclaw, but you are twelve years old. This is basic.

“Your hands all sweaty.” This is no time to be a snob, Harry.

So, did the car fail because they hit Hogwart’s wards? That would seem logical for its sudden failure.

It could also be why the Womping Willow attacked the car so viscously. It may have sensed that this car doesn’t belong to the grounds, and thus, could potentially be a threat. So, it tried to dislodge and pulverize the threat.

Pete, you rat bastard.

This car knows its way around Hogwarts? Or did some of the sentient magic that is in Hogwarts take over the car, and that is why it saved Harry and Ron when they were in the forest with the acromantulas.

To make things more environmentally friendly. The Daily Prophet should have a self updating paper, that changes with each news day. People can still buy the others, if they want to keep them for posterity, but I mean, come on, save the planet.

I feel like this is just a flashback for Snape. James getting away with everything and now Harry.

And Ron, is just so used to getting caught out by Mrs. Weasley, that he just instantly thinks that he is going home.

The look on Snape’s face is so sad here. Will no one ever take this man’s side?

I like this overhead view of the greenhouses. I like the idea too, that there are several levels of greenhouses. The ones that we see in this movie are close to the castle and are set for first and second years, but then the Greenhouses that we see in Half Blood Prince are set away a bit from the castle for the upper years. And some are just for Professor Sprout.

There are little dragon statues on top of the greenhouses. That’s a bit ironic.

Do you think that those large pot like things hanging from the ceiling are

Like, how common is getting petrified, that this would be in second year school book. Also, why were they being grown in the first place if there uses were so rare.

Headcanon that Neville truly developed an interest in Herbology when he fainted that year. He went back to see what work he missed, and Professor Sprout was just straight battling some giant carnivorous plant, and just kicking the fertilizer out of it, and Neville helps her. Then she shows him something else, and something else, and talks about all the things that plants can do, and what they are capable of achieving. “But that’s normally a lesson I reserve for the older years.” But Neville doesn’t want to wait, he wants to do it now. He goes back to the common room with several borrowed books from Professor Sprout, and he is never the same again.

We are legit just going to leave a student lying on the ground. Are we? The wizarding world is really survival of the fittest.

There is a studious Ravenclaw behind them there, reading away.

Neville still has flashbacks to be honest.

When the wizarding world doesn’t have cell phones to yell at or embarrass your children with, you hit them with a howler. Respect.

This DADA room is surrounded with pictures of Lockhart. All the frames along the side of the room are pictures of Lockhart. Bless this man.

This painting of Lockhart is painting a picture of Lockhart.

He bought those Cornish Pixies on the Wizarding Web.

Is that a skeleton of a hippogriff handing above them there?

Even the pixies have had it with Lockhart’s shit books.

The painting Lockhart runs out of the way as well.

Hermione is a baddie.

Hogwarts is so beautiful.

Flint, Wood is tired of your shit.

Hermione and Ron smell trouble, and are like, “I’m going to get me some of that.” Because Gryffindors.

Clap back Hermione.

I love that in the book everyone reacts to what Draco calls Hermione. I wish they would have included that a bit more in the movie.

Ron must have learned that from somewhere, but instead of someone helping him, they just laugh.

This interaction here with Hagrid and Hermione always melts my heart. I like to think that Hagrid is one of the reasons that Hermione worked so hard later in life for the protection and promotion of creature rights. Hagrid being a half giant.

Hagrid is number one. Let’s be real.

Where can I get this level of staged photograph when I go to the Wizarding World in May?

Lockhart is like, “Dang, the fame is already getting to this one. What a shame.”

Harry hears someone threatening to murder people, and of course, he runs right to them.

If Tom Riddle had a giant, most likely extremely hard to kill snake, why didn’t he just try to ride it on out of Hogwarts, take over Diagon and flatten everything? Why didn’t he come back for it during the first wizarding world?

Ron is not down with spiders, and neither am I.

Look, this may be a controversial opinion, but I love Mrs. Norris, and I think that her and Filch are cute and are not to be messed with.

Let’s be real, Filch has been hearing for a solid year from Snape about how Harry Potter is such a little shit. That rage has got to come from somewhere.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry thinking that they were just about to sneak off. Dumbledore is like, “Bitch, please.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ron: “Is Snape taking up for us….actu….oh, wait, of course not.”

I feel so bad for Filch here. That cat is probably the only thing in the whole world that he actually loves.

McGonagall has a large number of zoo like cages in her classroom as well. Her classroom is also very symmetrical, from the two blackboards, to the candles in the front of the room.

Draco and Goyle are reluctantly impressed.

That is the beautiful thing about libraries. There is an unlimited amount of information available at any point in time.

I’m glad that there is at least one adult in the common space for the students. Is that supposed to be Madam Pince? Or a helpful teaching assistant? We all know that the teachers at Hogwarts have an intense work load.

Why is there a spider depicted on the woman’s head in this book?

I just imagine that every time that Harry is in the air that Ron and Hermione experience quite a lot of anxiety.

I can just hear Lucius in the stands saying, “We do not show off for such people.” When the snitch is right beside Draco’s head.

I feel that Lucius grew into being a good father when the threat of his family became a reality. I think before he judged Draco by too harsh means because things were always rather simple in his mind. He thought he was the best, and Draco should be too. But he was humbled, and became a better father because of it.

Dobby strictly uses the word, “Enslavement” here. That word makes what Hermione does with Spew seem less radical.

The table is decorated with the phases of the moon.

Snape rises from the crowd like a ghost.

How on Earth did Lockhart get Snape to agree to do this? He had to have accosted him in the staffroom or during a meeting when Snape couldn’t get away.

“Severus, I really think it would be a great idea. We could really give the kids something exciting, riveting, and imaginative.” It is only when McGonagall tells him that he could probably get Lockhart on his perfectly pictured arse a few times that Snape considers it, and eventually concedes.

The most iconic Drarry line ever. “Scared, Potter?” “You wish.”

Can conjured things kill people? Or are they just charms? Is the pain temporary, or a real solid thing that can seriously damage?

Is this study hall?

Harry Potter has the crappiest luck ever.

Some of the headmasters and headmistresses seem to be still. I like the idea that all of the professors that get promoted to that level get to be immortalized whether they would like to put apart of them inside of a portrait or not.

I really like the idea of Dumbledore as a scholar and an academic, so I really like that they show all of his scrolls and books.

I feel like Fawkes dying and then being rebirthed among the flames is a really poignant thing for Harry to experience at this stage in his life. This image of the phoenix dying, but still having life probably stuck with Harry and it might have been something that he thought about when he was preparing to walk into the forest in book seven.

Hagrid has got Harry’s back, and I love it. He is a really good friend.

This image of the Black Lake frozen over, and the students being pulled across it’s icy surface is stunning.

Hermione was training to join MI6 before she got her Hogwarts letter, and no one can tell me differently.

Are flying treats that common that Crabbe and Goyle are just like, “Dead on.” It must have been a cute thing that there house elves did for them when they were children, levitating treats or toys in the air for them to grab. Or their parents showing them magic and giving them treats at the same time. Otherwise, how would they have ever thought, “You know what? Excellent and safe idea to eat these random treats.”

Harry literally doesn’t know here which one is Crabbe and which one is Goyle.

The Slytherin common room looks way more lush then the Gryffindor common room. I feel like you can see really clearly into the Black Lake there, and since it is frozen over, the light that you see is light blue instead of green. I mean, look at how big there common room is. It looks like they have a designated study area and everything.

Draco, don’t be the stereotype of rich boys who steal. Just don’t.

Myrtle is not to be fucked with, bro.

A young Tom Riddle for sure got this one year for Christmas at Wool’s orphanage before the war started, and things got so tight that they couldn’t even afford three meals a day. Then, like everything in his past, he transferred these basic Muggles things to something more extraordinary, like him.

Tom Riddle in this movie is a hottie. Like, y’all can’t even fight me because there is no denying his killer beauty….get it?

Okay, so are we thinking that during this flashback that Tom’s soul piece is not only aware that Harry is watching a scene from his life, but is also, acting out the part of himself? He is the director and the lead, so to say.

I like this sequence because it shows more insight into who Tom Riddle is, and where the fear of death started to come from. I wish that Rowling would have made this connection more thoroughly for the viewers of the movies. A single mention of there being too many bombs, or a lot of fighting by Tom here when he is talking with Dumbledore would have provided some more insight into this character.

Ginny knows how to do some damage. I think it would have been easier for them to figure out. Girls can get up boy’s dorms, but boys cannot get up to girl’s dorms. It would have had to have been a Gyrffindor. The common room couldn’t have been completely empty. Hermioen could have fact checked this, and figured out who had wrecked their dorm.

Look at those game plans back there. I just envision, Oliver Wood drawing frantically on the blackboard wild circles that simulate flying motions, but he goes too quickly for everyone else to understand what he’s saying, and thus, the only one who knows the plan is Wood, himself.

Did they show Colin’s friends his frozen body? Or Penelope and Justin’s? Not one person in this school thinks of the potentially traumatizing circumstances that they are putting these kids through.

It is popular fanon that McGonagall and Riddle went to school together. From this perspective, it would be doubly as traumatizing for her to hear that the school could be closing again.

Ron is me. I ain’t messing with no mother flipping spiders.

Ron is no help in this scenario. Absolutley none.

Harry replacing Hermoine’s flowers, and thus subtly telling the viewers how much time has elapsed.

Harry is wickedly smart. He is also very logical which I think attributes a lot to that sarcastic personality that he has.

McGonagall has some Slytherin in her for sure. She went from worried to blasting Lockhart in 2.5.

Lockhart packed up really quickly. It was almost like he….. had….experience…leaving…quickly.

I wonder if Lockhart’s victims ever got any retribution after he wound up in St. Mungos. It’s almost certain that his sales went up when he got admitted to the hospital just because of the public’s sheer curiosity and gossip mongering.

Salazar Slytherin was one slick mother f-er. “I’m going to hide my chamber in the bathroom.”

I can just imagine Riddle not having a lot of time in between OWLS and what not, and taking the easy way out and opening the Chamber whenever he could just to chuck down dead rabbits and chickens. Forays into the Forbidden Forest were many for Tom’s minions back then.

Honestly, Lockhart, Harry probably wouldn’t mind if you took a few of his less than pleasurable memories.

Tom Riddle also has that innate need to be polite even though he’s about to stab someone just like Harry does. Or is this a British thing?

I love how the villains in these movies say, “Potter.”

That does not look like the hole that they came down? It looks like Fawkes took them up another exit.

Why is Dumbledore trusting Hagrid’s release papers from the wizarding world’s worst prisons to a twelve year old? To a twelve year old Ron Weasley at that.

It looks like Dumbledore has a crystal ball by his desk. Trying his hand at divination? Or is that how he keeps track of all the students? I need to know what headmaster powers enable him to do all of these things.

Jason Isaacs is super fine. I can even deal with the wig. In fact, the wig makes it better.

It looks like Dumbledore’s office is located outside of the courtyard which makes the scene in Order of the Phoenix when Fred and George are comforting that boy all the more poignant.

#Harry Potter #Chamber of secrets #Harry Potter thoughts #Harry Potter movie thoughts

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