#at least put up the ad for my damn book up along with it tumblr :

[blueskittlesart]

your art was the banner when i went to #linktober!

GIRLLL TUMBLR NOOO NOT THAT ONE GIVE IT A FEW DAYSSSS i know its just the first day but this is like my least fav piece ive done for the entire month so far omfg

[ladyyatexel]

I Went On A Manga Binge

So you don't have to

For those of you who have wisely avoided the shreds of it I've left around the blog thus-far, I had some weird notion to go re-experience Yu-Gi-Oh uuuuuh a week ago? We'll go with that. Time is meaningless.

I'd been able to read a good portion of the early manga at the end of highschool, and somewhere in my stacks and stacks of paper is fanart from this dark time, so you know I cared. I also still own a Dark Magician action figure somehow, so. I'd also watched a large portion of the anime with my brother because it had been laced with some kind of crack and we couldn't look away? I remember when we both were just like shit, wait, don't change the channel, I can't stop looking at it. And the next thing we knew we were waiting for new episodes and I was doing research on the Japanese original because I was that kid.

Anyway, unnecessary backstory out of the way, here are some... let's call them Observations and Consequences of having read somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 chapters (and growing) of a manga primarily hinged on card games from a spectrum of sources ranging from boringly lawful to sketchy as fuck.

Surprise actual character that develops in typical shounen fashion being Jounouchi. My limited experiences with the 4Kids dub and only early manga had not painted him in a particularly good light. I don't know if episodes were being aired out of order or if I had just missed the ones that established that he was making shit up as he was going along, but Wow I liked him a lot more going through the manga than I ever did watching the (dubbed, heavily edited and censored and thrown into a slurry machine) anime. I'd managed to come out with the impression that he was just as reasonably experienced with the game as Yugi back in the day. Wild.

I'm now reading every single comic-style post on Tumblr backwards.

Striking inverse to first point, wow, I don't like Seto Kaiba. Though he gets points for his general philosophy of the future, and the line I read in my sketchy online combo of scans and scanlations in which he said, "If God is in your way, you run him down," was Metal As Fuck. I somewhat shame-facedly admit to enjoying him a lot more as an Abridged Series character. (I watched Abridged as it came out back in the day! The experience of watching the anime with my brother had been so fresh that I got all the in jokes about the way things were edited and dubbed, it was great. Series remains influential part of my life to this day, which is hella weird.)

I almost understand how Duel Monsters works now. I don't want this.

That said, wow a lot of the decisions made in the anime made everything a lot more ridiculous than the admittedly already ridiculous original. I got the distinct feeling in the manga that the Duelist Kingdom stuff we were seeing was designed to be used and exploited in ways that don't make sense in an actual cardgame just played on a table like a normal person and this was part of testing everyone to think higher, differently. Maybe this is obvious to everyone already, I don't know. I had always liked that it was very, 'Not so fast, I'm going to blow up the moon to change the tides,' but I'm not really sure the anime gave enough explanation that this was an extra layer added to things for that event? You can see people actively getting used to it in the books, and people who aren't considering the real or 3D nature of it getting owned, but my memory of anime version is everyone just like, 'oh, shucks, fuck me, I forgot to consider the phase of the moon before i played this card, can't believe I forgot.' No one calls Yugi on any of this stuff because it's valid play in that situation. Plus Yami Yugi had mad trickster energy in the beginning and it suited him to think of ways to do things inside these little simulation boxes the way it suited him to set perverts on fire. I imagine the real card game trying to emulate this element as something that would be to its detriment, but I neither know nor particular care haha

Ryou Bakura.

Really, though. I think he became kind of casualty of 'wow, we have a lot of characters who really aren't able to do anything in this story anymore,' despite the fact that his whole inner life could have been as interesting as Yugi's. I always like thinking about the possibilities of stories in which main character falls into magical world and is given magical item and told they're the hero and then they find out they've been the bad guy the whole time. The first several volumes of manga were about the quiet weirdo kid that no one talked to who was always blacking out and turning into a fucked up version of himsef because he was so attached to his ancient Egyptian jewelry, so like, Bakura could have much the same shit going on. I want to know what's happening with him so much. He clearly doesn't love being possessed, but he's also so drawn to the ring. Despite it having stabbed him at least twice and him knowing it's a danger to him and his friends, he keeps being pulled back into it. You see so much more of him being like, 'Oooh, a creepy thing, I love that! :D' in the manga than ever in the anime, which I'm all about. Also more blood. I'm very about that as well. Though my memory of the anime also made it look very much like normal regular daily Bakura was just a weird facade in places before he ever would have been. I think that was it trying to compensate for what people didn't see from the Toei anime, but okay whatever, that I love everything about this guy is not news, I don't need to talk about Bakura excessively here, I'm pretty sure that's gonna show up on my blog by itself

On a related note though, damn, more of these people need to talk to each other. Can we have some existential crisis support clubs or something. Can we get like some apologies or something? "I respect you as a duelist." "Cool, but you literally built a tower designed to specifically assassinate me and my friends? You were supposed to get Better after I retaliated by putting you in a coma, but you kinda didn't." "Why would the coma have made it better" "I just told you it didn't" ---- "Sorry I went along with the plan of your evil parasite stabbing you, misled you, and then also jumped in and took up some real estate in your head too." "I understand, I also have an evil thing inside me that does things while I'm blacked out." "...no, I was conscious for all of that." "Oh." "..." "..." "..." "Do you like Ouija Boards?" "sure okay" ETC. Like damn we are reading shounen manga because no one is talking extensively about their feelings here and I'm tapping my foot angrily.

Holy shit there are so many mythologies happening at once. The ancient family guarding the Egyptian Pharaoh has a surname that's a Mesopotamian goddess. None of the god cards make any Egyptian sense except Ra, and just like. Baaarrrrely. Somewhere either Evil Ring Bakura or Mar/lik makes a reference to cremation and spirits being taken to heaven with smoke which several things, but definitely not Ancient Egyptian. Marik/Malik meanwhile is clearly trying to head Arabic, along with Rishid, but then, hey, our sister is just Isis. Goddess McGoddess. Sometimes they're the same goddess! Her name could be Isis Isis or Ishtar Ishtar. Meanwhile, all the obviously 'occult because Christians think it is freaky' stuff. ~ancient egyptian pentagrams~~~This isn't a complaint, I guess so much as a 'Wow, I can kind of see the cultural spot the author was coming from and where he was aiming' kind of thing.

Wonder where things would have gone if the card games had not been latched onto the way they were.

Managed to forget how gross the pre-cardgames stuff was on the sexual harassment front. I'm glad there was a sort of explanation of everyone drifting away from being dick heads and that that decision was made. It got way more comfortable to read after no one was bringing Yugi p*rn on VHS.

Yugi looks better with a nose, glad we got that upgrade.

Interesting to watch the series style shift as it goes away from being horror to being over the top cardgames and friendship (with blood!). The first picture of Mokuba is fucking Jarring. Also noticed that the nicer a character is, the less their teeth are defined.

Glad manga did not go as completely off the fucking the rails about Marik's face. I never got as far as seeing him back in the day because college occurred, but I remember seeing pictures and stuff and being like, "what in the Fuck happened to that dude, I think the house style has collapsed in on itself"

Things the author Really Likes: motorcycles, belts, SHOES, holy shit the shoes. These are some of the most lovingly rendered sneakers I've ever seen. All the detail on his characters goes straight to their feet and then it's stretched upward until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold in 3000 years of trauma and bake face down in a crumb coat of scattered mythology. Remove when you roll two zeros.

Where the fuck am I going to put the extremely large omnibus volumes of this comic I purchased in order to balance out how much I would be reading for free on the internet. I should have grasped that a three in one edition would be Thick and yet somehow I was still :O when it arrived. Have I strategically purchased volumes that contain my favorite parts, maybe, what's it to you will i eventually get the whole thing because incomplete book series gnaw on my soul? yes

Wish the transition from "I've murdered several people in delightfully karmic ways" to "all you need is friendship in your heart and cards in your hand" Yami Yugi/Pharaoh had been discussed more/transitioned better. Buddy, where did you get this approved for television high horse? Please go back to strangling people with yo-yos or at least tell me why you stopped.

I still can't tell anything that looks like a big robotic monster apart from any other big robotic monster. My dude, I can't tell cars apart, all these monsters look the same.

Yami Yugi fascinated me way more in highschool? Maybe because it was still super early and the anime was like 'we need to torture you about his origins WeEkLy. Now I'm just like 'wait hold on, can we go back to Bakura and Marik for a minute, there's some extreme unpacking to do here?' Those two are paying so much more in baggage fees here my guy wow

Violently uninterested in any of the spinoff media

[severetimetravelnerd]

I Don’t Know (ft. G Dragon and MINO) (3)

Part 3

While you and Minho talk about your past, Jiyong is forced to do a little introspection.

This series will be updated once a week, every Friday! No specific time though lol. It’s an AU where Jiyong has a younger sister and you’re her best friend! Featuring my OC Mirae as the Best friend. Just saying, it’s not related to any of the scenarios I’ve written so far. Please do leave me some comments or asks! I love receiving them! It’s also a bit of a love triangle situation, so yeah :)) There will be eventual smut in this series.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Taglist:

@kwonnansi​

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@yee-hawwwwwwww​

@slayergroupie0128​

Please comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list:))

Word Count: 2260

WARNINGS: Some smut, some panic.

——————————————-

5 years ago

You were lost. And you were starting to panic. You and Mirae went to the park, not knowing that they were having some mega event that day, and now you were lost, separated from her. You were starting to feel panicky. There were too many people around you. You felt suffocated in that crowd. The noise was all starting to become one big blur. And your head was starting to spin. You were scared. That’s when you saw him. Jiyong. He was also there. He was there with a bunch of his friends. He was a little far away from you but he would help. You knew he would. So, you called him. You yelled his name, loud and clear, but in the noise of the crowd, it became far softer. But he heard you. And he turned around and saw you. And you knew he could see you yelling for his help, but he just wrapped his arm around the girl closest to him, turned around and walked away. That was the day you developed a fear of crowds. Later, you would lie to yourself and say he didn’t know it was you, but you knew he did.

 4 years ago

Jiyong walked into the bathroom at the lounge he was at, just to wash his hands. There was a man there inside, on the phone with someone. Jiyong quietly washed his hands while the man let out an obnoxious laugh.

“I’ll win the bet for sure. It won’t even take me three months to get into her pants.”

Jiyong stiffened, shooting the man a glare. How horrible.

“In fact, I’m sure it’ll be done in two weeks. Maybe even our next date.”

Jiyong grew even angrier.

“Her name? Oh, her name is Y/N L/N.”

Jiyong froze and suddenly, the air in that bathroom was terrifyingly cold and stifling. Jiyong straightened up and walked over to that pathetic excuse of a human being there, staring at him with ice cold eyes. The man began to stammer, wondering what was wrong. Before the guy could cut the call and put his phone away, all in the blink of an eye, Jiyong grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the sink counter, face down. Leaning close to him, Jiyong growled,

“You have one day to break up with her before I tell her myself and make you regret this bet.”

 ***

Minho’s tears slowly began to lessen and he just held on to you, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the moment. Playing with his hair, you leaned down to kiss his forehead. Sounding less upset, Minho asked again.

“Y/N, is there something about you and Jiyong hyung I don’t know about?”

You took a deep breath and braced yourself. This was not going to be easy.

“Yeah Minho, there is. Mirae and I have been friends for around fourteen years now. I liked Jiyong for seven of them. He was always horrible to me, so I don’t know why I liked him, but I did. And three years ago, I told him. And he rejected me. Terribly. And after that, I got out of his life and I removed him from mine. I needed to heal. I saw him for the first time after that tonight, which is what would have sparked his outburst.”

In a small voice, Minho asked,

“What about me?”

You felt your heart twist, hating that poor Minho, your ball of sunshine, had been so hurt. You climbed onto his lap, hugging him as you replied,

“Minho, you are what brought me out of my slump. You are the first man I’ve liked ever since. You are the man who made me forget Jiyong. Minho, Jiyong means nothing to me. I like you. And if you hadn’t asked me out, I would have asked you out.”

“You really like me for me? You’re not just using me to get over Jiyong hyung?”

“Oh sweetheart no. I genuinely like you. I care about you so much. I would not use you to get over Jiyong. The only reason I waited for this long to go out with you is because I wanted to be sure I wasn’t using you.”

He stared at you for a second before kissing you and pulling you closer.

“Okay, I trust you.”

Both of you smiled at each other, letting the tension dissipate. Your eyes lit up as you remembered his present.

“Minho, do you want to see your present now?”

“You got me a present? I thought the brownies were it.”

You deadpanned.

“Minho, I specifically said that they’re not.”

He smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. I was too nervous to pay attention to what you were saying.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards his room, where you had left your bag.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Your heart melted when you saw his eyes light up from excitement as he did what you said. You slowly took out the paints from your bag and put the cloth wrapped package in his hand.

“You remember those French paints you were talking about? Well, here you go.”

Minho’s eyes widened as he stared up at you.

“Y/N, you have to be there in person to get these custom-made. How did you manage to get these here?”

You shrugged with a wide grin on your face.

“Mirae got back from France yesterday.”

“Y/N, this is crazy. This is incredible. I can’t-”

You interrupted him, your hands lightly trailing over his chest.

“Well, actually. I had one more thing in mind. But that’s only if you’re up for it.”

“What is it?”

“Let me show you.”

And you began by taking off his leather jacket, stripping until you were standing before him in your lingerie.

“Let me make you feel good tonight.”

You dropped down to your knees, hands reaching for his belt buckle, pausing to look at him for a minute.

“May I Minho?”

Minho gulped and nodded, his hand gently reaching down to hold your hair.

 Jiyong was at home, thinking about what happened at the party. He hated it. He hated you. And he hated that you were with Mino. He had no good reason to hate it, but he did. Mino was a good guy. You were a good person. If you were together, he should have been happy for you. Why then, did he feel the overwhelming urge to rip Mino’s arms off whenever he saw it wrapped around you? He tried calling you again, only for you to not answer. He was about to send you an angry text message asking why you weren’t taking any of his calls when he realised it. He didn’t have your number. He was nobody to you. He wasn’t a part of your life anymore. He knew nothing about your life. And you had cut him out of it. You had made that choice. And he hated it. His mind went back to a conversation he had with Mirae a few days after you confessed to him.

Jiyong was trying to seem casual about it, but he was looking for you. You would always come home for Friday movie nights. He was certain you’d come again. At least, he was trying to convince himself of that. He took a sip of his beer, trying to sound unconcerned when he asked,

“Y/N’s late again?”

Mirae didn’t even look up from her book when she replied.

“No, she’s not coming. Your brutal rejection hurt her feelings.”

Jiyong choked on his beer.

“She told you?”

“No, but I always knew. She won’t tell me either. She won’t want to make me take sides between you and her. For the record, I’d go with her.”

“I didn’t do anything, okay? I didn’t lead her on. She’s reading too much into what I said.”

“You don’t know yet, do you?”

“What?”

“You like her. You like her more than she likes you. That’s why you’ve always been so damn mean to her.”

Jiyong stared at Mirae for a minute before bursting out into laughter, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s like another you to me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what you told yourself when you started liking her and realised she didn’t like you back. You never stopped liking her, but you did manage to convince yourself that you dislike her. And that’s why you’re always so mean to her; because talking to her reminds you of the loopholes in your plan.”

He laughed, but Mirae continued.

“I know I’m right, but she deserves better than you. You’ve treated her so horribly. You’ve been nothing but mean to her. You rejected her brutally. You’ve pushed her too far. She’s done. She’s not going to come back here. She’s never going to want to see you again. She will remove you from her life.”

Jiyong growled when the realisation that Mirae was right hit him. She wasn’t right about everything, because he definitely didn’t like you, but he didn’t think you’d cut him out of your life like she said you would. His head was hurting from thinking about this too much. He wanted release. And so, he did what he always did whenever he wanted to forget. He went clubbing.

Two hours later, Jiyong was drunk out of his mind in a private booth at a club. He had run into a bunch of acquaintances at the club and they invited a few girls to join them. One of them had made it clear that she was interested in him. Since he did not want to admit that he was still thinking about you, he played along. And so, when she gently trailed her fingers over his thigh, winked at him and walked away, he mindlessly followed her. Next thing he knew, he was making out with her against a wall in the back of the club. She had her arms wrapped his neck and he had one hand around her waist and the other up her shirt. And in all his drunkenness and anger, things started to blur. In his more vulnerable drunken state, he let his true desires come forward. Which is why as she reached for his belt, he let out a moan.

“Y/N.”

 Later that night, you and Minho lay in bed, limbs tangled. Minho was half asleep, but he still held you close, snuggling closer to you. You pulled him a little closer, covering him up with a blanket because you could see he was cold. You couldn’t sleep. You smiled as you played with Minho’s hair, thanking the world that he existed. He was the only reason you were over Jiyong. Your heart ached for Minho when you thought about his ex. You couldn’t understand why she would do that to him. You held him a little tighter, not wanting him to get hurt again. You leaned over to switch off the lights, and snuggling closer to him, you fell asleep.

That night, the first person to wake up from a nightmare was Minho. The two of you were at a party, but he had lost you. He was worried about you, so he started looking for you. He checked everywhere, but he couldn’t find you. The only room he hadn’t checked was the bedroom upstairs, which was occupied. Oh. It was occupied. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he went back to the room and opened the door. His heart broke. He saw Jiyong, with his head between your thighs, and you, with your hands gripping his head, moaning his name at the top of your voice. Jiyong pulled up for air and looked back. Seeing Mino, he winked and kissed you. And that was when Minho woke up. He stared at you, curled up against his side and he wrapped his arms around you tighter, trying to go back to sleep. He was terrified he would lose you. He just hoped that his fear wouldn’t affect your relationship.

A few hours later, you woke up too, eyes wide, mind barely able to comprehend what you just dreamt. You were in Jiyong’s apartment, watching a movie with him. From the way he had his arm around your shoulder and from the way you were resting your head against his, it was safe to assume you were dating him. Clearly, the movie was not interesting enough for him because soon after, he slowly started to trace circles on your thigh. You ignored him, but his hand kept moving higher and higher. You swatted it away, but within minutes his hand was back and this time, his lips latched onto the spot above your collarbones. Although he started off with gentle kisses, he soon started sucking harshly, a smirk on his face, because he knew you’d have to use concealer to cover that up for work the next day. You tried not to give in, but when he started sucking, you couldn’t help it and you moaned. With that, his smirk got deeper and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing you, moved towards the bedroom. You woke up when the door slammed behind him, flushed. Suddenly, the room felt much too hot. You looked at Minho, his cheeks squished, fast asleep, and you felt your stomach twist in guilt. You hated that you had that dream. God, it was such a horrible nightmare.

Or was it?

-----

[hookedonapirate]

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: So I made this post on Tumblr the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen the tags, please read them before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning, and I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. If you're not comfortable with that, I highly encourage you to hit the back button.

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Chapter 1

“Late again?” Liam chides when Ruby waltzes into work as if everything is completely normal. As if she’s not an hour late for her shift. 

  For the third time that week.

  She gives him an apologetic smile, but Killian knows she’s not actually sorry. 

  He’s just wondering who she was with this time.

  “Won't happen again, boss.”

  “Damn right it won’t. This is your third warning. Next time, there will be a write-up,” he admonishes.

  Frustration creases her forehead. “Geez, would you just chill? My car broke down.”

  Liam crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. “So, you mean to tell me your car has broken down three times this week?” he asks, holding up three fingers. “And on either of these occasions, you couldn’t pick up the phone and give me a heads up? Did your phone break, too?”

  She flashes him a look as though the answer to his question is obvious. “I told you my car’s a piece of junk. And I tried to call, but no one answered.”

  Killian fights off a laugh, knowing for a fact Ruby is bluffing. At least about calling tonight, since the phone hadn’t rung in the past hour. But he could easily check to see if she’d called on the other two days on the bar phone’s caller i.d. to find out for sure if he really wanted to. 

   “So get a new car. Don’t you make enough from your tips and the hourly wage I pay you?”

  “I make enough from my tips,” she replies with a sarcastic smirk, “but I have more important things to buy.”

  Liam rolls his eyes. “Like what? More six-inch heels, low-cut tops and short skirts?”

  Ruby lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you think I get good tips—by dressing like a Catholic schoolgirl?” She twists her lips and presses the back of her long, red-painted fingernail to her chin, pondering her own words for a second. “On second thought, that actually might bring in even more tips. Besides, you should be paying for my work clothes. Maybe then I could afford a new car.”

  Liam scoffs. “You want me to pay for your outfits?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Ruby's eyes widen, as though she’s shocked he declined her request. “Why not? Can’t you claim them as a work expense?”

  He nods. “Alright, fine. But if I’m paying for your work attire, then I’m choosing what you wear. Sound good to you?” he asks, knowing damn well she’ll never go for it.

  Unsurprisingly, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I ain’t wearing no damn polo shirt and black slacks. I like my low-cut tops and short skirts, thank you very much.”

  Liam sighs and cups his forehead in his hand to indicate she’s giving him a headache as he turns around and walks toward his office. “Just get to work, Ruby.”

  She wraps her apron around her waist and mimics his words in a mocking tone, “Just get to work, Ruby.”

  “I heard that!” Liam hollers.

  “I could be already serving customers if it weren’t for my pain in the ass boss riding me every two goddamn seconds!” she shouts, hoping he heard that too.

  Killian chuckles to himself as he rings up a customer for his drinks and hands him the change.

  “That dude seriously needs to get laid,” Ruby huffs. “Maybe then he’d back off a little.”

  “Ha! I doubt it,” Killian comments before taking another drink order.

  Ruby heads to the dining area to wait on customers. She knows Killian’s not wrong to doubt Liam’s ability to show a little mercy. He’s worked for his brother for two years, longer than anyone has ever been able to stand working for him, and he’s never once seen Liam be lenient, not even to his own brother. He runs a tight ship, and Killian doesn’t see that ever changing. Liam has owned this bar for five years and takes his job very seriously. 

  Killian’s just glad he only has to work here for another six months. Or at least that’s the plan. He’s about to graduate from Storybrooke University and get his degree in engineering. As much as he enjoys working for his brother, or rather listening to his coworkers complain about his brother behind Liam’s back, he doesn’t plan on spending his entire life making drinks.

  Liam emerges from his office an hour later and announces he has to take off for a while to run some errands. Killian’s confused because this is Liam’s night to manage the bar. He dedicates the majority of his other time performing administrative tasks during the week.

  “What errands do you have to run on a Friday night?” Killian asks, his words laced with suspicion.

  “Just some errands I promised someone I’d take care of. You’re in charge while I’m gone.” He pulls on his jacket and leaves Killian behind the bar with a confused expression on his face, wondering what his brother is up to. 

  Killian brushes off the thought, deciding to further question him later.

  Liam heads out the door, but not before scolding Ruby for sitting down at a table full of rowdy men, chatting (and not about the menu). She may be into women, but she flirts with customers regardless of their gender for the tips. 

  Ruby curses under her breath and gets up, moving to her next table to jot down orders.

  ~*~

  Emma sighs as Mary Margaret grabs her hand and pulls her into The Captain's Rum. Or more like, drags her in kicking and screaming. She doesn’t wish to be at this bar any more than she wanted to be at the last two. But her sister-in-law insists on the outlandish idea Emma’s going to find Mr. Perfect tonight. Or somehow get over her asshole of an ex-boyfriend after one night of drinking.

  And even though it's been two months since she left Neal and his thieving and cheating ass, and as much as she wants to get over him, Emma knows it’s not gonna happen for a while. At least not tonight.

  And yet, here she is.

  One night of drinking can’t hurt, she supposes. One night of forgetting everything. Of numbing her pain. Or so she keeps telling herself, but that could be the alcohol she’s already imbibed at the other two bars speaking.

  “So, how’s it going tonight, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asks the cocktail server once they’re seated at a booth. 

  Apparently, they know each other.

  “Well, no one's tried to manhandle me yet, so it's a start.” The tall brunette with red streaks in her hair leans over the table and murmurs, “Not a great start, but it's a start.”

  Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and laughs as she gestures at Emma. “Rubes, this is my sister-in-law, Emma. She just moved here from New York.”

  Looking at Emma, Ruby grins and sticks out her hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

  Emma gives her a polite smile and shakes her hand. “Likewise.”

  When Ruby brings the chips and cheese Mary Margaret ordered, she places them on the table along with two empty plates. Before arriving here, Mary Margaret decided they would put some food in their bellies before they added more alcohol so they wouldn't get too drunk too fast and have to head home early. Well, that was Mary Margaret’s idea at least. Emma would much rather be home in the comfort of her bedroom watching Netflix. Or rather, her brother’s and sister-in-law's guestroom they so graciously let her sleep in until she gets her own place. 

  “Enjoy, ladies.”

  “Sure will,” Mary Margaret beams as Ruby leaves their table. She sips on some water as she scans the bar. Probably for potential suitors she can hook her sister-in-law up with, Emma surmises. “What about him? He's cute,” Mary Margaret remarks, her eyes trained on someone behind her. 

  Emma looks over her shoulder and arches a brow. “He’s cute if you’re sixteen. He looks way too young.”

  “Well, he’s drinking, so he must be at least twenty-one,” Mary Margaret points out.

  “He looks sixteen, and sorry, I don’t date children.”

  “Emma, he’s not a child, probably a college student. And you act like you’re so old just because you already graduated. You’re twenty-two,” Mary Margaret points out like she’s jealous and wishes to be so young again. But she's only a few years older—the same age as David.

  Emma groans. “No, thanks.” Her last boyfriend was immature enough as it was, and he was ten years her senior. “So, tell me, how are you and my brother getting along?” Emma asks, attempting to change the subject and get her sister-in-law to avert her attention from the college boys across the room. “Sick of each other yet?”

  Mary Margaret whips her head around and scowls. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Emma laughs and raises her hands in defense. “Because I knew it was the only thing that would get your attention.”

  Guilt and apology flicker in Mary Margaret’s eyes. “Sorry, Emma.” She lays her palms on the table. “David and I are just worried about you, that’s all.”

  Emma sighs, frustration creasing her forehead. “I’m fine, I promise. Neal was an ass, and honestly, him cheating on me was a good thing. I needed the wake-up call, okay? I was blinded by love. But now that we're over, I can move on with my life. That’s why I let you talk me into bar hopping.”

  A slow, hopeful smile spreads across her lips. “I know, and I’m so happy you got out of that relationship, Emma. David and I both are.”

  Emma laughs. “I know. When I landed on your door stoop, we both had to stop him from driving all the way to New York to kick Neal's ass.”

  Mary Margaret nods. “True. He’s very protective of you.”

  Emma rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s both a blessing and a curse.” She takes a sip of water as she scans the bar. It’s the first time she’s been to The Captain's Rum, and everyone is so unfamiliar to her. New York is a huge place, especially compared to Storybrooke, but in this bar, it feels like she‘s back in New York. She swears everyone in Storybrooke is here.

  Ruby returns to their table to sit and chat. And steal some of their chips, double-dipping them in the cheese. Emma fights off the urge to laugh at this as her eyes wander past Ruby’s shoulder. 

  Huge mistake.

  The group at the bar counter disperses, revealing the most gorgeous sight she's ever seen.

  Holy. Fucking. Hell. 

  She loses a breath when she sees what she can only describe as a fine specimen. 

  Good Lord.

  Handsome features and such a delicious smile to accompany his perfect face as he chats with a male patron at the bar, she finds herself licking her lips.

  “What about him?” Emma manages when she’s able to find the words in her throat. 

  Mary Margaret’s eyes light up before she even looks to see who Emma is staring so unabashedly at. “Who?!” She and Ruby both turn their heads, their eyes following the path of Emma’s gaze until they land on the target.

  “You mean the bartender?” Mary Margaret asks, though, to Emma’s surprise, she doesn’t seem very excited; more like disappointed.

  Emma tears her gaze away from the bartender, as much as she doesn’t want to. But she couldn’t breathe when she looked at him and she needed to come up for air. “Yeah, why not?” 

  “Why not what?” Ruby asks as she looks at Emma, curiosity flashing in her big hazel eyes. “Because if you’re asking ‘why not jump his bones,’ then I can’t think of one good reason.”

  “Ruby, don’t encourage her,” Mary Margaret chides with a glare.

  Ruby frowns, confusion etched in her features. “Why not?”

  “Because… Killian is a player. Emma just broke up with her player of a boyfriend a couple of months ago. She doesn't need another one in her life.”

  “Um, excuse me, I’m right here,” Emma groans wryly. “And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

  “She’s not wrong though,” Ruby remarks. “He is a player. But a fucking hot player. Between the two of us, we’ve conquered all the women of Storybrooke.”

  Emma lifts a brow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Yep. Probably even some of the same women,” she winks, her words bearing no shame or remorse.

  “Ruby, would you stop? Besides, neither of you have conquered me,” Mary Margaret points out with air quotes.

  Ruby rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Prince Charming had already parked his car in your garage long ago.” She reverts her eyes to Emma. “If you’re looking for a relationship, he’s definitely not for you…” she leans over toward Emma, speaking softly, “but if you’re looking for a hookup to get over that cheating ex of yours, then he’s absolutely perfect for that. He’ll give you an orgasm sooooo hard, you’ll forget all about that scumbag. Then he’ll do it over and over again until he knows you won’t be able to walk for weeks.” Ruby grins wide. “Hell, you’ll forget your own fucking name for weeks.”

  Emma gulps, having to recover from the images Ruby implanted in her mind of the man on the other side of the bar. Once she recovers, she furrows her brows at the conclusions she’s drawn from Ruby’s graphic depictions of what a night with the handsome, dark-haired bartender would be like. “How would you know? Have you two—”

  Ruby laughs as though Emma just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “Oh Gaaaaawwwwd, no! I don’t swing that way, honey,” she says, rising and waving off Emma’s words with a flick of her hand. “But I’ve seen the number Killian’s done on his conquests. People talk, especially the drunk, horny females who enter the bar. Plus, as I said, he’s my competition, so I have to know what he's working with… if you know what I mean,” she says with a wink.

  “Yeah, I got it,” Emma groans as Ruby saunters away. Why do all the hot guys have to be players? 

  It’s just her luck.

  Emma turns to catch another look at him. 

  God, he’s gorgeous. 

  Dark, wild hair, stubble on his chin and cheeks, and a fantastic body based on what she can see from her vantage point.

  “Emma! Don’t even think about it! That man’s trouble and you know David would never approve,” Mary Margaret explains, pulling Emma from her trance.

  She turns her head, glaring at her sister-in-law. “David is not my father. And besides, I’m a grown-ass woman! He can’t tell me who I can or cannot date.”

  Mary Margaret gives her a motherly look. “I know, sweetie, but this man doesn’t date women, he fucks them and then sends them packing. David only wants to protect you from guys like him.”

  “I don’t need his protection, okay? Or yours. I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.” Emma stands from her seat, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol still brewing in her system, or because her sister-law has expressed disapproval from both her and David, making this man seem like a forbidden, sinful dessert she’s dying to get a taste of, even though she’ll pay for it later. But right now she doesn't give a fuck. 

  She sucks in a breath and strides across the bar, ignoring Mary Margaret’s pleas and warnings.

  Her eyes are fixed on him like a magnet. He’s wearing a black v-neck that fits him like a glove and shows off a provocative amount of chest hair, his tight, firm muscles bulging as he wipes down the bar counter. His muscles aren’t inhumanly large, just big enough for her to imagine him picking her up and easily carrying her to his bedroom like she weighs nothing. Emma can feel her panties grow wet just from watching him work. 

  But even though she doesn’t wish to be told who to be with, she knows she should heed her sister-in-law’s warnings.

  What would one night of fun hurt, though? She’s spent too much time holed up in her New York apartment, wallowing in self-pity and heartache after Neal hurt her. She hasn’t been with anyone since then. And maybe she’s not looking to dive into a serious relationship right now. Or ever. Maybe she just wants to blow off some steam. And this man looks like he can handle such a task. She’s more than willing to find out. 

  Emma approaches the bar and stands in front of him, placing her hands on the counter. 

  “What can I get you, lass?”

  Well, fuck me sideways.

  He has a British accent too?

  She knows she should run for her life, but before she can talk herself out of it, he looks up from his task, and she feels like her feet are glued to the floor. 

  Ho-ly hell.

  He’s even more gorgeous up close.

  His arms are inked with tattoos she so badly wants to trace with her fingers, and his striking blue eyes sparkle as he stares at her, his smile showing off a set of pearly white teeth.

  Well shit.

  She couldn’t run away if she wanted to.

  ~*~

  Killian had been running back and forth behind the bar for hours, ringing up bar patrons, making drinks and engaging in small talk. It’s a typical Friday night at The Captain’s Rum; the place is normally busy on the weekends, especially since the bar is only a stone’s throw away from the university, and tonight is no exception. It’s crowded and loud, couples are dancing, and the women are scantily clad in either tiny dresses or short tops and skirts. As he’s grabbing beers and making cocktails, the bar continues to fill and grow louder. 

  He hands off drinks to a couple before moving on to the next customer. 

  “Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate, Robin, calls over the blaring music. 

  Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge of it with both hands.

  “Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”

  “Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn't want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.

  He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair, pink lace and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you, lass?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.

  His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up.

  Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.

  Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.

  No, not woman. 

  Goddess.

  Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

  Good. 

  God.

  She’s breathtaking.

  Stunning.

  “What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.

  Fuck.

  Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.

  She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every... fucking... part of.

  “Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them, drown in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.

  She arches a brow and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?” He senses a challenge in her tone. 

  “Try me,” he encourages.

  She bites her bottom lip in thought.

  He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed.

  “What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”

  He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”

  She laughs and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figure it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”

  “So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”

  “Are you a bartender?” 

  Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.

  Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.

  “You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”

  He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?” 

  She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”

  He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he just died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to, love.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task. 

  Only a pleasure.

  Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?” 

  Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.

  Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.

  He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.” 

  “Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”

  “Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does. 

  He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink. 

  ~*~

  Emma snorts. She honestly didn’t think he would actually take her seriously. She was only kidding around. But he took her very seriously and eagerly accepted her challenge. And he did an amazing job.

  She stares at the green drink in amusement, impressed, to say the least. He brought it to her in a margarita glass with two lime wedges sticking out like ears. The stem is wrapped in a napkin tied with twine and clearly made to look like Baby Yoda’s coat. And there's a cocktail stick tucked into the twine like a sword. 

  “Well? How did I do?” he asks, eagerly seeking her answer.

  “It's so cute,” she comments honestly. “It looks great, but does it taste as good as it looks?” As she asks that question, she’s looking up into his gorgeous eyes. And she can’t deny she’s wondering the same about him. 

  Does he taste as good as he looks? 

  Before she brings the glass to her lips, he puts up a finger to stop her. 

  “Hold on.” He grabs a toothpick and stabs two cherries, one on each end, before sticking it into the drink, giving the baby Yoda a pair of eyes. “For the finishing touch,” he smirks.

  After she stops laughing, she takes a hesitant drink. Once she takes the first sip, her face sours and she blinks a few times as she swallows. “Wow, that’s strong.” She arches her brow, pinning him with an accusatory stare. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  He chuckles. “Aye, isn't that the intention?” 

  She nods and grins. “This will certainly do the trick.” She rises from the stool and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out her phone case wallet, which holds her phone and money. “How much?” she asks, pulling out some cash.

  He waves off her offer. “The drinks are on me,” he says with a wink.

  “Are you sure? I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

  “Trust me, I won't get in trouble.”

  Taking his word for it, she tucks the cash into her wallet. “Thanks for the drinks, Killian.”

  He arches a sultry brow, making her heart skip a beat. “So, you’ve heard of me, but I have yet to learn your name?”

  She laughs and points at the name embroidered into his shirt. “Yours is right there.”

  “Oh, that,” he chuckles, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he peers down and brushes his fingers over the letters. “My boss insists we have our names displayed on our shirts.”

  “Well, your boss sounds like a pain in the ass.”

  “He is, but I only have to work here for another six months. I’m graduating from SBU in the Spring.”

  She nods as a group of people approach the counter beside her. She glances over at them and shifts her gaze back to him, wishing he had more time to chat, but she knows he has to work. “It's Emma,” she makes sure to tell him before the counter becomes too overcrowded. “My name,” she clarifies, in case that wasn't obvious.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Emma,” he says sweetly, reaching over to shake her hand. When she slips her palm into his, she can feel the sparks from his touch, but instead of shaking her hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it.

  Oh, God.

  This man’s lips on her skin feel like heaven and sin. She has to clench her thighs to stop the throbbing she feels between her legs.

  Fuck.

  She feels the loss when she pulls her hand away and sees the loss written all over his face. “Well, I should um… I should get back to my sister-in-law,” she stammers after learning how to form words again.

  He scratches behind his ear and opens his mouth to speak before closing it again like he’s nervous about something. “Of course, love.”

  Emma swallows thickly and lingers a bit, patiently waiting for him to say what’s on his mind. 

  He must sense she's waiting for him because as she grabs the drinks and starts to back away from the counter, his voice stops her. “Emma?”

  Good Lord, she loves the way her name slides off his tongue.

  She cocks a brow, hoping he's about to ask for her number. Praying he does. “Yes?”

  “I um… can you come back here before you leave? Say in an hour when it slows down a bit? I’d love to chat with you some more,” he says sincerely.

  Emma purses her lips like she has to mull over his question. The offer is extremely tempting. But she has something else in mind other than talking. Something involving his hands all over her body and her legs wrapped around his hips as he's plunging into her. 

  And you know what? Fuck it.

  She’s sure whatever he has in mind is exactly what she has in mind. Or at least, close to it. “Sure.”

  His eyes widen in excitement and surprise, as though he wasn't actually expecting her to say yes. “Really?”

  She flashes him her sexiest grin. “Yeah, why not? I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “See you then, love. Enjoy your drink. May the booze be with you.” 

  She snorts and backs away from the counter, holding up her glass in salute before taking a sip. Their eyes are still locked before she turns around.

  As she walks away, she cranes her neck to see him still watching her, even as he's serving other customers. She winks at him and has the pleasure of witnessing that adorable pink blush coloring his cheeks and the smirk on his lips before she faces forward and heads back to Mary Margaret. 

  She’s not looking forward to the lecture her sister-in-law is about to give her, but honestly, she doesn't care. She's looking forward to returning to the hot bartender, hoping to go back to his bedroom. Or the restroom. Either will do, really. As long as she gets to have him.

  After Mary Margaret is done chewing Emma out and reminding her of what a player Killian is, and after she finally realizes Emma is going to do what she wants, regardless of what anyone says, they are able to have some fun. 

  Ruby keeps the drinks coming, and soon they’re tipsy enough to get up and dance among the crowd of gyrating bodies already on the dance floor. Emma glances over at the counter every now and then, and every other time, she catches Killian staring at her, sending shivers down her spine. And every time he tosses her one of his cheeky smiles, her stomach flutters with butterflies. 

  Emma's thankful Mary Margaret is plastered enough to let loose and not give her any shit because she has no idea what Mary Margaret would do if Emma told her she's going back to talk to Killian. Though she has a feeling if Mary Margaret were sober, she'd do anything in her power to make sure Emma stayed away from him. 

  When the time finally comes, they order an Uber, which takes much longer than expected. She helps Mary Margaret into the backseat and tells her she's staying for a bit longer and will catch another Uber when she's ready to leave. She doesn't dare mention Killian's name, or that she plans on leaving with him, for fear Mary Margaret will blabber to her brother. Because then he'll come marching into the bar on his white horse to find his sister with the bartender and embarrass the hell out of her.

  Mary Margaret's too drunk and in no shape to talk her out of anything, so Emma’s able to escape, knowing her brother will take care of his wife when she gets home. 

  Emma quickly shoots David a text to let him know his wife had a few too many drinks and is on her way home in an Uber and that Emma decided to stay a little longer but will be home soon. Which is a lie. 

  She hopes. 

  Before the Uber drives away, Emma slips her phone into her pocket before heading back into the bar. She's fifteen minutes late, but it's not like Killian can go anywhere. He’s the bartender.

  Once inside, she takes a deep breath and tucks some hair behind her ears, a smile playing along her lips as she makes her way to the bar counter. She has no idea what exactly will happen once she reaches him, but with a face as gorgeous as his, she’s pretty sure she would let him do anything he wanted to.

  She’s also pretty sure he could help Emma get over her ex. As they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And that’s exactly what she plans on doing.

  As Emma nears the counter and spots Killian, the beaming smile on her face immediately falls flat.

  And her heart sinks.

  A busty blonde is standing at the bar, her hand running up and down Killian’s arm, her fingers tracing his tattoos. The woman is sitting on a barstool at the opposite side of the counter in a low-cut top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a skirt so short and tight it looks like it's been painted on. Killian’s standing in front of her, so his back is to Emma as he gives his full attention to the other blonde. It's almost time for last call, so it's now much quieter in the bar, and she's close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

  “What can I get you, love?”

  “A Tequila.”

  “Tequilas are trouble,” he says matter-of-factly.

  She moves in closer, biting her smile. “So am I,” she taunts.

  “I’m fully aware,” he replies with a chuckle. He tries to move, probably to make her Tequila, but she grabs his arm, forcing him to stay. Though, forcing is a bit of an overstatement; Killian doesn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. “Would you like a snack, too?”

  Mischief dances in her eyes as she licks her lips, ogling him like he’s the snack. “I’m looking at it, honey.”

  Emma feels like she's going to be sick. 

  The woman leans in and bites his ear and then pulls away slightly. “Last weekend was incredible. Can’t stop thinking about having my legs wrapped around you,” she giggles.

  Jealousy stabs Emma’s gut and disappointment shoots through her like a lightning bolt, bringing her back to reality.

  Mary Margaret and Ruby were totally right. 

  He’s a player. 

  Unable to listen to them for another second, Emma spins on her heels and dashes out the door so fast, she almost tramples over some guys heading in at the last minute. 

  She should’ve listened to the warnings, but she was too blinded by the attraction she felt for Killian. 

  God, she’s a fucking idiot. 

  Why does she always fall for the dangerous guys? The ones who are bad for her? Why can’t she just find a nice guy for once? Someone safe. Someone who won’t stomp on her heart and discard it like trash without batting an eye.

  She pushes open the door, tears stinging her eyes as she runs outside into the bitter, chilly night, hoping the Uber driver hasn’t taken off yet. But it's wishful thinking because she can't think of a reason why he wouldn't have left by now.

  “Ooof.”

  The air rushes from her lungs as she slams into a tall, solid mass. 

  Hands are gripping her arms to keep her from falling as apologies leave her lips. “Sorry.” She looks up at the man towering over her, Emma's eyes connecting with soft blue ones, which are full of apology. 

  He flashes a warm smile, his lips framed by a light brown scruff.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry, lass. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” 

  Shit.

  He has an accent too? 

  What’s with all the accents in this town? She’s noticed a lot of the locals here weren’t actually born here. Or the States. She didn’t realize how much she liked men with foreign accents until tonight.

  This man continues to apologize, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. At least not for crashing into her. “I was distracted,” he says with a smirk, giving Emma the impression she was what he was distracted by.

  Emma tears herself from the trance she’s in and glances at the side of the road, where the Uber once was. “Shit,” she curses under her breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asks in genuine concern.

  “Yeah, it’s just… my ride has already left. And I’m too drunk to drive home,” she sighs.

  Before the man can respond, his phone chimes from his jacket. “Excuse me,” he says apologetically, pulling out the device. He studies whatever’s on the screen with a worried expression, then looks up at her, his mouth slightly agape.

  “Everything okay?” she asks with an arched brow, starting to shiver as a frigid wind sweeps around her.

  “Um, yeah.” He glances at his phone again before lifting his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to be Emma, would you?”

  She freezes and just stares at him, not knowing how to answer that. Or rather, why she should answer that.

  What the hell? 

  She's never seen this man before in her life, so how does he know her name? 

  Her heart pounds and she wants to run, but she's afraid she’s not sober enough for that at the moment. “How do you know my name?”

  He appears to be hesitant as he holds up his phone, showing her his screen.

  Emma takes it in her hands so she can get a better look.

  Her eyes widen when she sees a text from a Nolan.

  Nolan, as in her brother? Who else with the last name, Nolan, lives with a Mary Margaret and an Emma?

  Nolan: I just received a text from Emma. She sent Mary Margaret home in an Uber and is at your bar. Can you make sure she gets home all right?

  Her blood sizzles as she rereads the message. Then she reads the texts before it, a couple in particular sticking out like sore thumbs.

  Nolan: So… I have a huge favor to ask.

  Me: Sure, what’s up, mate?

  Nolan: The wife and sister are going to the Rabbit Hole tonight. Emma just moved here from New York after a terrible break-up and Mary Margaret is determined to hook her up with someone.

  Nolan: Think you have time to get away from work and keep an eye on my sister, make sure she doesn’t find any trouble? 

  What the actual fuck?

  Why is her brother having this man spy on her?

  Emma turns around and pulls back the hand still holding the phone, about to toss the damn thing.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t shoot the messenger, love,” he pleads. “I need my phone.”

  The endearment makes her shiver. Killian had called her love, too.

  She spins around to glare at the stranger. “David’s using you to spy on me?” she demands firmly.

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to, lass, I promise, but I would’ve felt terrible if I said no and then, later on, found out something bad happened to you. I promise, I was only helping a friend and looking out for you.”

  Emma sighs and hands his phone back, knowing he’s telling the truth. She saw his responses to David’s texts and gathered he didn’t wish to put his nose where it didn’t belong or to stir up any trouble. “David always has been good at persuading people,” she grumbles.

  “Aye, especially when it comes to protecting the ones he loves,” he winks. 

  “Even so, he has no business spying on me!” she states louder than intended.

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” he states adamantly, making sure to express how much he was against this whole idea, to begin with.

  Emma crosses her arms over her chest, wondering how she never saw him at the Rabbit Hole when she was there. “So, you spied on me at the Rabbit Hole?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get the chance to. By the time I got there, you and Mary Margaret were already gone.”

  Emma shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the thought of her own brother asking someone to spy on her. But she’s not surprised. “Brothers are so annoying,” she grumbles.

  He chuckles, and the deep, hearty sound warms her heart a little, despite the chill in the air. “Agreed.”

  She arches her brow, as though to ask him to expand on why.

  “I have one of those, too. So I get it.”

  Emma’s features soften, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Older or younger?”

  “Younger. He can be quite the ponce sometimes, but at the end of the day, I’d lay down my life for him.”

  “I usually feel the same about David… and then he goes and pulls something like this,” Emma remarks bitterly.

  “I take it he does this a lot?”

  “He did when we were younger. But then I moved to New York and he came here, so we didn’t see each other very much.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  Another gust of wind makes her shiver and has him removing his jacket and offering it to her. Even though she’s already wearing one.

  “May I?”

  She cocks a brow. “Won’t you be cold?”

  He shrugs. “I rarely get cold.”

  She gives him a soft nod. He looks like he’d be the type of man who knows how to stay warm, and therefore knows how to keep a woman warm. He has those big, strong arms and broad shoulders, and he’s very tall. She could picture herself being buried in his warmth, but maybe because she's currently freezing her ass off. “Thanks,” she murmurs when he goes behind her and drapes the jacket over her shoulders. 

  “It’s my pleasure, love.” When he’s standing in front of her again, he sticks out his hand. “The name’s Liam.”

  Emma smiles and slips her palm in his. 

  She was right. He is warm. Very warm. “I think David’s mentioned your name a few times.”

  “Probably not as much as he talks about you. In fact, I feel like I already know you,” he chuckles as they break the handshake.

  “Hopefully, he had good things to say?” She almost groans at the idea of David spewing a bunch of embarrassing stories about her from when she was a kid.

  “Aye. Very good things… well, mostly,” he admits. “But who doesn’t have at least a complaint or two about their siblings?”

  She nods in agreement. “True. I complain about him all the time.”

  He grins big and wide. “I don’t doubt that.” When his smile fades a little, he scratches his head as he looks at her, hesitant to form the next words he wants to say. “Well, uh… seeing as it’s,” he checks his watch, “almost two o’clock and not getting any warmer out here, how about I give you a ride home?”

  Emma twists her lips in thought. Normally she wouldn’t even think twice about rejecting a ride from a stranger, but there’s something about this guy that tells her he’s not a serial killer or rapist. There’s something pure about him, a vast contrast to the bartender inside. That guy screamed danger and sin, but this man standing before her gives off completely different vibes. He has a warm personality, which is very refreshing, and he has honest eyes. Besides, she may not be able to stand her brother and his antics sometimes, but he's always had good taste in friends. And if David trusts Liam enough to keep tabs on his sister, then he must be trustworthy.

  So with a feeble smile, she finally answers. “Okay.”

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added. @itsfabianadocarmo​ @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook​ @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

Chapter 14 - History

This is chapter 14 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo (briefly)

Word count: 2,842

Cw: discussions of death, tension between characters, (verbal) fight

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur opened the book carefully, almost afraid the knowledge would vanish right in his hands if he didn’t. It felt weightless as he walked to the table, sitting in the same chair he sat in during the interview. The first page was blank, but after turning to the next page, he saw a table of contents. He mostly skimmed it, the idea of reading being much more exciting than the process itself.

“Local opinions on L’Manberg’s end” caught his eye. He flipped to page 138 and read the beginning. It stated the interview each person was given, explaining how everyone received the same questions on (mostly) the same day. Some bits seemed scattered, as if they were just quick notes jotted down, and the writing wasn’t consistent. It was possible Tubbo had gotten some help writing it all down. Wilbur also remembered how some books had apparently been destroyed, so this likely wasn’t an entirely finished product.

They started chronologically of when they were taken, most of the people at the beginning saying that they weren’t affiliated with L’Manberg, but still felt the despair of those who were. A few questioned his motives along with how long it was planned out. 

Wilbur easily skipped over those, the boringness of them making him yawn. A small smirk came across his face when he saw Dream’s name. He read the statement supplied, “I’m not gonna lie or fluff it up, Wilbur was an idiot. He didn’t know how to run a nation at all, but he was so hungry for power that he assumed he could. I would say it’s sad that Wilbur blew it up, but good riddance to that cry for attention.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. No wonder he declared independence against him. He truly didn’t understand the restrictions the world put on him. It really wouldn’t have been difficult for Dream to let them be their own nation, but instead, he had to childishly declare war. Though regardless of the past, Wilbur didn’t hold many hard feelings against the man. Not after what Dream had done for him. He read the next statement. A small look of disgust came across his face when he saw it was Eret.

“I know my history with L’Manberg, but I still wish it didn’t come to this fate. Wilbur was a good person. Perhaps he slipped off the deep-end near the end there, but he held kindness close to his chest. I know I… betrayed them, but I shouldn’t have. If I could go back and change it I would.” A small supplement at the end added that the confession was taken the day of L’Manberg’s explosion.

Wilbur looked at the words for longer than he should’ve blinking at them as if they’d been a trick of the light. A good person? They might have interacted so long ago, but he hoped they would at least remember the bare minimum of who he was. A good person, perhaps once, or at the very least an attempt at one. Though Eret’s words were far too hesitant and sympathetic, and Wilbur couldn’t quite get himself to grasp them. He remembered seeing regret in Eret’s eyes, that Wilbur quickly shoved away. He remembered the hope he once had for when Tommy started pursuing other things. Hope that Eret could act as a vice-president in his place. Or even before that happened, they could be a treasurer or anything that would have helped them in the wars. Perhaps they could have even helped in the elections, using his charm and charisma to ‘woo’ the neutral voters. But in the end, Eret had found a better deal, and throughout the 13 and a half years, Wilbur had found it increasingly difficult to blame her for that.

He let his eyes drift across the page, skipping a few nobodies that just happened to be nearby, before reading Tommy’s. A small note was made to the side saying it was taken three days after the explosion. “I can’t fucking believe him. We fought together for- for- I don’t know how long! But he... we had L’Manberg again and he- he’s gone. I wish I felt bad that he’s dead and shit but it was his decision for all of that to happen. Not a single person pushing him towards that. The war- our lives aren’t even over yet, but he had to leave us already.”

Wilbur shut his eyes for a moment, before rereading it once more. The words and their meanings didn’t change. Wilbur had wanted strong words like it, because words of enemies didn’t sting, and Wilbur had effectively made Tommy his enemy. Though he wasn’t certain if these counted as strong words. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d expected them to say. If he’d expected Tommy to say anything at all. Tommy hadn’t followed along with Wilbur, despite Wilbur once feeling that he was doing exactly what they needed to do. And it was fine, really. Wilbur had left his impact, and while the action now felt distant to him, Tommy did not need to feel bad for his death. Wilbur didn’t know exactly why he’d returned, but a warm welcome wasn’t to be expected. While Tommy’s words were strange and familiar, talking of Wilbur as if he was a person who left, who died to be mourned, rather than an event, a choice, and a legacy, they were to be expected of the child. Wilbur pursed his lips, fiddling with the corner of the page in his hand. He lingered on Tommy’s section for longer than he should’ve. He didn’t know if seconds or minutes passed but he heard Tubbo’s voice from nearby, “You good?” 

He turned towards Tubbo, slipping on a grin, “Yeah, yeah, it’s all pretty interesting stuff.”

Tubbo hesitantly smiled in return, “Cool, I’ll just be down here if you need anything.” He did finger guns towards the direction of the stairs and awkwardly walked back down them.

Although Wilbur’s mind was blurred, a small part of him was able to focus on Tubbo’s feelings about L’Manberg. He flipped through the pages, names filled his eyes, but none of them were what he was looking for. He frowned and double-checked, but the same results still occurred. He flipped to the last page of the section, figuring that Tubbo must’ve been at the end, if not the beginning. Instead, he found a small portion that read, “Any statements not present are from the people present only after L’Manberg’s original explosion weren’t available.”

Wilbur knew Tubbo was present during the wars, so it didn’t make sense why he pretended like he wasn’t. Especially because the statement implied he only joined after L’Manberg was over and dealt with. Did Tubbo rewrite history so he wasn’t a part of it? That didn’t seem likely to him, but the lack of Tubbo’s opinion on the paper spoke louder than his thoughts. 

He told himself to shrug it off as Ghostbur’s quiet voice popped into his mind, “Hey, Wilbur, can we talk about something?” 

Wilbur looked around, trying to ensure Tubbo couldn’t hear him. He mumbled, “Later.”

Ghostbur took in a deep breath, “That’s okay. Just- make sure that I don’t forget to ask about it.” 

Wilbur absentmindedly nodded as he flipped to one of the earlier pages. His eyes didn’t focus on the paper, but rather on what he wanted to know. He decided his father’s opinion would be the best choice. He flipped the page once again and spotted Phil’s name near the middle of the text. “It’s been a lot to handle. I wasn’t a part of L’Manberg, but- Wilbur being gone. It means more to me than L’Manberg did to him.” 

It was short and sweet in the way Wilbur expected. It washed out most of Tommy’s statement as he flipped around in search of Niki’s. He briefly thought about Ranboo’s opinion, but the book already told him it wouldn’t be there. Even then, the centrist would have probably made something up that would apply to any event. 

Niki’s opinion didn’t focus much on Wilbur, but it was still good nonetheless. “I used to care about L’Manberg a lot. I built the original flag and I felt… I felt so close to everyone there. Even when Schlatt came into power. L’Manberg was all I really had to go to, even if it was technically Manberg at the time. Yet, I feel in a way, like time split us apart. Not Wilbur though. I wished he was still here.”

Wilbur smiled softly. He missed her quite a lot, especially during limbo. He would close his eyes, and pretend he was baking with her again. Nothing in particular either, just tossing flour on each other and bumping shoulders occasionally. There was enough room in the kitchen to avoid the latter, but it brought a closeness to the both of them that Wilbur didn’t know how to describe. Of course, that was during the desperate years. The ones where the concrete of the platform seemed to burn his feet, as he let vulnerability slip in, right before he let it grow into something else.

He searched his mind, thinking of who he met after his revival, and his breath hitched at the thought of Fundy. He sat for a moment, contemplating if he should even do it. He flipped the page carefully, skimming for the name of his son.

He found it quicker than he would have liked to. A dread filling his chest that he forcefully pushed away. He read the segment Fundy spoke about. Reading it over and over again, none of it sticking in his head. Disbelief and confusion hit him like a truck. The only words his son spoke about it were, “I feel ashamed to even call him my father.” 

Wilbur closed the book. The cover seemed to burn him as he did so. He let it sit on the table, his hands resting on his legs. He robotically stood up, his movements feeling stiff and unnatural. He laid a hand on the book that rested so peacefully. He begrudgingly picked it up, the book somehow feeling much heavier than last time. He slowly shuffled towards the bookshelf, putting it back where he thought it was, not paying much mind if it was in the right place or not.

“Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, his voice sounding a bit apprehensive.

“Yes, what is it?” Wilbur asked, a little sharper than he perhaps intended. 

“Wil, why did you lie?” the words came out, with a certain sadness, yet they seemed almost practiced. They were quick, yet each syllable was dripping with concern or perhaps spite, if Wilbur didn’t know any better.

“Lie about what?” Wilbur asked, huffing.

“Tubbo…” he took a deep breath, “Tubbo asked you if there were any side-effects, and you didn’t mention me. You said I wasn’t there. But I am! I know I am, because we’re talking. So why didn’t you say that?”

Wilbur breathed in sharply, like a hiss. “It’s nothing.” he said, “I wasn’t planning lie much after the revival, but what would you want me to say?”

“That I’m here!”

“I can’t just say that!” Wilbur said, trying to keep his voice down, “They can’t know you’re here, because it’ll make it harder for us to find a way to get you out.”

“They can help! Tubbo would want to help.” Ghostbur said, certainly.

“Tubbo isn’t going to believe me, Ghostbur. It’s going to concern him, and we don’t want Tubbo to be sad, do we?” The last words came out a bit more naturally than what Wilbur had wanted them to.

It did seem to make Ghostbur go quiet, for just a few moments. When Wilbur almost thought Ghostbur had nothing more to say, he spoke, “No no no, you don’t understand!” He said, “Sometimes, sadness can be okay, I think. Lying isn’t good at all. It leads to bad things.” The last sentence, held more melancholy than the rest.

Wilbur wanted to laugh. “It’s not that simple.” he said, “Lying is an excellent tool. Sometimes, you need it to survive, Ghostbur. And right now we do.”

“How do you know that?” Ghostbur asked, beginning to sound slightly panicked, “They told me it wouldn’t be bad, but then they lied, and it was! It was bad.”

Wilbur shook his head confusedly, “Who are you talking about?”

A bit of shock came from Ghostbur’s following gasp. “I… I don’t know.” he said, and the confusion told Wilbur it was the truth, “I’m not sure I…” he was breathing a little faster, “I can’t find the memories, but lying is bad Wilbur! It’s not going to lead to anything good, I can feel it.”

“Lying can give you an advantage, and we want to get you out quickly.” Wilbur said. He felt as if the world was momentarily catching fire around him. “It’s just a white lie, Ghostbur. Just to keep everything on track. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I… I’m sorry, but I just don’t think this is a good idea! We should tell Tubbo. We can trust him, I know it!”

“Who are you to say who I can fucking trust?” Wilbur said, a little louder, “This is none of your business! This is my life, even if you insist on invading it!” 

As the words hung sharply in the air, the silence that followed became blindingly obvious. 

Wilbur could hear his own slow breathing, filling the empty room. “Fuck… Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.”

There was no response.

“Ghostbur, I...” he breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to say that.”

The silence from the ghost stabbed him in the chest. “Ghostbur, it was just a bit of a slip-up. Y’know like when you get tongue-tied?” Wilbur tried to pull off a playful tone, but the concern behind it was prevalent. Wilbur sighed. It wasn’t one out of aggression, but rather a disappointment in himself. 

He walked away from the bookshelf and towards the stairs, seeing Tubbo harvesting some melons from his farm. He forgot that the boy was even there, his thoughts consuming everything around him. He faintly smiled as he walked to the lower level of the bunker. He didn’t bother ruining the peace and simply mentioned, “I put the book back.”

Tubbo looked down at Wilbur. “Oh! Alright. Are you heading out?”

“I suppose I am,” Wilbur said, a bit quietly, almost hoping that Tubbo’s voice would bring some response from the ghost. 

“Where are you going?” Tubbo asked.

At the words, Wilbur realized he didn’t have a good answer to that. His head was a mess, and it felt emptier than usual. He tried to open any gate in his mind at all, to find a rhyme or reason to his actions and his desires. For some reason, the one purpose he’d assigned to himself, seemed further off than before. It was silly and frivolous of him to bother being affected in such a way. If there was one thing he’d learned as a commander, it was that the war would rage on, whether you felt like it or not. A break, and a moment of silence, was rarely a particularly good sign. Sometimes you needed it to make plans however, and if he couldn’t even do something as simple as that, how could he consider himself powerful anymore? Knowledge. He needed knowledge, and he’d just left all the books behind after looking at one. He breathed in. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re welcome to head to the mansion.” Tubbo said with a shrug, “Ranboo and I are sleeping over again tonight, so if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome there.”

Wilbur froze, and weighed the suggestion in his mind. He heard a faint and familiar breath from Ghostbur that calmed his heart for a moment. “Sure.” he said, a little too quickly, “That sounds fine.” He accompanied it with a smile, to try to make the exchange seem natural. 

Tubbo’s expression indicated it hadn’t worked entirely, but the frown quickly turned into a similar smile. “Sweet! I’ll be going there soon enough, but you can go ahead if you want.” Just before Wilbur had the chance, Tubbo looked as if he remembered something. “Oh, also! Try not to tell anyone about this place. It’s a secret to most people.”

Wilbur nodded, unsure why Tubbo would’ve told him about it, if it was such a secret. “Can I come back here?” 

Tubbo took a moment to respond. “Make sure I’m with you.” he said, “We have some structural problems, so I don’t want anyone to be here without me being aware of it.”

The words reached Wilbur strangely. He swallowed something in his throat and nodded nonetheless. Then, without further response, he wandered outside, into a much more apparent form of silence.

Tubbo nodded and looked slightly dismayed at Wilbur’s sudden exit, “Alright, seeya later.”

Wilbur took long strides away from the bunker, hoping it would help collect his thoughts for Ghostbur. His footsteps echoed through the halls, making him miss the sound of Ghostbur’s voice. He walked towards the entrance of Pogtopia, quickly exiting. The change of scene didn’t help him think. If anything, it only increased his worries about the ghost as his mind ran.

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU

Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.

But his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.

Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.

Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 (and below the cut)! Tumblr chapter masterlist here.

Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

Three Years Earlier

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance. 

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough. 

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors. 

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk. 

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor. 

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature. 

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone. 

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down. 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. 

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?” 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.” 

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.” 

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?” 

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.” 

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed. 

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor. 

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.” 

“A record player?” Castiel asked. 

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?” 

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?” 

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won. 

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on Led Zeppelin IV. Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly. 

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had. 

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “Castiel. It sounds kind of --” 

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.” 

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. 

“That’s a lot of kids.” 

“Yes, there’s five of us.” 

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel. 

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.” 

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.” 

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside. 

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?” 

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --” 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.” 

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?” 

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’” 

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.” 

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.” 

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side. 

“What do you think so far?” He asked. 

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added. 

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…” 

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?” 

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.” 

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.” 

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and Harry Potter I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice. 

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?” 

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.” 

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.” 

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said. 

“It’s not very impressive.” 

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.” 

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off. 

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but accounting? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.” I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back.

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile.

 The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?” 

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.” 

[laiqart]

The Untamed vs MDZS Anime: Which is better?

Going to japan now. Currently in the plane. The in flight tv is broken. So... ive been watching mdzs on youtube!

Hot damn the animation is beautiful. Every frame is a work of art. How the hell. Its so beautiful. I mean they use 3D a lot for the backgrounds and boats but its still gorgeous and not too jarring. The lighting is so realistic, scenery too. All the fighting choreography is beautiful. The way the swords swing in the air looks so fluid, and when swords clash its in flashes of light the color of their sword. Such a tasteful yet stylistic choice. Everyone's, esp wwx, hair is so flowy, so detailed every strand sways in the wind. The waves reflect light and move smoothly. How the hell did they do that. How. I was thinking of doing those screencap redraw thingy with the scene when wwx whacks lwj's boat. (they also emphasised how far lwj's boat was sinking into the water, which makes it more convincing how wwx can deduce that theres something underneath vs the live action where lwj's boat looked normal..) it was damn beautiful. The thing is, the point of these redraws is that the animation looks simple, so the redraw would enhance the scene. But for mdzs, everything is already in peak quality, redrawing it will only look worse. Its like writing fanfiction of books. The original writing is so damn beautiful, fan fiction ends up being such a stark difference that the reader cant help but compare the 2.

Drama, as everyone says, shows better facial expressions due to the live actors, so emotions hit harder. But anime def LOOKs way better in all action scenes. Angles that follow the characters are used to emphasise scale between enemy and chracters, and all the movements feel so dynamic, and i love how when they use talisman spell thingies they got a circle of light in an intricate pattern thats super beautiful. In the drama, its just a piece of paper.

However, i prefer drama's lwj. Maybe cos wyb looks so young, its more believable when he freaks out over the adult book that wwx gives him in the library scene. In the anime, he looks 20+-30+. Its a bit hard to believe that he'd be worried over that. Idk theres a kind of innocence and naivety that leads to the stubborn refusal to express emotion that young lwj is plagued with that we have in the untamed (was this intentional on wyb's part or is it because the teenage lwj wig made his eyes look floaty, so he seems more like a teenager and naive, less experienced as a cultivator vs lwj 13 years later? Dk but it works!). In the anime, he looks like an adult thats calm and level headed already from the get-go. Idk maybe i just havent watched enough (only seen up til the water demons in caiyi town). In both anime and drama, everyone and i mean EVERYONE besides the fricking babies looks the same 13/16 years later. It doesn't feel like time has passed at all. I wish they would have maybe a change in costume, or hairstyle in the anime. The drama at least changes their costumes a little and neatens the hairstyle of jiang cheng and lwj to indicate maturity.

Btw i love that in the anime for the water demons section they had wwx and jc casually chatting (though its a blatant cornetto ad which is fricking weird. How can there be frozen treats back in those days), then wwx beautifully catapulting himself onto a boat and rowing away showing the unique and romantic af mode of transport in caiyi town, then smoothly transitioning to the lan bros on the bridge right above them with lwj asking why lxc decided to bring them along. Its just tying together so many scenes, quickening the plot along and yet doing it so naturally and seamlessly compared with the novel and drama.

Though i like that the drama involved wn and wq and have wwx save wn, and makes way more sense why wn would want to risk his life to help wwx recover his parents fricking corpse illegally right under the nose of wen chao and wen zhuliu.

The anime removed the entire mystery plot of a yan and the fairy goddess statue and thats honestly the best best best choice to make. In the drama, it was one of the worse sections ever cos i didnt understand who all these random ass characters were (it was one of the first mysteries in the drama) and yet it didnt go into detail like they did in the novel, so not only did i not know what was going on, i also didnt give a single shit about the characters. When i saw that they completely did away with the random passer bys who screwed around with the fairy statue, i was thoroughly impressed.

I liked that the drama let nhs have his own trouble making moments tho, like having him sneak a live bird into class. It makes it more convincing that wwx would be friends with him because they both have a mischievous side that they can both appreciate in each other. In the anime, nhs just looks like a loser nerd thats weak in swordplay and does wwx's homework for him, without a will of his own. It doesnt make sense why wwx would keep him around. Then again, maybe itll make the reveal that nhs is a conniving mastermind more impactful for the anime, oh well only time will tell.

I liked that lxc and lwj look similar in the anime. Its more convincing when people call them the twin jades of the lan clan. In the drama, they hardly looked like brothers. Lxc looks more like lwj's mentor or teacher rather than an older brother. In the anime, they look more siblingy.

I miss drama wen ning. I rmb when he looked so fierce and terrifying in his first appearance. I was legit intimidated. Oh how hes changed! Hes so fluffy now. In the anime hes equally menacing. His fight scene with the statue goddess was so beautiful. Doesnt it take a long time to animate the chains moving so fluidly yet dynamically yet somehow looks like it can disintegrate rock in an instant? The lighting on it too, how it reflected the fire of the forest around them. Have i mentioned how beautiful having that fight scene at night was? It was dark and ominous looking, yet the fire cast an epic looking light over the scene with warm orange glows. And the animators had that fiery light reflected in anything they could find: eyes, chains, swords.

Ooh but jiang cheng's whip looked prettier in the drama than in the anime, which is kind of weird given they were both cgi-ed. Somehow the lighting of the whip in the drama was brighter, looked more like real lightning vs the whip in the anime looking a little dull, like they colored it then added a gray filter. This is kinda bizarre given the laughably bad effects of the effects for everything else in the drama. Visuals for non human things is not the drama's strong suit, so it makes u wonder what happened for the anime whip. Maybe in the dark, the lightning would have to look hella bright and reflect on the surroundings (tedious to color) more so than in the day, hence why it looked worse in anime vs drama. Oh well.

As for lan sizhui, its weird that his voice is so deep in the anime (and audio drama!). Ive always seen him as a kiddo thanks to the live action, so hearing him sound mature is kinda off-putting. He sounds like a leader, and gives off lwj vibes vs in the live action where he gives a goody two shoes studious nerd vibe, whos just trying his best. Maybe this is better, he feels way more like a lwj-raised child(serious and business-like) which makes more sense. Live action lsz feels like a wwx(optimistic and intelligent) AND lwj(well-behaved and sensible)-raised child. Anime lsz looks like hes got his shit together. Jinling is fairly similar in both, maybe less prideful in the anime (in live action theres the scene where im pretty sure he indirectly kills one of his men by wishing for the fairy goddess statue to come to life. That was a hella asshole move. This was omitted in the anime.) Jingyi in the anime somehow looks snarkier. Maybe cos he straight up duels with jinling and kicks him down a dark cave. Ive been wondering why all the tumblr posts depict ljy as this sassy ass short tempered kid when he was quite tame (though sassy by lan standards) in the live action. Now i know.

The costumes for the drama is better, more detailed though thats expected i guess. I just love that they have little white gusu lan clan uniforms that wwx jc and friendos are required to wear. Its so cute and such a cool detail. In anime, theyre all in their usual garb, and they just look like random people who decided to turn up at lan qirens class. In the drama, it looks more like a school that they have to attend for half a year and it feels characteristic that gusu lan clan would require their students to have a uniform, given their incredibly strict regime type. It also serves to separate the happy carefree school days from all the other tragic af events in wwx's life. His costume starts out white showing innocence and purity of his naiive teenage years who had yet to experience hardship and still feels invincible as a youth. After school, he wears dark blue, as he goes on an adventure with lanzhan and experience how important the yin iron is (gives up the joking light hearted nature as a teenager by realizing the gravity of situation if the wen clan gets their hands on it) and maybe that hes not truly part of the jiang clan who wears purple. Then his costume eventually becomes black as he experiences his first life and death situation that he isnt sure he can handle. That child like assurance that "oh the seniors will let me off" or "im sure jiang fengmian will come to my rescue" gets demolished when he undergoes cruel indoctrination at the wen clans. This visual development may be a bit on the nose, but personally i love subtle representations.

Overall, the anime does do a better of job of explaining the world's mechanics, which is quite important. The drama is quite faithful to the book, at times even more so than the anime, so it irks me that this is the one thing they decide to skim on. The god damn premise, the first thing the audience needs: why the hell is wwx alive again and what is mo xuanyu doing?? I guess the drama thought that it explains itself but it doesnt really. It was really confusing. The anime, though somehow faster than the drama, still has the time to properly explain mxy. A technique ive noticed is that they do exposition during the fight scenes, which is so ingenius. Its visually appealing, as always, so its not boring, the viewers gets to understand whats going on AND it gives the sense that the characters are so skilled that they carry causal conversations while fighting supposedly weak enemies like zombies and water ghosts, which is accurate seeing how wwx and lwj and friends are supposed to be one of the most powerful cultivators.

TL;DR both are good lol

[belphegor1982]

…it’s done. Finished. My monster Mummy fic, the one I started in 2003, started publishing in 2004, and left dormant since 2008 – I finally completed it o.O Weirdly (or not), this is the chapter which gave me the most trouble, if you don’t count chapters 16 and 17 (which took me 2 and 16 years to write, respectively). It was hard to say goodbye to this story and these characters, even though I knew I literally just had to get an idea for another story :-/

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters on Tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23)

Chapter 24: Departure (on AO3 here; on FFnet here)

London, September 1937

A little off Paddington Station, almost in Marylebone, was a small pub called the Stars and Crown, its red brick façade almost exactly similar to the others along the street. It was an unassuming little affair Jonathan liked to patronise every now and then, and not just because it happened to be situated not too far from his flat.

It was a balmy mid-September late afternoon and one of the double doors was wide open on the quiet street. Jonathan and Tom were seated by one of the stained-glass windows, drinking – G&T and a ginger beer, respectively – and talking. Jonathan, remembering the promise he’d made after blowing up Hamilton’s lorry, had bought the rounds.

But for small details like the mostly healed-over scratches on Tom’s hands, the old scar in Jonathan’s left palm, and all the subtler little ways the past two decades had changed them, they might as well have been twenty year old students again.

Well, apart from the subject of their conversation.

“I got off easy, if you ask me.”

“Nonsense. You were the only one who tried to fix this bloody disaster. It’s only fair that you didn’t… You know.”

“…Pay for my mistakes?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

Tom gulped a mouthful of ginger beer, still looking glum.

“I suppose – I know – I should be grateful I didn’t end up like Hamilton, at least.”

Jonathan winced.

Charles Hamilton had made it back to England in a slightly better state than he had made it out of the pyramid, but that wasn’t saying much. From what they had heard, he was lucid for about an hour a day, and that was it – and not very coherent at that. Which made the fact that he allegedly hung himself in his cell a week before his highly sensitive trial very suspicious indeed. The man didn’t appear capable of putting on his trousers on his own, let alone do anything as complex as a slipknot.

The Lord Chancellor’s Department had issued a statement half-heartedly lamenting Hamilton’s demise, the newspapers had stayed surprisingly quiet about it, and Evy had fumed for an entire fortnight. And that had been it. Hamilton had taken the gentleman’s way out. Case closed.

At least Gabriel Baine had been tried, convicted, and sent behind bars for a lengthy period of time. Jonathan didn’t particularly care where he was, as long as he could be elsewhere.

Baine had stated a few times that there hadn’t been anything personal about shooting and ordering his men to shoot Jonathan, Rick, and Tom. Jonathan had silently begged to differ. Baine’s shouts of “Kill them” followed by the sudden excruciating pain in his back, not to mention the confusion and terror as he fought not to die and lost, had felt pretty damn personal.

Tom stared into his glass for a while, then looked up with a brighter expression.

“But enough about this fiasco. How’s your family? I seem to remember your sister’s birthday was coming up, you were lookin’ for a present when we bumped into each other at that bazaar. Did you find one, in the end?”

Jonathan perked up. “I did, actually. Got her a signet ring. She seemed to like it.”

Now that memory he would treasure as long as he lived.

An inventory of his pockets had revealed a hodgepodge of small trinkets which he was still trying to trace. The little medallion with the amethyst cameo must be early Regency, stolen by the pygmy mummies from some unfortunate Napoleon soldier’s corpse; the lapis earring was probably from the Ramesside period (a few Rameses had sent their armies to find or reclaim Ahm Shere, Jonathan had found); the couple of gold and silver rings bearing the Roman SPQR were a little incongruous but easy to chalk up to Julius Caesar’s expedition. There were also some 4th Century Persian coins, proving Alexander the Great’s men had also reached Ahm Shere – the Oasis, anyway – and a number of little amulets from various Egyptian expeditions, mostly heart scarabs made of red and green jasper, copper, quartz, bronze, or gold. He hadn’t determined the nature of the green gemstone yet, saving it for last.

Jonathan had been so excited by his find that he hadn’t gambled a single object. Tracing their origins took time, but he had not even told Evy about it yet. Instead he had not only called on every scrap of expertise he had concerning treasure, but also on every book he could lay his hands on. Evy would have been very surprised – not to mention highly suspicious – if she learned how much time he had been spending at the British Library lately.

He had always enjoyed a good riddle. For some reason this one looked promising enough to justify doing some actual work for. Besides, having the artefacts authenticated meant he would be able to get a much better price selling them.

The only thing he had parted with was the (probable) Napoleon coin, the soft gold nibbled almost beyond recognition by the pygmy mummies’ teeth. Another look at it the morning after his resurrection had given him an idea.

Before they left the Medjai camp, Jonathan had obtained from Ardeth a sketch of Nefertiri’s personal cartouche and the address of a talented goldsmith in Cairo; once back in the city, he had wandered down to Kerdasa, the coin and the folded paper safe in the inside pocket of his (whole and clean) jacket.

Just before he reached the little shop, however, he heard a yelp and a startled cry, and was knocked off his feet by something large and hairy. His vision was filled by long camel’s lashes and lips drawn back on long yellow teeth in what Jonathan might have taken as a smile if he hadn’t known better.

Why did every single camel have to have such foul breath, he wondered.

“ʾAhlan1, Djem,” muttered Jonathan with a sigh that was half annoyance, and half amused resignation.

And was astonished when the camel immediately disappeared from view, replaced with a familiar face. Satiah’s big brown eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Oh, it’s you, bāša2. Hello,” she said with a smile.

Jonathan got up and dusted himself off, irritation quickly fading away. The jacket could survive a little dirt; besides, Satiah’s smile as she hung on to Djem’s bit had lost some of its previous shyness. Considering how fearful she had been the last time – and who could fault her for that, really – it almost made getting knocked over by a foul-smelling bag of hair and wind worth it.

“Good morning, Miss Satiah,” he said in Arabic, picking up his hat from the ground so he could salute her with a flourish. Her hand flew to her mouth to hide a giggle. “It’s a stroke of luck finding you, really. I wanted to thank you for your help the other day, and for, er…”

He reached his limits of the language, and finished in English, “I mean, thank you for returning my wallet to my sister. That was very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Satiah said in Arabic, her cheekbones a little pink. “I’m glad you and your friends got away from those men.”

Jonathan’s smile slipped a notch or two, but he rallied quickly enough.

“Yes,” he said just a little wryly, “we did, at that. In the end.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve just reached my destination,” he added, pointing to a door above which hung a sign saying something about gold in painted Arabic script, “so I’m going to wish you a—”

“You’re going to see Cousin Ashar?” Satiah interrupted, her eyes shining. Immediately afterwards she clamped both hands on her mouth and cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Small world, eh?”

She gave a small smile and led the way into the shop, stopping only to tie Djem to a post.

Ashar – the goldsmith Ardeth had recommended – was a tall, wiry man with a long face, his hair going grey at the temples. He welcomed Satiah warmly and sent her to the backroom to get what she came for. Before she closed the door, she gave Jonathan a little friendly wave, which he returned with a smile. Ashar gave him an odd but not hostile look, eyebrows raised.

Jonathan placed his order, left the coin, and was about to leave, when Ashar called him back, frowning slightly.

“You’re one of the O’Connells, aren’t you.”

Jonathan’s mouth opened and closed as though of its own accord.

“You could say that, yes,” he said finally. “Why?”

“Because word of the second raising of Anubis’ Army made it to Cairo recently.”

This time Jonathan’s mouth dropped open and remained like that for a handful of seconds. Ashar gave something that was almost a smile.

“Not all of us wear the ritual tattoos, you know.”

“I do know,” Jonathan articulated with only the slightest difficulty. Dr Hakim was a Medjai, and his face was devoid of any tattoo as well. Dr Bey had been the same, now that he thought of it. His gaze went to the door that led to the backroom. “Satiah, too…?”

“Yes. But her mother’s family has lived in Cairo for fifty years. The girl has never seen the desert. She will get good schooling and find a trade, inshallah3. The time for living legends is coming to an end.” Ashar looked at the cartouche Ardeth had drawn for reference. “I know what this says. Who the name belonged to. Your commission is either a hollow trinket or a great gift.”

Jonathan drew himself up and said, as dignified as he could, “I’m rather hoping for the latter.”

His own signet ring had been gambled and lost in some card game or another, years ago. His parents would have been so disappointed had they still been alive. The least he could do was make sure his sister had a ring of her own, one that paid tribute to the woman she was and the woman she had been, three millennia ago.

Evy’s reaction when she opened his present proved him right, and even surprised him.

She stared into the box long enough for Jonathan’s brain to go into overdrive. Her silence made him panic ever so slightly. Then she looked up at him, her eyes very bright, lower lip trembling.

Jonathan barely suppressed the need to shuffle like a schoolboy and buried his hands into his pockets, hoping his face didn’t give too much away.

“I know I wasn’t… there – or, you know – then,” he said, almost sheepishly. “But I thought… Well. I hoped you’d like it. The cartouche must be right, I got it from Ardeth, and the goldsmith was a bloody good artist, as it turned out, but—”

Evy cut him off by launching herself at him and flinging her arms around his neck, throwing him off balance. As usual, Jonathan stumbled, but managed to catch her in the end.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered into his neck. “Thank you, Jon.”

If his smile was a little wobbly, his eyes a little moist, nobody seemed to notice. Rick and Alex had picked up the little box; Rick’s face lit up in strange recognition, while Alex deciphered the cartouche slowly and grinned.

“Nice one, Uncle Jon. That’s a pretty good present.”

“Yes, about that,” said Jonathan irrepressibly while Evy broke away and wiped her eyes, “I hope you realise that this is the last birthday present you’ll ever get from me, old mum. Since – judging by your reaction – nothing I could give to you could ever top this, I have decided to simply refrain from trying.”

Evy had slapped his arm and called him an idiot with a big smile, then hugged him again. And he had hugged her back, just because he was alive and able to.

The ring hadn’t left her finger since.

“Jon?”

Jonathan was abruptly pulled back to the present, the Stars and Crown, and Tom’s curious smile across the table.

“Hm?”

“You were a thousand miles away.”

“Sorry about that. What about you and Lizzie? Dorset been treating you well, I hope?”

Tom shook his head with a smile.

“It has, sort of, but we’re moving to Oxford. Did Liz tell you she’d been replaced while she was gone?”

Jonathan nodded. Lizzie disappearing for two weeks had not gone unnoticed in her little town, but since the police didn’t have the beginning of a clue and nobody was able to reach Tom, they had moved on to other things and her boss at the telephone exchange had hired someone else. There had been a subtle but definite irony in Lizzie’s letter as she described her and Tom’s return and the scrutiny they’d had to stand up to in order to prove her husband hadn’t killed her and stashed her body away – or vice versa – before his former Chamber of Horus hierarchy stepped in to explain things.

“Well, they needed an operator at the exchange on Pembroke Street. And you know the interview I had this morning at Whitehall? I won’t be too far, as it turns out.” Tom took a deep breath, then said with one of the goofiest smiles Jonathan had ever seen on his face, “I’ll be workin’ from the Bodleian.”

This could only mean one thing. Jonathan grinned.

“The British Antique Research Department accepted your application, didn’t they? Congratulations, old chap. That’s fantastic.”

He downed a mouthful of his G&T and laid an elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.

“Haven’t been to Oxford in almost fifteen years,” he said thoughtfully. “Not since Evy finished her degree. I wonder if the city’s changed.”

“It’s Oxford,” said Tom quietly, looking like his mind was straying down the same path Jonathan’s thoughts were. “I can’t imagine it’ll ever change that much.”

Jonathan smiled quickly into his palm. Then he raised his glass.

“To the two of you, then. And to publicans hopefully not holding grudges, otherwise we’re still banned from half the pubs in Oxfordshire.”

Tom snorted and raised his own glass, now almost empty. “To the three of us, and testing that theory sometime. And let’s not wait two decades this time,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

The two glasses clinked.

For just a second, the decades fell away, and Jonathan was twenty years younger.

Lizzie was already waiting for them on the platform by the time they finished their drinks and walked back to Paddington. She carried a shopping bag that looked entirely too small compared to what should be expected of a woman who’d just spent a few hours in the old metropolis. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you say you planned to go to Harrods while we were in London?”

“I also said I only needed a new suit and the latest Agatha Christie novel,” she said, light teasing in her tone. “The next one will be out sometime in November, I think. Have you heard what the title will be? Death on the Nile, of all things.”

Jonathan gave a mock shudder. “I might just give this one a miss, then.”

The train’s whistle pierced the air, cutting the rest of the conversation short. Tom picked up his wife’s bag and Lizzie turned to Jonathan with a smile.

“Goodbye, Jonathan,” she said softly.

The use of his first name had always been a signal that the game was paused and the masks were off, as clear as a referee blowing halftime. Jonathan answered in kind, his throat just a little tight.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

They hadn’t even actually said ‘goodbye’ last time. They had just stood there, she leaning out the train window in her brand-new nurse’s uniform, he and Tommy on the platform amidst the soot, the steam, and the throng of people, until the train departed. The memory was an old hurt that still twinged sometimes, like his left shoulder when the weather was bad.

He cleared his throat and smiled.

“See you on the next Christie novel, then?”

What Lizzie did next might have shocked twenty year old Jonathan, who thought he knew her well, and as such very much surprised his current self, who had a little too much experience of the world to truly get shocked anymore. She took his hands in hers, flying in the face of propriety and what had been her rules of conduct in public, and kissed him on the cheek near the corner of his mouth with an aching sweetness. The old Lizzie, so shy and unsure of her self-worth that she was terrified of what people may think, would have been appalled.

It had taken a while for Jonathan to truly grasp how much the years had changed Tommy and start thinking of him as ‘Tom’ to account for that change. Through this apparently simple gesture – simple only to someone who didn’t know Elizabeth Ferguson, née McAllister – Lizzie became ‘Liz’ in an instant.

“I can’t bear to think you died,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “When I think… Without that – that book…”

She took a deep breath. Tom caught Jonathan’s eye and gave a small nod. Of course he had told her. Knowing Liz, she’d take the secret to her grave anyway.

“Take care of yourself, Jonathan, please. The world would be so dreadfully dull without you in it,” she added with a tentative smile, to which he replied with a smile of his own, one that hopefully looked steadier.

“Likewise.”

Her hands tightened around his. Just for a second or two, he softly ran his thumb on the back of her hand, an echo of the old intimacy that used to bind them; then their gazes fell away, their hands separated, and the moment was over.

Tom held out his hand with a smile, and Jonathan’s mind was whisked back to that sunny afternoon in Cairo, almost two months ago, and a chance encounter that had reshuffled the cards in a major way. Tom’s handshake was slower this time, steadier, warmer.

“Bye, Jon.”

“Cheers, Tom,” said Jonathan, determined but failing to swallow the lump in his throat. “Have a pint at the Oxford Arms for me.”

Tom nodded, and added his left hand to the handshake, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. As usual – almost – everything he meant to say was on his face and in his eyes for the world to see.

The train let out a burst of steam. Tom hastily let go and made for the train door, stopping only to help Liz aboard. Jonathan looked wistfully at the train for a minute and was about to turn around and go home when he heard his name being called over the din of the locomotive and the running gears chugging into motion.

Tom and Liz were leaning out of a window, wearing identical wide smiles. Liz was waving, her other arm wrapped tightly around her husband. The light in her eyes and her curly hair whipping around her face made her look like the girl from Jonathan’s memories.

“Send my love to Evelyn!” she called. “And say hello to your brother-in-law for me! You’re all welcome anytime for tea!”

“I’ll make sure they know!” shouted Jonathan as the train gathered speed.

The blatant disregard of platform etiquette made several passers-by turn and stare at him with a touch of glower. Jonathan ignored them and kept his eyes on the departing train. Tom’s and Liz’s beaming smiles remained in his head a long time after they had gone back inside the carriage.

He would see them again. This time he was determined not to leave the possibility of a reunion to chance and the vagaries of life. They had been through too much – both twenty years and two months ago – to just go their separate ways.

Besides, Jonathan mused as he left Paddington behind to wade through the bustling streets, he still had some research to do before he set out to sell the objects he had found at Ahm Shere. The Bodleian Library was as good as the British Library; at least he didn’t risk meeting Evy there and being subjected to her prodding curiosity, which he wasn’t ready to face yet. At least not before he unravelled the mystery of the little gemstone. It looked like an emerald and felt vaguely familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere or heard a story about it.

This required some investigation, if only to be prudent.

After all, he was particularly well placed to know that you can only go so far on fairy tales and hokum alone.

THE END

.⅋.

1(أَهْلًا): informal “hello”, “hi”.

2باشا (bāša): “sir”, “mister” in Egyptian Arabic.

3ʾin šāʾa llāhu, (إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ‎) – literally “if God has willed it”, “God willing”

Don’t look for the Stars and Crown in Paddington, or the Oxford Arms in Oxford. Unlike the Turf Tavern they’re entirely fictional.

Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile was indeed published on 1st November 1937. I couldn’t resist, I mean, come on ;o)

The Bodleian Library is the main research library in Oxford and one of the oldest in Europe.

If you’re wondering, yes, that little gemstone might be the basis for a sequel of sorts, but I haven’t really started to plot it. Considering my track record for these things you might see that story sometime in the next decade and a half :P

Writing and publishing Fairy Tales and Hokum has been such an adventure. I was 21 when I started writing it; now I’ll be 38 in four days. Much as I miss the old crowd of 2003-2006, reposting and updating the story here on AO3 allowed me to know some awesome people. I’m so glad these characters somehow – FINALLY – sneaked back into my head and my heart again with their quirks, their (updated) backstories, and their voices and allowed me to finish this story the way I wanted to. Like I’ve said before, whenever you started reading this, I hope you had a good time now that you’ve reached the end. If you’ve read and left a signed comment – if you’ve read and left an anonymous comment – if you’ve read and left no comment at all – know that I wrote this for you and I hope some of it made you smile.

Take care of yourselves, love you all, and see you on the next fic? :o)

[iwannawritepls]

Writing Update 04?

So much is happening. Like gosh.

Welcome back to me not using paragraphs correctly!!

So! We have 17ish chapters now which is like woah.

It took me much much too long to write but now we’re on 50k!!! we got there folks and I can confidently say that I will most likely have 20 chapters with around 54-55k words as I predicted. Is it weird that um feeling super melancholy about that??

But on the positive side there will be another book after this because uhhh there’s too much to wrap up in just one.

I wrote and deleted chapter 14 over and over again but now I have something I'm proud of at lastttttt! I realised after talking about it to some friends that

1) I skipped something huge by accident  

2) In the first few versions of chapter 14 there was no climax to what was happening

3) I was adding things but at that point I should’ve started to answer them

So we fixed it up and now she’s pretty damn cool. The second half of the chapter still needs a little bit of editing until I can become happy with it but oh well.

I also edited chapter 15 so they’re ready for the most part but the last 2 need basically a rewrite for them because they’re soooo bad. I shouldn’t measure by words but generally for a fist version of a chapter I write anywhere between 800 and 1000 words and then I manage, through editing, to make it become somewhere between 1500 and 4500 which is a big leeway but it really just depends on what’s happening.

There’s something huge that happens in chapter 17 but I only wrote 459 words for it because it was 2 in the morning and I wanted to get it done before I tried to sleep. Inevitably it was quite bad. Chapter 16 is the same but thankfully that’s 914 words so there’s something more to work with. Yayyyyy.

Needless to say, I will not be including excerpts from them in this.

So chapter titles?

Chapter 13 - Metamorphosis of a Blizzard

Chapter 14 - Curtain Call (subject to change)

Chapter 15 - Kingfisher Flurry

Chapter 16 – Catgut Bindings

Chapter 17 – AHHHHHHHHH (this is 100% changing I just needed to put something and I was freaking out)

Oh, oh and! I have a proper actual name for the book! Sisyphus Lies on Unmade Beds. How suitably edgy.

There are so many references to Greek mythology that the title fits and it can link to all of them in some way, so I thought why not. There’s #symbolism to it all. And who isn’t a fan of accidental symbolism you find halfway through your book.

What happens??

Chapter thirteen is a long-waited apology from Bas to the one person who deserves it most. We find out about someone vaguely important for the next book as well as a character that maybe might have his own little book of his own.

Chapter fourteen includes our boy Sebastian coming along and helping by not helping at all!! Yay…but really what else is new, his motives don’t align with the boy’s and so we shouldn’t expect him to be helpful in any way.

Chapter fifteen is a dangerous thing…out dude the devil makes an appearance. For those who’ve listened to the magnus archives or watched Everyman Hybrid I tried to emulate Michael/Habit in it but it hasn’t really worked out yet. I'm getting there but I'm not at terrifying levels of suave. When writing characters that are so powerful they could murder you with a single flick o’ the wrist you are treading a careful line between edginess and not threatening at all.

chapter sixteen is the fallout. If we follow the lovely 3 act structure we are at the darkest moment in chapter sixteen and chapter seventeen continues with that mood but follows through with the whole ‘hope’ thing. jk there’s no hope just crisis.

I find that I managed to actually keep to the 3-act structure naturally?? I'm a discovery writer so it’s a little more difficult for me to not meander off into the sunset/make everything happen much too fast. But I think pacing was okay in this as long as I keep track of the seasons – which I hope I did.

We have a few memes from dearest friends – kinda old but have them

And now,,,the excerpts!!

Everything felt like cotton was stuffed inside, swelling, and soaking through with excess fluid. Fluid that was still building in his lungs, he felt them pressing against his ribs and rubbing together eating away more at his already damaged body. Gorging on him, dissolving him, water couldn’t ever be full only overflow and so it would continue to erode his body to fit the ever-greater capacity he needed to hold.

He's not dying! I mean he is but not yet!! I feel so bad that Albert has spent more of this book sick than anything, but I feel like I'm constantly mentioning him and I don’t want people to get annoyed by him? idk I feel like someone would find him annoying and that he did nothing but whine – probably a carryover from the original book where he could’ve been beaten up by his own shadow. He can and does stand up for himself in this more than in the original but

They began to mend themselves in a way that neither Narcissus nor Prometheus could have foreseen. So maybe they weren’t quite butterflies or moths. Maybe instead they were snakes, the devil’s advocates turned serpentine after rebelling against God. But that meant that at least they could change again, shed their skin, and start afresh after mountains of pain and healing from accidental words fallen from temporarily false tongues.

Let’s play how many references to classic literature can you fit into one paragraph at least 4. One of which is Paradise lost. Because Greek mythology just wasn’t enough.

The old man shivered and croaked out a few more words so quiet that the wind ate them. The woman just stared at him with wide eyes before fleeing back to the cold.

This is the ending of a while thing from a book that Al’s reading. I kinda wished this book existed its got some of my favourite techniques in it and some of my favourite lines but this one was the only one I could just take without a pause for drama between Alberts reading.

Enoch wanted to skip the walk the moment he realised there wouldn’t be any talking, every single one of his steps was too slow, every single breath was too loud. Even as he tried to listen to the conversations of those they walked past, it was too distant and blurred for him to listen to in any kind of concordant manner.

My boy hates the quiet and I feel that

The very first promises of autumn began to chew on the leaves, She took each one into her embrace and changed the deep greens that summer left in His wake and transformed them into a cacophony of yellows, reds and oranges. She plucked the ripened ones from their cradles and pulled their colour from their grasp placing it on Her tongue and dropping the carcases into winters waiting hands.

This is kinda purple and I had just read Der Sandmann so I was super into the vibe of it. I referenced it more originally before editing it so now all we have is a very slight call back if you know the story that you can vaugly make if you try.

Nature was so simple and yet beautiful, complicatedly captivating.

William is yearning

“Enoch.” Basil called out

“it wasn’t me!” he replied holding his hands up “I came out here to get him a new hat, it was Valentine that dragged him in.” he held up a lily pad with a grin.

“where is Valentine?”

“probably wrestling the heron.” He replied wading towards the shoreline.

Just some fun from them because you all need to see that they can be friends I swear.

A man was stood in the middle of the flurry, he stepped through them as if they were nothing but a reflection on the glassy water.

And that’s all for chapter fifteen I think unless there’s something at the end because I know people who read this irl and they haven’t gotten any of this yet. So I don’t want to ruin things but I also want to give you all things so it’s a struggle.

because you cannot help the diseases in your mind

this is something I wish I heard more often so here. You’re super awesome and the dude who said this is big brain mode.

But yeah that’s all. I probably won’t update again until I'm done and even then it’ll be one I’ve sent the last chapters to my friends so that they can read it and I can talk about the plot for real because I’ve been vague for spoiler reasons outside Tumblr.

I love these guys so much, but I'm excited to begin something newer y’know? I want to stay in this world, but I want to follow different characters before I go back to these guys because they are dysfunctional as all hell.

Anyway, I’ll talk more about that later. Until next time!!

Hope you have a nice dayyy!!!

[xxew-pineapplezxx]

Argument with Got7 before tour ~ Maknae line

I am piss off!!! I don’t know why tumblr is acting stupid. Here I go posting this for the second time because it won’t let me edit 🙄🙄

Youngjae

“Sir, you have already been here longer than the given time. We are going to have to ask you to leave.” The waitress said standing at the table the Youngjae had booked for the two of you. He had already pleaded for more time and they willingly gave it to him, but now it’s been three hours and you were nowhere to be found. You weren’t even answering your text.

“Please, just another half an hour and then I’ll leave…” He asked, eyes pleading basically begging them to allow a little bit more time.

The waitress sighed wanting to but that would possibly cost her her job.” I’m really truly sorry, sir, but I can’t”

Youngjae nodded his head smiling up at her. “ Thank you so much for even considering letting me stay. You have a great night, okay?” He placed the tip on the table than left. As he walked he tried to think of what you could be doing.

Why you stood him up…

He drove home in silents hoping you would be there safe. But part of him was hoping you weren’t there. He couldn’t even think to face you at the moment, so the thought of not having to only brought some release to him.

Once he got to the house he sat in the car. He saw the lights and sighed knowing he was going to have to face you. He slowly got out the car and walked up to the house. It seemed like it took him years to get there and open the door. He honestly didn’t want to face you. But he had no other choice but to do so.

He slowly opened the door hearing laughter inside. He walked into the room looking into the living room. He saw you sitting there with one of your friends and gave a slight smile. Of course you would be hanging with them. You spent a great deal of your time with them.

You looked up at him and smiled wide. “ Babe you look nice. Where were you?”

He kept walking not saying anything. He just went in the room and closed the door. You looked at your friend confused before standing mumbling an ‘excuse me’.

You walked over to the room and opened the door just as Younjae was taking off his jacket. He looked back at you then looked away.

“Did something happen?” You asked him walking over. He kept undressing then grabbed his stuff to shower. He wasn’t planning on answering you. You forgot about him. You always did and though he sometimes expected more from you, he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“Babe,” You said following him. He turned looking at you, nostrils slightly flaring as he tried his hardest not to say what he really wanted. He was hurt and to see you here having a great damn time as he humiliated himself waiting for a date that didn’t even show.

“Can you please let me have some time to myself?” You looked at him confused.

“What did I do?” You asked him trying to figure out why he was upset with you.

“How about what you didn’t do?” He got choked up looking at you. He didn’t want to do this, not with your friend here. Definitely not after they left either.

“What did I not do?” You asked him grabbing his arm. He looked at you shaking his head. He licked his lips not wanting to go off. Wanting to stay as calm as possible. But you always forget things that he wanted to do with you.

“Just forget it,” He said turning to walk away. “ I hope you guys had a good dinner.” He added closing the door to the bathroom behind himself.

You stopped thinking about what he said before your eyes stretched. You remembered and looked at the clock. You stood him up, and it wasn’t being late by a few minutes. You fucking didn’t even show and then had the audacity too not even know what you did.

You went and knocked on the door trying to get him to open but he would. You know you were going to have to give him some times but you just couldn't. You felt and a whole fucking jerk and it was because you couldn't even remember!

The more you thought about it the more you realized it was something you guys planned weeks ago. Then you remembered he was leaving tomorrow which made this you last night together.

” Youngjae?” You questioned, already knowing the possibility of him answering you very slim. But you wanted to try anyway because you wanted to apologize. You wanted to make it up to him.

When he didn't reply you already knew you messed up. Him not talking to you was very very rare. This was one of the times.

You walked back out to the living room looking at your friend who was packing up their things.

”it’ll probably be best if I leave…” They said feeling the tension in the air. You nodded shoving your hands in your back pockets.

”Text me when you make it home, alright?” you asked and they just nodded. You walked them to the door and you both exchanged goodbyes. Now to get Youngjae to talk to you.

When you walked back to the room he was still in the shower. This gave you enough time to come up with a way of apologizing. Hopefully, he would accept it.

It seemed like forever but after a while, he came walking into the broom, wet hair sticking to his forehead and the oh so familiar smell of his body wash filling the room.

You smiled up at him and he didn't return it walking to his nightstand and grabbing his phone checking the time. How long was he going to keep ignoring you? He couldn't possibly go at this all night.

”Jae…” You said watching him walk past you and right back into the bathroom. You let out a great sigh standing up.

”Can you please stop for one moment so we can talk?!” You wanted to scream to get his attention, but going at it calmly was enough to be able to have him look at you. At least you hoped.

But you were wrong. He paid you no mind as he sat in the bed, stretching his arms before laying down. You sat there staring at his back wanting to throw something at him.

When he turned the lamp off that’s when you crawled in bed over to him. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close.

”Why won't you talk to me…” You said softly just wanting and him to pay attention so you could apologize.

He shifted trying to get away from you but you weren't having it. With a swift move you were now straddling his waist, arms pinned above his head.

”Talk to me dammit!” You basically screamed into his face. He leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. He looked at you trying to figure out why you couldn;t take a hint.

“Can we please talk?”

“Can you please let me be along right now?”

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” You asked him trying your hardest not to get annoyed. There wasn’t really a good reason for him to full blown ignore you.

“Why would I give you the time of day or night when you couldn’t even give me an hour?” The room grew quiet as you two just stared at each other. He thrust his hips making you fall over to the side.

“I have to get up early tomorrow. I don’t want to talk to you anymore so please let me sleep so that I’m not late.” He said to you tuning his back again.

You looked up at him wiping a tear that fell. “Okay, I don’t want your send off to be bad so let’s just put this behind us, yeah?”

He looked back at you shaking his head. “I don’t want you there. I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

You say there looking at him. Why was he doing this to you? You got up off the bed grabbing your pillow and one of his hoodies. You rather slept on the couch then be with someone who was being cold.

Then again, he didn’t deserve to sleep with someone so damn selfish.

You couldn’t help but cry yourself to sleep and wake up the next morning to him already gone.

Your heart was broke and you needed to make it up to him somehow.

Bam Bam

You walked around the house searching for your computer charger. You and Bam have been sharing one until his new one came in.

Last time you seen it, it was attached to his laptop. Usually he put it back but this time, he didn’t.

“Bam!” You called out walking into the living room He looked up at you smiling. “Where’s my laptop charger?”

He slowly shrugged his shoulders standing up. “ I gave it back to you when I was done.”

“If you would’ve given it back, you really think I’d be here asking you where it was?” You asked moving over to the couch. You lifted up the pillows trying to check just about anywhere for it. That shit was nowhere to be found.

“ I promise you I gave it back to you in hand yesterday. You said you didn’t needed and put it on the side table.”

“Well it’s not there, Bam which means you didn’t give it to me,” He watched you walk into the kitchen checking in cabinets.

“Well you can just use mine when it comes. It’s suppose to come tonight so if your laptop dies just use that one.” He said feeling like it was that simple. But to you, it wasn't. He needed to give you back what belonged to you.

“That honestly isn’t going to work. You leave for tour what am I going to have?” You said trying to make him understand. He stood there looking at you with a raised brow.

“Okay, we just order you a new one. Easy!” He said trying to come up with a solution. You shook your head not satisfied. “Why won’t that work?”

“Why won’t you be more responsible?”

“I didn’t lose your charger!” He said , slight raise in his voice. He was trying his hardest to get you to see he didn't do anything wrong. But you weren't having that. He misplaced your charger and needed to find it.

You two having a disagreement wasn’t anything normal. You guy got along pretty well which each other and didn’t really sweat the little things. But for some reason, you couldn’t stop blaming him for something he didn’t even do.

You crossed your arms looking at him with a straight face.

“So if you didn’t misplace my charger who did?”

He didn’t know why you were being so irrational. He did nothing wrong.

“The last person who had your charger was you, Y/n!” He moved to you trying to de escalate the problem at hand. But you weren’t having it.

“I didn’t have it last. You are the one with a full ass laptop while mine is still dead as a doornail. You really think I would let that be the case if I had my charger?”

He looked at you, hurt that you were even going this route when this was his last few hours with you.

“Can you stop?” He asked softly.

“Stop letting you use my things because you don’t know how to return them, sure!”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t lose it. I gave it back to you, Y/n” He said but you still didn’t believe him.

“Then where is it?” You asked him, brow raised

All Ba could do was shrug. He was completely baffled about the problem at hand. You were acting like the cord couldn’t be replaced with a temporary until you could order a new one. Trying to make matters lighter he could help but smile.

“Did you check where your virginity went?” He asked, knowing he was your first. You looked at him, face straight, unbothered about his comment. You crossed your arms shaking your head.

“So you want to crack jokes like that?”

“I want you to stop trying over a chord that can be replaced!”

“And I want you to give me my damn chord! Where the hell is it?” You yelled now, voice booming more than usual.

Bam stood there, his arms now crossed as he tried to take in your looks. You were so angry, something he didn’t really get to see often.

You guys had a pretty easy going relationship most of the time. So when you guys fought it was so foreign to you both.

“Just know I’m not trying to fight with you,” Bam started looking at you with hurt eyes. “ Why are you insisting on saying I did something I didn’t even take part in?”

“Because you’ve lost my shit before, Bam!”

“And this time I didn’t!” He yelled then pulled back. He looked at you, stared more like it. You guys clearly wasn;t going to finish this tonight so all he did was nodded his head. “I don;t think I want to stay here tonight.”

“Yeah I don’t want to sleep with a liar…” You said moving towards you computer and grabbing it. You walked into the room and kicked something that was under th bed. When you got down to get it you knew exactly what it was.

“Bam,” You said grabbing it and standing up. You walked out to the living room “Bam I found-” You cut yourself off seeing he had grabbed his stuff and already left.

“What did I do…”

Yugyeom

“Achoo!” You heard before hearing a yell follow. You looked at the time before slowly walking into your room. You seen Yugyeom laying there and frowned. When did he get sick and why was this coming on now?

You walked into the room further going over to the bed. “Babe?”

“Achoo!” He sneezed again before sitting up. He looked at you, his eyes having no life to them and his eyelids barely stayed open.

“Babe, what happened to you?” You asked him sitting down on the bed. He glared at you and opened his mouth to talk but started coughing instead.

“Okay just wait here, I’ll bring you some soup.” You said before running in the kitchen without even hesitating. You quickly ordered some soup for him then ran out to get it and some extra stuff.

You had just came off of feeling sick and so you were really positive you could get him feeling great in no time. You loved when you got to take care of Yugyeom. He was your baby and so when times like this hit, you were ready to help him out.

You were gone for about an hour. When you got in the house you seen Yugyeom walking around to the kitchen. You smiled at him walking over.

“I got you the soup and some extra stuff to help with the cold.” You told him walking over to the counter. He looked at you like you were satan. “ What is wrong with you?”

He shrugged. “ You did this to me!” His voice was hoarse and very very scratchy. You made a face shaking your head.

“ I did not get you sick!” You said actually thrown off by him saying it. “What makes you think I got you sick?”

“Because you were the only one of the two of us that was sick that I was around.” He said to you, arms crossed. “ You do understand I have to go on tour which means I need to be at the best health possible, right?

You glared at him. “You really think I would sit up here and get you sick! Especially on purpose!?” You were actually upset he would blame you for such a careless act. “ Why would you accuse me of such things?”

“Because you were the one who was sick last week and you coughed on me, Y/n!” He said a slight raise in his voice. You shake your head looking away from him.

“Anyways, I got you some soup so you can get better. “ You walked out the kitchen and went to the room. You turned on the air purifier and put on some mint scented mist to help with the room. You did what you could in order to make it easy for him to breathe and to get the virus out of his system.

When you walk into the room, you seen him making tea. You went into the bathroom and got the cold medicine and for him. You placed it on the counter.

“Take this twice okay? It should actually help you with the cold and make you feel better in the morning.” You walked back into the room and grabbed a bag quickly fixing an overnight bag.

You walked back into the living room to the door and started to put your shoes on.

“Where are you going?” He asked watching you closely.

“ I’m going to stay with a friend. I set everything up for you to be able to get better before you have to sing.” You said to him while grabbing you bag. You looked at him who looked at you with sad eyes.

“I never said you needed to go,” He started walking towards you grabbing the bag on your shoulder.

“ Yeah I know, Yugyeom,” You said moving the bag to the other side. “ I just think it would be better if I went and stayed with someone while you get better and all.”

He shook his head not understanding. “Why do you need to leave though?”

“I told you. Have a good tour okay” You walked towards the door and he followed ou quickly.

“Why don’t you just stay here, I can go.”

“No. okay? You stay here and get your rest. I’ll go.”

He didn’t say anything else as you walked out. He was hoping you were actually going to stay there and help him get better, but you didn’t. You left and it only broke his heart.

All this over a damn cold.

[spacegaywritings]

Warming Paws and Melting Walls (2/8) “The Naming of the Beast”

Summary: Remy gets home, his day unusually long and body extremely exhausted. Still, he and the cat seem to get along a bit better as they share a bit of time bonding in their weird states.

Tags: mentions of the vet (+ aftermath), abandoned cat, alcohol/wine, tipsy Remy (being a soft man), food/ meat, pain killer mention, drinking, dummy logic, dummy thicc fucking Remy, Remy the cat whisperer, mentions of Kim Kardeshian.. shien..? idk man, slight mention of systemic oppression bc wow Remy is spilling the beans, name talks, cuddling, snuggling, books, mentions of vaccines, soft insults bc Remy, purposefully horrible old english.

ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 // all.

tumblr:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.

Story under the cut! (Wordcount: ~3,5k)

 It was late when the kitty cat and Remy returned and in all honestly, the receptionist was more than exhausted and done with everything. The whole day had taken a toll on him and interacting with people under bright lights was obviously not the best for a person with photo-sensitivity and self-diagnosed bitch syndrome.

 His body was hurting, the pain had gotten more intense and rendered him a heavy and sleepy mess. He still needed to feed the cat. While the pain killers had done some to ease his pain, the extra activity had him feel like absolute trash, after all.

At least, the vet had found the little queen to be healthy and taken good care of. It indicated that there were owners or strangers to take care of the kitten but there were no tattoos, no marks or anything. Whatever care the cat had received before, it seemed to be over now. Nobody was looking for the cat as far as the vet and the local pet shelter have told him.

 To make sure the cat would be okay, he got scheduled appointments for vaccinations (the kitty cat already got some that day). In like, a month, he was supposed to come back. Considering the cat was about one year old, it was time to refresh vaccinations anyway, at least that is what the vet said. There was so much information smoking in his brain and it hurt him. It was extra weight putting his head down.

 There was no chip for the kitten.. He would set up an ad on-line to show that the cat was found. He and the vet assume the cat to have run away from home or having been left behind after the family moved. Something like that.

Still, he could try so the cat would not really be his problem anymore. There was obviously no name tag or collar. He would have noticed, he is not that fucking dense. The vet, too.

 At least Remy got some answers for what the fuck this kitten should eat and could not ever eat because it could hurt.

 Also, the cat was a she. Well, too fucking bad Remy settled for they/them pronouns. While he talked to the cat, he could at least practice pronouns he usually did not use much. The cat could not get offended. Totally a win-win situatuon.

 The coffee lover curled up on the couch, kitty cat still somewhat drowsy in his lap.To be honest, the cat felt drunk to him, so Remy did not know better but to nurse his own wine while giving the kitten some chicken he had gotten for them.

 “Queen, you are a really really unbelievable thing”, he started as he looked at the tiny void in his lap that was currently chewing on a last bit of chicken pieces.

 He had removed all that bone stuff and washed off the meat before to make sure it was not seasoned or too greasy and such for the kitten. Totally no need to kill the poor thing when he could just be fucking careful and mind their needs and limits.

 “You know, you get all hot on those funny things and you are living with me now - without paying rent - and like, you do not even give me your a name. You are, like, the most mysterious person I have ever met. Fucking rude, you little harlot.”

 Remy sipped a bit of his wine and placed the package on the table. Yes, he drank wine out of a package because he was a cheap person. He needed to pay off the flat he had bought because his job did not make the most money ever. At least it was enough for him having a somewhat cozy and stable life.

 He carefully shifted under the warm weight of the warm fluff. Remy was so glad the vet cleaned the cat so he did not need to do that. Was that extra service? He definitely paid for this shit, not gonna lie. Well, he would get a bill eventually and then he could still get upset over that. Ultimately, it did not matter right? He had some savings and the cat would be gone soon because it was someone else’s kitty cat.

 It was not even in his place to just cuddle with the kitten while watching some bitch flick. But now that he had to ditch his weekend routine for the cat, they had to suck up for it. Also, he was just in a ton of pain by now and hoping for the local wine package to just knock him out well enough. If his senses were numbed, so were his pain receptors because brain foggy when Remy drunk-y.

 “Listen up, kitty cat. We might need a name for you, darling”, he started and looked down at how they were licking over their muzzle and nose.

 The meal was done and the cat seemed satisfied... The little tongue looked so cute, it was so so pink.

 “I mean, maybe you already have a name but calling you queen all the time ..”, he trailed off and shrugged, “you know, don’t know whether you, like, deserve that title to be a name. It is something you earn and live, but you are not just some queen. Except when you are some fucking royal but who the fuck cares about that shit.”

 The cat looked up at him and he vaguely looked back before sticking his tongue out and gently brushing through the soft fur of the little monster of coal he sheltered.

 “Yeah, right. Fuck the Queen. It is not the same as you being a queen. Anyway, it would kinda not be the same for you to be a queen and to be Queen. You know?“

 Remy chuckled as the kitten pushed its head against his ribcage.

 “You totally get me, don’t you?”

 The kitten meowed in reply and he continued to pet the little ball of softness. The little one even smelled great. Well, now.

 “Okay, let us give you a name that fits you. I don’t know, honey. Something fancy but also classy because it is you”, he giggled, “I don’t know but we will find something!”

  Remy gently picked up the little kitten and hummed as he stumbled over to the bookshelves. His wine was abandoned and the small void simply meowed in response to his actions.

 “You know what, fuck that show. They all suck anyway, honey. Reality TV is just a nice background .. nice, like.. what else would people watch Kim Kardeshian for? Genuine interest? Gurl, it is all about the sounds and sights or plainly being the malicious bitch to gossip and ridicule these people.”

 He giggled and settled before the bookshelf, sitting there with the little queen on his arms. Was queen a title, now? Not a name but somehow some kind of pet name, huh.

 “You know what, kitty?”, he whispered and the cat shook their head at the sudden sounds and the wet breath Remy offered. They pushed their little head against the man’s collar bone.

“I am that kinda bitch to do all the heavy gossiping.”

 He laid down and let the cat rest on his chest. His back was pressed against the dark floor in his reading corner. The curious little cloud looked around and stood up, tail curiously moving from one side to the other. Then it stayed and moved in slow-motion before returning to the other side while staying kinda between low and horizontal.

 Cats were so cute.

 And the cat really looked like a cloud.

A dark one.

Not a black sheep, a black cloud!

 “Storm cloouUuUuUd”, Remy sang softly and the cat turned back to him, letting out a responsive sound in reply.

 They understood him! Or were at least annoyed enough to react and give him a “what the fuck” look with all the sassy cat-ness in their bi-coloured orbs.

 “Aw!! You react! But that is a long way to go, still, you brooding little dust ghost.”

 He blew a little bit off of the cat’s head and brushed it off to make sure it was all clear. Maybe from the chicken or the couch.

He had to cleaaaan, ew. Woooork.

Bad cat. They really be spreading the dust around like a little ghost.

Damn it, he only wanted to find some nicknames for the small being.

  “Cat, can’t you do the work for me? I mean, come on, I totally got you to the vet and you got drugged for free. That is a real favour to do for a stranger, gurl.”

 The cat looked back up at him.

Oh, how could he have forgotten about that??

 “Bitch!”

 Remy exclaimed wildly and sat up, simply to fall back into the ground with a dull ‘thud’ accompanying his motions. The insides of his head seemed to be forcefully shrunk together and the tipsy man groaned in annoyance. The pain was so fuzzy and far away, it was basically a street sign on the other side of the street during a day of heavy fog.

All he did feel was the heaviness of his head and the horrible throbbing that came right after he limply dropped into the hard wood again.

 “uh… Aw, I am the dumb bitch, here. Kim, save me”, he weakly slurred.

 Obviously, he was in about the greatest state to take care of another being, especially one that was just as drowsy as him and slowly processed his sudden movements with flinches away from him.

When the man did not move, the curious guest nudged Remy’s nose with their own.

Had the coffee lover seen it, he would have swooned, probably.

 Well, on the other side, he slowly got himself together and carefully shifted again, this time being considerate of his own and the kitty’s needs. He was much slower, lethargic in a way, it would make Sloth itself jealous.

Eventually, he was in position, vision still blurred with blackish spots tainting his view on the dimly lit apartment.

  “So- as I was saying… wait”, he started yet trailed off soon after, voice quieting down and light eyes closing.

“uh.. yeah, I know where I left off. So, as I was, uh, saying.. Like, bitch! You are totally as tipsy as I am with all those killers in ya, big boi.”

 Once more, his own giggles filled the room while the cat just pushed their head against his chin. The creature somewhat vibrated a bit and it felt oddly funny to Remy. Indescribable sounds came from the little kitty cat. It did not sound like a Queen, not really. It was more like uh.. a cat. Nothing else Remy has ever heard sounded quite like that.

 “You uh.. you still need a name, you little void egg, you. Hihi.“

 Remy curled and gently cradled the black ball closer. His grip around the cat was secure yet loose. The cloud of nothingness was comfortably sunk into his arms as the man got onto his wobbly legs and moved his jelly sticks closer to the little corner of books and boxes once more.

The kitten did have more than just great taste to hide there when they first started exploring some shit around his flat.

 Their flat?

… uhh.. the doc said to look for the original owners.. oh man, he still had to do that on top of all the things he had to do. And he did not even know whether it was worth it but it was much better than just giving the cat over to some shelter.. uh.. cat thingy.. cat orphanage?

Cat orphanage. Sounded like a totally valid word. Yes, Remy, the name was, like, totally not sanctuary. Absolutely it was not. You fucking genius.

 The kitten was snuggled up to Remy’s chest, acutely unaware of the change of environment that slowly came around with Remy wandering off their spot to really dive into the corner of his secret reading delights. He was back on the oriel, the space were the floor was not any dark wood anymore but instead carpeted in wine red. This was the only piece of floor in his home that had a little bit of carpet and it just started with a provisional glass door he had put there with more than just a little effort.

Basically, this little corner was a glass globe library with the perfect sight on the snowy streets and other weather conditions throughout life. Due to architecture, he basically had a built-in bench because some oriels build a “dent” into the home which can be used as some kind of elaborate and excessively broad window sill.

 It was worth all the work he had put into it.

Whenever he came in to read, it was calm and silent, it was warm but easily adjusted by opening the windows or turning on the heating (considering he did not live in the warmest region on earth at all. In fact, he lived in a more moderate climate and enjoyed the tendency towards coolish temperatures. Despite climate change, there was still snow early in the winter months).

 The two curled up on the floor, leaning against a beanbag. Remy was leaning against the beanbag, to be specific. The kitten was curled up on Remy, cuddling into his arms like the hazy bitch they were. The Queen could barely process anything but well, steady ground it was.

Remy was resting on the bean bag, the cat silently meowing at the change of softness around them when the home-owner slowly turned his body for the kitten to slide against the bad with him.

Maybe the cat liked it. Nobody could know anything because the cat was out of it and also, cats were hell-spawns who were not to be understood but worshipped only.

 A book was resting in Remy’s lap. When did he pull it there? He did not remember. Maybe it had just settled with him, flying over or whatnot.

The book was one hell of a beast.

Pages upon pages were stacked on top of one another and bound together in the obscene creation of a whole book that held knowledge, big enough to rival a human brain in size - at least when putting this knowledge onto pages in barely readable fonts and size.

 “Yo, cat. We need a name for ya, honey.”

 He let his head roll to the side and then back into position again. The void looked over at him and seemed to shrug. Maybe Remy was imagining things.

 “Uh.. You can’t read that for me, now, can you? Why do people even get cats, man. Like, no offence but is that not why we have human beings? So we socialise and uh .. uh like.. taaaalk and hate one another. Cuz we totaaally need that kinda interaction.”

 His voice let the words blend in together, the muffled sentence barely resembling different words or sounds but instead one big hum. Useless blabber, at most. Not that the pet would understand him if he was putting proper effort into talking like a sober and completely sane person.

 “Caaat. Caaaat, just learn reading? Give yourself a name, gurl. Independence!”

 Yeah, well.. This seemed not to work, in fact, it obviously resembled a fruitless endeavour instead. Much like teaching a donkey how to sow greens, the cat took up Remy’s words and ignored them skilfully. Even in his tipsy mind, he was well aware that an animal would not just magically learn reading and then read out to him. However, the wishful thinking was still in his heart… and his foggy dummy mind.

He reverted to child-like attention spans and reasoning abilities whenever he got to drink just a bit more than a little. And honestly, the wine got a little to him, especially with this bottomless void eating, like, all of this fucking chicken.

 He mumbled something about sharing under his breath before he pulled the book closer and heaved it open with his weak noodle power. There was not that much energy left in his heart. He was tipsy and as soft as molten butter.

The book groaned as it was opened, awakening the pages of knowledge from deep slumber.

It willingly dropped the front and backside onto Remy’s lap. It spread like a good partner for the intimate deeds. The excitement of being handled and warmed by a knowledge-seeking person got to it and drove the book to reveal just the right passage for them.

 “Names.. Names. Kitty cat, pick a name.”

 “mrrrow..?”

 “Yeah, hoe, but like, you’re a Queen.. to me and not to others so how about you lemme pick a name,  so the mortals can give you their foolish attempts of daring to raise their voice at you without spoiling your title, you void hoe.”

 The cat gave him a slow-motion blink of two eyes. These wonderfully coloured eyes.. How were cats allowed to just have such precious gems as eyes. Like.. did he rob some jewellery store thing.. did they have names again, he felt like they had some kinda name and he was supposed to know this and all.

Uh, he would be clever later.

 “Alright. This is a name dictionary thing. Like, for when you get a baby and you need to name that little shit, so the system can discriminate against it. It gives you names, you know. You have them according to the alphabet which is a linguistic attempt at bringing order into the way we communicate and organise shit. By the way, this is totally lame because language is fucking liv- ah, uh.. alive. That’s the bitch I was looking for.”

 Remy suppressed a burp before he allowed himself to continue.

 “Can you .. can you just paw this thing?”

 The cat did not move. Uh.. He carefully nudged the little monster. A lazy glare was thrown his way but this is where it stopped. Such a lazy hoe. They would be the bestest of friends very soon.

Seriously, kitten? Not even some dumbass meow sound or whatever? Wow, okay. Selfish much.

 He groaned.

Now we was getting upset with a little cat. He made it this far in his life. Instead of diving deeper into any negative feelings, he moved himself. His finger gently tapped onto the paw once more and softly stroked it before putting it onto the page.

 “Oh, mine own dearest liege, I has't did summon all the fucks i has't hath left to giveth and ‘t wast enow to maketh.. this miracle! Uh - thou hath moveth thy fucking paw. ”

 …Not even that did get the cat to as much as meow at him. At LEAST the void monster spared him a glance of annoyance for his effort. Valid, valid. At least some feedback, thundercloud. Yet, the moment was gone as soon as it came and the kitten then dropped the whole thing and looked down again.

Some sorta ritual to close their eyes and nap away. Even the cat had better living habits than he did.

 “Nonononono, dun nap jus yeeeet! V-V … uh..”

 He had taken up the name from the book, accepting the fate of the paw and started looking into the decision of the higher spirits. He was ready to act up on whatever the heavens and skies and all that shit have decided for the cat to be named.

 The man squinted at the pages.

The top of it said “V”, so he knew that this was the start for their name now. Of course the Queen would be such a diva and end up with a name as unique as starting with such a rare letter. Totally Extra :tm:.

To be fair.. who the fuck used those letters anyway, man.. xylophone? Laaaaaaaaaaaame. Virginia, Voltron, V-.. V…

 “Virgil”

 Remy blinked.

He blinked multiple fucking times.

The name did NOT, unlike his mind’s stupid expectation, suddenly change into something like, uh, you know,… Jared. Some funny shit.

 No, it was still this name. Virgil.

 “Is that even a name for a cat who I declare to be gendered in the neutral only? Uh, you know.. whatever, like, it is whatever because you are a QUEEEEEENG.. Queen.. a queen. You just un-rule gendered names. They are stupid anyway, guuurl. Fuck this all.”

 “Queen Virgil! Now how does that make you feel, huh?”

 The kitten gave him another blink and finally retreated their paw.

 “Yeah, my little nightmare goat. We are gonna go nap all night, all day!”

 The man giggled again. Then he made sure to just give up and fall asleep like that, curled up on a beanie, kitty cat fur tickling him and doing nothing to facilitate his breathing. All he breathed in was ai- uh.. No.. Virgil’s fur.

 Welcome to a change of life, huh?

Or simply: “Welcome, Virgil”.

[janiedean]

Hey, lately I've seen a lot of people hate on book!Tyrion and talk about what a terrible person he is and wanted to hear your take on that, because I don't really get it. I think that he is a really interesting character in the books, more so than in the second half of the show, if you ask me.

(sorry for replying this late I needed time to get to it and stuff happened haha)

soooo... tldr: I think *tumblr* has a shitload of issues with tyrion that are 90% rooted in the fact that this website thinks hating men is cool/that men are the worst always *and* also only cries ableism when it’s convenient or to call ableist things that are not in fact such (ie ‘omg if you use stupid is ableist’ which... automatically implies that anyone with a disability is *stupid* and the likes), and in tyrion’s case there’s.... an overlap of those specific issues added to the fact that since he’s a general fan favorite regardless of any fault of his then it’s fine to trash on him. going in depth on it:

now, there’s admittedly a difference in between book and show tyrion in the sense that the show version is a lot less gray and has cut on a lot of material in that sense, but like...... it’s d&d who after they decided to chunk the book storyline couldn’t write him properly so I’m not touching that topic because it’s not *his* issue, it’s theirs, and as you said... well obv. he’s more interesting in the books, because he has a lot more layers and he actually does something post-asos instead of rehashing the same three jokes that aren’t even on par with *his* book humor because he’s too smart for d&d to pull off correctly (I mean from S6 to S8 they managed to give him good lines in... the finale? PROBABLY? but they can’t write him, it’s their problem);

when it comes to book!tyrion, he obviously has faults same as 99,9% of the characters in these books, but all of those faults are... absolutely understandable given his background? I mean, so he hates his father and his sister, has fairly unhealthy coping methods and that got worse after asos, but... he comes from a lifetime of parental/familial abuse that crowned with tywin forcing him to rape his then-wife who actually did love him and convincing him he was unlovable, cersei was molesting him in the cradle and the only person who cared about him outside the uncles brigade which wasn’t around all the time was jaime who went off to get traumatized for himself at thirteen, and that just because of how he looks and for his disability, do we ask him to be a perfectly adjusted person? not really, and actually the fact that he tries to be better than 99% of his family all the time and that he actually has a lot of empathy for disadvantaged people and empathy in general says a lot about how he’s a pretty damn decent person, not a terrible one;

now, I think that this fandom on tumblr has ten problems with him because in order, the fact that he’s a man already puts him on a disadvantaged level but that’s common to most guys in this fandom like on tumblr in this fandom if a female character fucks up and a male character fucks up, the latter will be called out upon it way more than than the female character. also, abused male characters don’t get recognition for that 99% of the time. but that also means that his disability gets brushed off/ignored because since **according to tumblr standards** it’s not stopping him from doing most of what he’d like and no one takes it into account, his abuse gets brushed off/ignored because WELL HE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE, the fact that he’s a man means he has male privilege and whatever the fuck else and since he’s technically (in the book at least) Not Standard Attractive then he doesn’t even get the shitload of excuses hot people get in virtue of being hot;

also, there’s a certain attitude I really don’t like at all whatsoever to describe the fact that in his POVs he always goes about how much he hates his father/cersei or WHERE DO THE WHORES GO in adwd as whining/being unable to get over it/dying of self-pity but like.......... that’s..... how he copes with knowing he’s been treated like shit? like, thing is: in a literary genius foil with his brother who has no idea of the crap he was unjustly subjected to if not very subconsciously and whose coping method is *going away* and/or forgetting about things and/or not thinking about them, tyrion’s coping method is never letting himself forget it and honestly.... so he thinks shit about his father and sister all the time? tough luck, they’re his abusers, ofc he does. he can’t get over thinking no one will love him because of his looks? tough luck, he was told that all his life and when he found someone he thought did tywin organized that rouse so he’d think she was with him for money and he forced him to rape her which is also called rape by proxy so he’s also a rape victim and he was thirteen? wow, if I were him ie someone whose first advice to a main character in these books was ‘never forget about your weaknesses and make them your armor so people can’t hurt you with them’ then I also would be thinking about that all the time. he’s an abuse victim and he’s not away from his abusers until the end of asos, what are we expecting, that he’d get over it? actually it’s a way healthier method than jaime’s because at least he knows he’s been wronged all along and he can see both c. and his father for the assholes they are but at least he knows that and he harbors no illusions about them even if he still kind of wants them to love him same as most people would, but like... that’s not whining? that’s stuff that it’s absolutely normal he should be thinking? also, the where do the whores go thing in adwd is....... basically he just learned that his biggest trauma was not what he believed it was and he has to reconcile himself with the fact that a) tysha never not loved him, b) jaime was in on it even if he subconsciously knows that he also was a victim in that ploy (when he dreams about killing him in adwd he’s crying, sooooo) and he has to know because jaime told him out of *guilt* and he damn well knows it, like he’s re-elaborating the entire thing, obviously he’s fixated on it??? I mean the moment I figured out a specific thing that I hadn’t realized about an unhealthy relationship I had with someone I spent a month thinking about it every other moment for a month and it was nowhere near that same level of terrible, and I’m surprised that he thinks about that for all of adwd? like, I find those justifications very iffy and incredibly dismissive of a) his trauma b) his abuse victim status;

also there’s the whole HE KILLED TYWIN thing but..... I honestly am baffled it’s even a thing fandom thinks he should pay for or anything. like, the problem is that he killed *shae* in that context, and that was also out of feeling betrayed after just learning of how it really went with tysha, and that’s why he’s on the downward spiral/his lowest point in adwd, but.... tywin? really? like tywin is an asshole period, he abused him all his life, he traumatized the shit out of him for his entire life and made him grow up thinking he was unlovable and outright told him he wanted to drown him, and not even counting what tywin did to *him*, we’re talking about someone who went and calmly planned the red wedding the moment he realized there was no way he could take out robb without treachery and didn’t feel particularly bothered by it on a moral level, and we’re sad that he died or think that tyrion has to pay for it because he killed his abuser who also never really was a father to him in any sense of the word? like what the fuck does tyrion owe tywin? literally nothing and tbqh it’s tywin narratively reaping the seeds of what he’s sown if tyrion goes and offs him. like, a lot of people re fixed on this thing about OH HE KILLED HIS FATHER HE DOESN’T DESERVE REDEMPTION but the narrative doesn’t ask it of him. he has to make peace and find his own redemption for killing shae at that point, not tywin. tywin had it coming since the moment he showed up. like, saying he’s a horrible person for offing someone who only ever abused the shit out of him doesn’t really fly as far as I’m concerned;

at this point we get to ‘okay but in adwd he does a lot of questionable things’, but..... a) he’s supposed to be at his lowest narrative point and a lot of people have done a lot of questionable things at their lowest narrative point in these books, I mean if I think theon can have a nice life and get better after his WF stint I can think that tyrion can have a nice life and get better after his adwd stint, b) it’s nothing he’ll be proud of when he pulls his shit together (and he already had started by the end of adwd) but I mean... it’s nothing worse than most people who have to pull their shit together in these books have done lately, like honestly writing him off as a horrible person because of his adwd stint reaaaaally reeks to me of double standard which is based on the fact that no one around here wants to recognize that he’s an abuse victim and his reactions are valid and that yes his disability singles him out and is the reason people target him and not his merits or demerits. I mean he even spells it out, he’s been on trial for being a dwarf all his life/everyone already judged him for that regardless of his actual faults, and that’s not him being delusional, it’s the truth. he’s a person who certainly has faults same as anyone else but guess what a lot of people around fandom do what tywin does and exacerbate them if you ask my opinion;

(that also can be seen when it comes to what people think of the guy being shipped around because believe me I wish I hadn’t seen people saying he couldn’t be a good option for sansa because he’s not the beautiful gallant stainless dude she deserves, and I’m saying it as a sansan shipper first but come the fuck on) (other than that tyrion/bronn is ofc the superior ship but nvm me)

also there’s the whole thing where people decided that since tyrion is a general fandom fave in between the w.org/reddit crowd/general audience then obviously if the dudebros (ugh i can’t with that generalization anymore sure af freefolk is less puritan than tumblr from what I see) like him then he has to also incarnate the Worst Type Of Male Fan Of Asoiaf In Existence and like........ now, I don’t doubt that when it comes to the *general audience* there’s a lot of misconceptions going around plus a lot of his character faults get ignored (I mean when I went on w.org the first time the first thread I ran into was like ‘wow sansa is a bitch for not kneeling at once when they married and making him feel like shit’ I mean that’s a situation where you should feel bad for both but calling her a bitch for not wanting to kneel while marrying a guy she was forced to who also belonged to the family that killed her brother and mother and her father too is like......... come on seriously?) but that’s the same with most fandom faves in any fandom, it doesn’t mean that if some of his fans see him with rose-tinted glasses then on this side of the pond we have to decide he sucks when he doesn’t, and as I said time and time again..... do we remember the last time that in any fandom the general audience favorite character who sells the merchandise more than anyone else is a disabled abuse victim who doesn’t shut up about it and tries to be better than anyone else thinks them able to? because I don’t and while tyrion is not top five asoiaf for me I’m very glad that *he* is the general audience favorite. so they don’t get the point or see him with rose-tinted glasses? happens to fandom faves in general, but it doesn’t mean that he’s a terrible person in the text just because the dudebro crowd (if we wanna call it like that but meh) likes him. so what, he is the audience fave? good, I’m beyond fine with him being the audience fave. I honestly don’t think it’s an argument that should even be brought up because ‘that character’s fans are shit so the character is automatically shit because we judged the fans on their supposed gender’ is not an argument. *shrug*

tldr: I think people on here exaggerate his flaws (that everyone has) and are bitchy about the fact that he is the general audience favorite because how dare a guy who’s as far as we know cishet (which is already bad for tumblr standards), not standard hot (crime!!), has a disability (which gets ignored 90% of the time when discussing his privilege or lack thereof), is an abuse victim who won’t let you forget it and you can’t deny/headcanon differently (which is a thing tumblr can’t accept - I mean, men being abuse victims, and with hc differently I mean that people outright deny that idk jaime was one because he doesn’t realize he was so you have to actually read into the text to realize it, but they can decide he’s not because it requires effort to put it together - or deny sandor was one because we don’t have his pov and we only see his destructive coping methods and so on - with tyrion they can’t because he never lets you forget he was and admitting it is apparently hard, also one of his abusers is a woman and We Do Not Admit That Women Can Be Abusers On Tumblr Dot Com) and who has fucked up but not worse than most people in these books be the audience favorite? WE JUST DON’T KNOW. personally I think he’s pretty damn great and an amazingly conceived/written character (I mean in a series where all the characters weren’t so well-rounded and I didn’t have other people I latched on before that he’d have totally been top three material for me he just got unlucky to be in the one series where everyone is well-rounded and there’s people that I resonate personally more with but really he’s an amazing character all around) and I can’t wait for him to pull his shit together in the next book and possibly get the nice ending he deserves along with better dialogue than d&d gave him, but from there to say he’s a horrible person.... geez. my list of horrible persons in these books runs very long and he’s nowhere near it. ofc he has faults but no character in these books is faultless except maybe gilly, and not even people under the age of twelve are faultless in these books come on. 

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O 48-1: In which I surrender and watch the raw.

So, it’s been a few days, and I know that the subbers have their own lives and whatnot, but… I can’t safely go on tumblr until I see this, because I follow a lot of Rider blogs, and have the Zi-O tag tracked, and i’ve got friends talking about this…

So I’m caving and watching 48 without subs. It’s been a long while since I’ve had to do this!

Enjoy eleven and a half pages of me being a nerd over a children’s tv show, that I can’t even properly understand.

(EDIT: SHIT SORRY I THOUGHT I”D PUT THE READ MORE IN THERE)

–––– ––––

Actually, first, I watched 47 again, to refresh myself, and noticed something. Not only did Tsukasa do the hand pose from the Zi-O promotional material when he transformed, but so did Daiki as Another Zi-O II.

The main difference is that Daiki used his pointer and middle finger – because he’s the second form.

It’s the little touches.

––––

We pick up exactly where we left off last time – with Tsukuyomi, Sougo, Daiki, and Decade finding htemselves surrounded by mooks and monsters from heisei riders past. Mirror monsters, makamou, masquerade dopants, yummys, dustards, ghouls, inves… so Ryuki, Hibiki, Double, OOO, Fourze, Wizard, and Gaim are gone. The meteors, and skywall say that Kabuto and Build are, too. Adding in the roidmudes we saw with Chase, that makes ten out of eighteen watches broken. I say eighteen because we’ve obviously still got Zi-O, and Decade is literally right there, having reclaimed his watch.

We get Tsukasa repeating – or, rahter, we re-see Tsukasa saying that he’s going to destroy the world… Not right at this moment, though. They should get going.

It looks like Daiki takes off in a different direction from the other three.

––––

Amid the scenes of people running, there’s a ganma mook… and Revol, along with people colappsing, static crackling across their bodies. That’s the Ghost and Ex-Aid watches done for, then.

––––

Geiz and Woz run along a rooftop, but immediately become a book image – we’re going pretty much right into the recap. Now, of course, I don’t speak Japanese, but I can get the gist of what he’s saying. Basically, there’s copious fighting, the time-space continuum is falling apart, and the world is ending because of Swartz.

There are two pages left.

Woz is looking off into the middle distance as he says this.

––––

… I don’t think I really expected that they’d update the OP again, this late in the game, but…

That doesn’t change that it kind of hurts to see Heure and Ora still be there.

––––

At 9-to-5, Tsukasa is being interrogated- I mean, is getting everyone onto the same page.

Ehh… let’s see… Basically, he’s saying that more and more of the other Riders are being… I don’t know, more completely erased? Like, the watches held their stories in stasis, like bookmarks, and now that they’re breaking, parts of those stories are escaping out.

Tsukuyomi mentions the wall and the tower – namely, Fuuto Tower, as opposed to Yggdrasil, which kind of bothers me. See, even if this weren’t all one Rider world, Fuuto Tower would have no reason to not exist. It’s just part of the city. Yggdrasil, on the other hand, was built explicitly to deal with the encroaching Helheim Forest and you know what it’s not that big a deal, because the multipleworlds thing bugs me even more than that.

…Although, since they’re apparently sticking with the outdated “every rider is his own world” method, which has basically never been true, with the exception of Decades ARs, I suppose it could make sense to have both towers appear. Fuuto and Zawame are different cities, and most Rider seasons are set in Tokyo. That would account for the Skywall, as well – it’s from a different world. That’s the best way to show ‘things aren’t where they should be’ - to have landmarks from parallel worlds and different cities all appearing in the same place.

Tsukasa explains that Swartz has been using Sougo for his plans since he (Sougo) was a young boy. He pulled him to that ruined future, and gave him the time powers there. Then he set him on the road to gathering the powers of all the Kamen Riders – thus consolidating them into one complete form. Namely, Grand Zi-O.

…Okay, the multiverse thing still doesn’t pan out, here. If they were all in different worlds, then Sougo couldn’t have met them! They specifically said once, during Shinobi, that the Time Mazines can’t go to different timelines – which would presumably include different realities along with it. So, the people that Sougo met couldn’t have been riders anyway, regardless of his interference.

…Wait. Unless Swartz is actually pulling the assorted AR worlds together – by removing the ‘original’ or ‘main’ versions of the Riders, he removes the potential for there to be alternate versions of them. So the Shinji who worked at Atashi Journal, the Wataru who was a small child, high schooler Takumi, and so on… none of them can exist, because the Shinji from Ore Journal, the Wataru who was an adult, dry-cleaner Takumi, and so on were never riders.

I mean, I don’t know if that’s where they’re actually going with this, but it’s a good theory, right?

I can still try to make sense of this, right?!

ANYWAY.

Sougo’s despairing over the fact that all of his fights have been playing right into Swartz’s hand, and I think that Woz is trying to reassure him? I’m not sure – I can’t make out any of what he’s saying there.

Geiz asks what they can do now.

“I already told you. I’m going to destroy the world.” Tsukasa sets down the mug he’s been holding this entire time. “This world is already lost. However… there might still be a way to save it.” He looks pointedly at Sougo.

Sougo pauses, and says that he understands, bringing up the ‘choice’ that Swartz told him about.

“Tsukuyomi’s path, Sougo’s path, or the path to Oma Zi-O.”

…Ah, man, I can’t tell what they’re saying now. I’m not sure what Sougo’s implying that he’s planning, but Tsukasa seems at least somewhat satisfied. The fate of the world counts on this.

––––

There’s a breif shot of the watch stand. It’s empty.

––––

Sougo stands in front of the wall of clocks, looking at them. It’s eerily similar to a shot in the opening… hang on.

Okay, no, he’s in a different outfit. In the opening, when Sougo reaches towards the wall of clocks and spins it backwards, he’s in a mint green shirt and tan pants. Here, he’s in dark green with white-and-black pants. But also? He’s just a little bit taller.

In the opening, he’s dwarfed by the wall, with the counters and everything else seeming to be so much larger than they really are. He’s not the one who’s really in control. The situation is so much bigger than he is.

But now? He fits perfectly. He’s coming into his own, both as a rider and as a person. He’s not holding the image of an idea that is so much more than he is anymore.

Sougo smiles as he looks at the assortment of clocks, saying that it’s time to head out. The acoustic guitar version of Over Quartzer starts to play.

Tsukasa – the only other person present – tells him to wait. There’s… he says something about either how there’s a lot of people involved, or there’s a lot of people counting on this, or that are at risk. Maybe he should be the one to carry out this plan-

Sougo cuts him off. It has to be him. He tells Tsukasa to listen. He’s been ready for this since he put on the belt. Or… maybe… he’s always been destined for this moment.

Tsukasa looks… I don’t know what that is. Surprised? A dull form of surprise or shock, that he wasn’t sure if this young man would actually be willing to pull this off?

Sougo does seem to have one small regret though, in that he doesn’t get to tell his uncle. He picks up a note off the counter.

…Junichiro has terrible handwriting. Holy shit. Like, that’s damn near illegible – I’m lucky that it’s just enough that I can tell he signed it, via using the Rider Wiki having his name. Given the preview from the last episode, I’m assuming he went out to the store? Maybe?

––––

In a plaza, Tsukuyomi is attempting to help people escape the assorted mooks, shooting with her Faiz Phone X and instructing them to run. Woz, meanwhile, is sitting and watching, like an absolute tool. She’s pissed at him, and basically yells that he can help out any time now, thanks!

“Okay, okay, fine…” He gives the single most put upon sigh as he transforms into Ginga Finaly.

––––

Geiz is in a construction area, beating mooks off of people with a literal pipe, until Swartz shows up, apparently taunting him.

Cue Revive Fury versus Another Decade.

––––

Junichiro is screaming as he’s being approached by two Waste Yummys and the Bison Yummy.

Oh, judging by the box with the shops logo, he wasn’t out shopping, he was making a delivery.

“LOOK OUT!”

Zi-O blocks the Yummy, shoving them away from his uncle – notably without saying anything else to Junichiro.

Why is that notable?

Because Junichiro’s next line is “…Eh? Sougo-kun?”

Me, crossing my fingers as Zi-O prepares a finisher: please have known all along please have known all along or at least have caught on at some point please

Zi-O, having finished the monsters off with a Time Break – don’t think I didn’t see those little circles flying off of them as they exploded, Toei, I saw those cell medals there – storms up to his uncle. “Uncle, are you an idiot? Why did you go out at a time like this!?”

“Sougo- that was- just now-”

Zi-O drops his transformation… and Tokiwa Sougo bows low to his uncle, apologizing.

“Uncle… I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you… the truth is, I’m a Kamen Rider.” As he straightens back up, the piano version of Toki no Ouja starts to play. Junichiro is speechless as Sougo continues. “It’s a power that I’ve been using to fight, in order to protect everyone.”

Junichiro doesn’t seem to know what to say, just asking if this is how he’s being a king.

Sougo… supposes that’s true. But he has to go, so that he can save everyone. He just wanted to tell his uncle first.

Junichiros response? “I can’t do much, I just fix clocks. But you… You’ve got such a responisibility. Go. Have a safe trip.”

I don’t think Sougo expected him to react this well, he probably expected that his uncle would try to stop him, or protest in some way, at least. But really, clearly Sougo hasn’t been paying attention. Junichiro barely batted an eye at the Imajin asking him to fix the Denliner. This isn’t much of a stretch at all.

“I’m headed out.”

Junichiro kind of looks like he’s about to cry as Sougo runs off – tears of worry and of pride.

Sougo runs down the partly ruined street, as his Time Mazine zooms down in the ship mode.

––––

Sougo is in the cockpit of the Time Mazine, which is barely lit by dark blue light.

“One last trip through time…”

He looks at the display, set for 2068.

“Time-space system, activate!”

Time Mazine!

The machine zooms through the time tunnel, off into the future.

––––

Geiz, in a very ruined stairwell, fights a whole slew of mooks as Another Decade watches. He gets knocked down a few flights, and can’t get back up due to all the mooks who are basically on top of him.

Right up until Decade shows up to knock them away.

I can’t tell what they’re saying, but Geiz sounds really surprised that Decade’s still here.

They start fighting their way back upstairs together.

––––

Woz and Tsukuyomi are fighting against another set of mooks, in the same plaza they were in earlier.

Eventually, Woz calls down a bunch of mini planets to destroy the mooks and a Violence Dopant, because of course Ginga can do that. This might as well happen.

A bat-type Roidmude appears, advancing on Tsukuyomi – before Mashin Chaser flys in from nowhere, tackling it down, and quickly dispatching it with the Spider Viral Core’s Tune attack.

He then immediately falls to his knees, clutching at his head, before dropping his transformation. His hand shakes as he wonders why he just saved a human.

Woz, being far too flippant for my robo-lad’s current existential crisis, hops down from the steps. “It’s quite simple, Chase. According to this book, in the original timeline, you, too, were a Kamen Rider.”

“I’m… a Kamen Rider?” Chase looks at his shaking hands, and we get another flashback. (Toei no don’t break my heart like this…)

––––

Chase, in a warehouse, water pouring from a broken pipe. He holds up a shift bike, determined.

Kamen Rider Chaser stands under the pouring water after his first transformation.

––––

Chase roars in denial, slamming his Break Gunner to activate it.

Break up!

Mashin Chaser yells. He’s a GRIM REAPER, damn you!

(Toei, NO! Don’t break my heart like this!)

He brutally starts attacking Woz.

––––

2068, in front of the statue commemorating the first transformation of Tokiwa Sougo.

…Oh, now that’s interesting. The other times we’ve seen this particular statue, the riders weren’t posting at all – they were just standing, looking somewhat down. Right now, though?

Each and every one of them is doing their post-transformation pose.

Interesting.

So’s Sougo’s comment, which I think is ‘The most important person in the world…’

Sougo’s arrived at a point where there’s a smaller fight between the resistance and Oma Zi-O. It’s not that final stand we saw in the first episode, with the copious time mazines – the battlefield isn’t nearly large enough to be that one. But Geiz and Tsukuyomi are both there, both shooting at Oma Zi-O; her with the Faiz Phone X, and him with a machine gun.

People are being injured/killed left and right. Sougo goes to Tsukuyomi, who’s just been knocked down, asking if she’s alright.

He slips a blank ridewatch into her pocket.

I’m not sure what Geiz is yelling at them, but I’m pretty sure it’s something about ‘if you’re not going to fight, then get out of here!’

Tsukuyomi seems to feel the same, telling him to hurry up and run.

His expression stoic, Sougo tells them that they should hurry and get out. He’ll take care of this.

He pulls out his Ziku Driver, and the Zi-O Ridewatch as Tsukuyomi, Geiz, and the handful of resistance members look on.

“HENSHIN!”

As Kamen Rider Zi-O strides forward to face off against his future self, Geiz and Tsukuyomi are stunned. They know that armor and transformation, even though they’ve not yet met him properly in person.

––––

Oma Zi-O and Kamen Rider Zi-O stand across from each other, in that same valley where they’ve fought twice before. Or, where Sougo’s fought him before, and Oma may or may not have been on the current side yet. Time travel, yanno.

Oma says… er, basically that his younger self has no hope of defeating him.

Sougo… he says that that may be true. That this may really be his future.

Even so… he still has to try.

He pulls out his gun – his gun, not his sword – and fires, charging at Oma.

I’ve said before that Sougo almost never uses the gun form, and it’s true. All of his upgrades exclusively gave him a sword. The gun is only ever used for strategic purposes – Sougo doesn’t usually fight at a distance, he’s much more of a close range combatant. This only serves to make the fact that he pulls it out as the gun form all the more unusual.

Each shot is blocked by little mini forcefields that Oma raises for each individual blast, before Sougo is finally close enough to switch into the sword. Each strike is blocked, before Oma shoves him backward with waves of orange and black energy.

Sougo – still in base form Zi-O – lands, and as he pushes himself up…

“Let’s go.”

He pulls out the Trinity watch.

––––

2019

Geiz Revive Fury and Decade versus mooks and Another Decade.

They’ve made it back out into the open, and quickly dispatch the assorted mooks, leaving the two riders and the single villain.

Swartz… ugh, I can’t make it out, but I think he’s saying something about how they can’t stop him, the world’s already finsihed.

Both Geiz and Tsukasa say that’s not true. There’s something about Tsukuyomi in there – either they’re saying that it’s not Swartz’s world to take, it’s hers… or that they’re choosing her. They’re not choosing this world, they’re choosing Tsukuyomi’s.

Or they’re saying nothing of the sort, because I just can’t pick out enough words that I recognize to be sure at all.

Regardless, Swartz screams in rage, and starts wailing on the both of them, before knocking them both down. Aiming for Geiz, he charges his copy of Tsukasa’s rider kick – card images and all. They’re eerily accurate, too. They’ve got the exact Decade logo on them, but they’re black and dark purple, instead of the lighter magenta that Tsukasa would have.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. As Another Decade passes through the last card-

A yellow beam of light shoots from the sky, and warps Geiz away.

––––

Tune! Chaser Cobra!

It doesn’t matter, anyway. As Mashin Chaser’s whip attack reaches Woz’s location-

A green beam of light shoots from the sky, and warps Woz away.

Growling, he turns to Tsukuyomi.

––––

Trinity time!

Sougo, in the Trinity Cockpit, smiles a little as Geiz and Woz appear. “Oh, good, it worked.”

I don’t think they were sure it would.

Woz, appearing as an overlay on his shoulder, says that they’ve made it to 2068.

Geiz, doing likewise, says something about Oma Zi-O.

Sougo, no overlay in sight, says that in any case, it’s time to fight.

Trinity charges at Oma Zi-O, wielding Zi-O II’s sword.

––––

2019

Kamen Rider Decade dusts off his hands as he stands up. Time for Decade Versus Decade.

Swartz almost laughs at that. You think he’s only got Decade’s powers?

He freezes Tsukasa in time. His own power is even stronger. As he advances on the frozen Tsukasa, he’s frozen, himself.

Kamen Rider Diend strolls up, one hand outstretched. “Oh, you mean the power you gave little ol’ me?”

Decade’s fight music starts to play as Daiki straight up whacks Another Decade with his gun, breaking both magenta men out of their paused states.

As they stand next to each other, Tsukasa has to be rolling his eyes under that helmet. “Took you long enough.”

“Let’s go, Tsukasa.”

Kamen Riders Decade and Diend – Kadoya Tsukasa and Kaitou Daiki – attack Another Decade in unison.

––––

2068

KING GIRI GIRI SLASH!

Trinity slams his slash attack down on Oma, but said overlord just pushes the energy to the side. They rush him, bringing the sword itself down on him, and when he blocks it with his crossed arms, a ring of dustclouds explode around the combatants.

Trinity forces the sword down, before abruptly yanking if off of where he’d been pressing it against Oma, using the loss of that resistance to throw Oma Zi-O off balance, and pointing the tip of the sword at his torso. Under the helmet, Sougo at minimum is grinning.

Trinity Time Break-Burst-Explosion!

A beam of attack power pushes out from the sword, blasting Oma Zi-O back into the cliffside, where he leaves a massive impact crater before falling to the ground.

He asks where his younger self found this sort of power.

Sougo’s answer? It’s not his power. It’s his friends power.

In the cockpit, we see the three standing side by side, their sections of the faceplate behind them, but they aren’t in a circle around the clock, or in divided screens. They’re all on one visual plane.

According to Sougo, and my very limited understanding of what’s being said, because I don’t recognize most of this… there’s more than one path to take. He’s not taking the one that leads to Oma Zi-O. He’s taking the one that he’ll make with his friends.

Oma Zi-O seems to find that interesting, and says that Sougo’s… what, fighting for his friends sake?

And I’m not sure what just happened, but Geiz doesn’t know what Oma’s talking about either, and Woz tells Sougo to be careful…

Right before the Trinity transformation ends, leaving only Sougo standing in front of Oma Zi-O.

Just Sougo, without any armor.

He’s not even wearing his belt.

He also doesn’t look surprised, or concerned. Just angry.

––––

2019

Woz reappears right where he left from, in his civilian attire, and looking confused. Tsukuyomi is nowhere to be seen.

––––

Geiz appears right where he left from, in his civilian attire, and looking both confused and frustrated. Decade and Diend are still fighting Another Decade, and getting kicked around a fair bit, before Swartz scoffs, and says that Tsukuyomi is his to… uh, I think kill is the word here.

He dimension-walls himself out of there, and Geiz curses.

––––

2068

Tokiwa Sougo stands across the field from Oma Zi-O.

“Now what? You’ve sent your friends away, and what for?”

There’s no background music, just the sound of the wind.

Sougo stays calm. “That’s because I’m not here to fight you. But… I’m still going to defeat you.” He starts to walk forward. “Tell me, what is the power of Oma Zi-O?”

Oma Zi-O looks a bit to the side. “It’s the power to destroy space and time.” The orchestral version of Toki no Ouja starts playing. I can’t quite make out the next part of Oma’s answer, unfortunately. Something about Swartz’s granting him time powers, and his own powers over space, and those combining. I think.

Sougo responds that the two of them – himself and Oma – aren’t the same.

Oma… agrees. I think, and says that he looks forward to seeing the world Sougo will make, before sending him back in time.

A muscle twitched in Sougo’s otherwise expressionless face – the ghost of a smirk trying to make it’s way through.

Oma Zi-O looks up, a note of resignation in his voice. “That’s it, then.” He makes a small noise, almost like a laugh… and says something about… I think it’s that ‘this is what he can do to help.’

He raises one hand to the sky, firing motes of golden light out.

––––

As the other members of the resistance continue retreating, Geiz and Tsukuyomi stop. I’m not sure what they’re saying, but it’s something about how that guy was strange, that he must have had some sort of plan.

Motes of golden light pass over them, and a pink light comes from Tsukuyomi’s pocket, seeming to shock her physically to make sure she notices.

The ridewatch Sougo had slipped her glows white, but quickly fades… and it’s still blank.

… the one that kept making its way to Sougo in episode one stayed blank for a long time, too, right up until he showed the resolve to fight.

––––

2019

Tsukuyomi reaches a different plaza, still running from Mashin Chaser. She begs him to stop, she knows he has a human heart!

He just yells that he doesn’t have a heart, he’s a Roidmude- but he freezes up. He can’t move. It’s not the time powers in action – it’s that he’s seized up. Like one part of his programming is stopping him from moving, from lowering his arm and pressing the trigger. There’s a very deliberate shot of his hand holding the break gunner, finger raised.

Swartz – as Another Decade – comes up. “That’s enough. She’s mine… Finally, little sister…” He goes to attack her, but-

Chase stops him, rushing up and grabbing his arm, shoving him back. He may not be human, may not have a human heart, but. But the human heart is the most beautiful thing there is!

He goes on the offensive – against Swartz.

But Chase tends to get sloppy when he fights with his emotions running high. It’s simple enough for Swartz to redirect his straight charge with a pair of dimension walls, placing Chase behind him and charge-kicking the Roidmude in the back, sending him staggering. I can’t tell what Swartz says, but it’s definitely an insult to Chase – as a Kamen Rider.

Chase staggers backward, his transformation breaking. He starts to fall to the ground, but Geiz catches him…

(Toei… no…  don’t… don’t break my heart like this…)

Purple arcs of electricity cross Chase’s body as Geiz holds him.

“You… were right. I really am… a Kamen Rider…”

Geiz’s face is partly hidden in his collar. “You’re more than that – you’re a friend.”

Geiz – who only met Chase today, who probably only knew him as a hero from what Gou may or may not have said during Over Quartzer, and from his actions right now – is telling Chase that they’re friends.

“That’s… nice. That even now… I’ve made another human friend…”

(Toei. No. Don’t. Don’t break my heart like this.)

Chase glows a light purple, and dissolves into motes of purple light, leaving his core floating, before it, too, dissolves.

(I, a Drive fangirl, and particularly a Chase fangirl, am going to have to bury my face in a pillow when I’m done here.)

Geiz can’t talk. He’s too stunned by what just happened – he’s trying not to cry, I think.

Swartz advances on Tsukuyomi. Now that that little distraction’s over with, it’s time for her to die.

She backs up, terrified. Time feels like it slows down. Not, like, the type in this show where it actually does, just the muted, echoing effect of a single moment.

“TSUKUYOMI!” Sougo runs towards the scene. “THE WATCH!”

“Eh?”

“THE ONE I GAVE YOU!”

Confused, she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a blank ridewatch – that very shortly isn’t blank anymore.

It’s white, with a mask, and the year ‘2068’ written on it.

Woz comes in from the other side, still at a distance. “Go! Tsukuyomi!” He throws her something.

Tsukuyomi catches a Ziku Driver.

Sougo nods, certain. Geiz looks confused as all get out. Woz looks like he’s hoping this will actually work.

She puts on the belt, and raises the watch, turning it.

“Tsukuyomi!”

Techno standby music plays as she places the watch in the driver, and spins it.

“Henshin!”

A gorgeous transformation sequence later…

Clad in a black undersuit, with white armor and gold accents, with a cresent moon-shaped visor, and a gold-trimmed cape and side-skirt…

Kamen Rider Tsukuyomi makes her appearance.

––––

The closing screen is Geiz Revive at the bottom, Trinity at the top…

And Tsukuyomi in the center.

––––

The preview for the final episode… and it’s a battle theme playing, not Over Quartzer.

Grand Zi-O versus Another Decade.

A brief flash of Kamen Rider Tsukuyomi.

A splitscreen shot. Kamen Riders Grand Zi-O, Double CycloneJokerXtreme, Wizard Infinity Form, OOO Tajador, and Gaim Pineapple Arms are on the top.

On the bottom… okay, so, I have no idea who most of these villains are. There’s Gamedeus in the center, and Evolt to the far end, but the others? Not a clue.

Over top of that, and the two groups starting to fight, we hear Sougo practically growling, saying ‘I have the power of all the Riders.’

Flashes of Tsukuyomi and Woz, as themselves, looking concerned. At this point, they add in a subtitle disclaimer saying that Zi-O is fiction. (Thank you, Google translate for my phone, which allows me to hold it up to a screen and get an idea of what’s written.)

A quick shot of Oma Zi-O on his throne, his face obscured – and text implying that we’re going to get to see his face!

Someone – either Oma Zi-O or Swartz, because they sound really similar when Swartz is Another Decade – saying something about… I don’t know, that this is his battle? I think?

But that’s played over the previous two sequences, and a sequence of Sougo, openly weeping, holding a very injured Geiz, who’s going limp.

Then, Sougo standing, furious… and then him activating the belt that Oma Zi-O wears.

In a defeated voice, “I’ll become Oma Zi-O…” and then, in that same growl as earlier, “HENSHIN.”

The final shots are two angles of Oma Zi-O. In armor. And in the present day.

–––– ––––

(deep inhale)

(sharp exhale)

AAAAAAAAAAAAA!

[teenybeanielinguine]

Outlander Season 5 - A Girl Can Dream

 It’s been a little over two weeks since the Season 4 finale... and DAMN, the withdrawal is hitting me hard.  I’ve rewatched all my favorite scenes, re-read all my favorite passages, and scoured Tumblr for every piece of fanfiction available.  But nothing seems capable of filling the Outlander-shaped void in my heart.

Since I clearly have nothing better to do (not true; there are A LOT of other things I should be doing), I’ve decided to grace you all with my unsolicited thoughts (no need to thank me).  Season 5 has no announced release date, but I’m not known for my patience, so I’m hopping on the crazy train a little early.  Destination: The Fiery Cross. (Spoilers ahead.)

About The Fiery Cross

I’ve read quite a few posts that label Drums of Autumn as the pivotal point in the series.  I respectfully disagree.

DoA felt like the next step in a gradual evolution.  It’s true that Bree and Roger gained their independence from the J/C plotline in DoA, but DG had been prepping us for this divergence for quite a while.  Claire was our only narrator in Outlander, and while she remains the only 1st person POV, other characters have been quietly adding their voices to hers.  Roger joined her in Dragonfly in Amber, followed by Jamie and John Grey in Voyager, and we finally get Brianna in Drums of Autumn (that’s RIGHT: in the main books, we hear Roger’s POV before we ever hear Jamie’s).  Because of these constantly expanding POVs, DoA just felt like a natural progression, rather than a huge departure from the status quo.

The Fiery Cross, on the other hand, feels like a turning point.  Not only is it the first book to not get a newly added POV, but the story starts to get a little... unpredictable.

All of the books have a fair amount of twistiness and unpredictability, but our characters have pretty clear goals in each installation so far: get back to the stones, save Jamie from Black Jack, prevent the Rising, prevent Culloden, make Brianna believe the truth, find Jamie after 20 years, rescue Young Ian, establish the Ridge, warn Jamie and Claire about the fire, rescue Roger...  I know I’m generalizing here, but you get the point.  Our heroes all have clearly defined end goals, and they’re putting all their energy into achieving them, despite the twists and turns that DG throws their way.  The characters may not always succeed, but you, the reader, always know where the story is headed.

By the start of The Fiery Cross, the goals are a little broader, more nebulous.  There may be unrest in North Carolina, the American Revolution may be looming in the distance, but basically the Fraser family just wants to live in peace on the Ridge.  That’s it.  No daring rescues, no dramatic reunions; they just want some peace and quiet.  Of course, they aren’t going to get it, because this is Outlander-verse, where Murphy’s Law is on steroids.

So the Frasers play it by ear, taking on every new challenge as it comes.  There is no clear path forward, they just have to react as best they can to the events around them.  In consequence, the reader gets a series of smaller meandering stories, with the distinct feeling that something bigger is happening in the background.  I personally love this, because I have no clue what’s going to happen next, so when something big happens, it takes me completely by surprise.  And you get to see the characters just exist in day-to-day life, which is the best.  Some of the characters still have personal goals (spoiler alert: Stephen Bonnet definitely did NOT die in that explosion), but the pursuit of those goals isn’t driving the story nearly as much as in past installments.

This is all to say that, while Season 5 is going to have to hit some major plot points, there is (in my opinion) a fair amount of breathing room for interpretation, and lots of fun to be had.  I’m fascinated to see the show tackle this new challenge.

My Wish List for Season 5

When I say “wish list”, I don’t mean to imply a series of demands.  I have no creative control over the adaptation, and I’m not listing these wishes in the vain hope that someone on the production team will notice.  This is just for fun, and I will be perfectly content if none of these make it into the show.  Also, not all of these are pulled from the book; some of them are just things I would love to see.

So here are my top ten wishes, in no particular order:

Roger the Fangirl.  In the midst of all the Roger-hate this past season, the OL fandom has forgotten one crucial fact: Roger is the ultimate J/C shipper.  This romantic idiot is the whole reason that Claire went back in time to find Jamie!  You’d think Jamie’s fists would have beaten the ship right out of Roger, but if last season proves anything, it’s that Roger doesn’t give up easily.  He’s gonna keep shipping like his life depends on it, and there are some really cute moments in TFC where he fangirls over how adorable Jamie and Claire are together (also, Jamie is going to become his new idol).  I suppose it would be unrealistic to hope that he and Murtagh form a fan club next season...?

Brothers and Sisters.  Am I the only one who wanted to scream when Brianna and Fergus were right next to each other in the Wilmington jail and they didn’t acknowledge each other?  By the end of S4, we don’t even know whether Fergus and Marsali know about Bree’s existence (I mean, Fergus helped capture Bonnet, but he and Marsali didn’t say a word about Bree), and that frustrates me to no end.  The books skipped over the getting-to-know-you stuff too, which is crazy considering that they are siblings (adopted or not)!  I would kill for a scene where Jamie and Claire are struggling to explain why they have a fully-grown daughter, as well as some bonding time between siblings.  Bree and Marsali are definitely going to get along, cause badass women stick together.

The Snake Bite.  The snake bite incident (aftermath included) is one of my favorite sequences in TFC.  It brings Roger and Jamie closer together, it shows the courage of the Fraser women in a crisis, and it rallies the entire Ridge community in their worry for Jamie.  I suppose it’s sadistic of me, but I loved watching everyone freak out when they thought Jamie was going to die or lose a leg.  And then the 20th century women come to the rescue!  An entire episode dedicated to that whole plotline would be amazing.

Grannie and Grand-da.  Claire and Jamie are not only adorable as grandparents, they’re relatable AF.  They might love their new grandson to pieces, but that’s not going to stop them from being honest about the realities of childcare.  Jamie in particular is hilarious; he builds an entire house at top speed to get away from the screeching baby (and his newly reunited parents), and then he compares Bree unflatteringly to the white sow (not to her face, of course; see Chapter 30 for a good laugh).  I’d love to see that side of Jamie and Claire next season.

Wolf’s Brother.  We might have said a tearful goodbye to Young Ian in the S4 finale, but we haven’t seen the last of him.  My guess is that he’s going to make a dramatic reappearance in the S5 finale, but I really hope we see him before then.  Showing Young Ian’s time among the Mohawk would give Outlander a chance to showcase the amazing First Nations actors that appeared in S4 (Braeden Clarke, anyone?) as well as explore how Ian slowly blends his Highland upbringing with Mohawk customs.

Claire the Science Nerd.  So far all of Claire’s medical expertise has been utilized in life-or-death situations, but establishing a medical practice on the Ridge gives her the opportunity to geek out over plants and experiment in reproducing 20th century medicine in the 18th century.  Over the course of TFC, she gives genetics lessons, performs two tonsillectomies, and produces penicillin (among other things).  This passion for her craft is one of the reasons I love Claire so much.  And her nerd moments aren’t always serious: one of my favorite scenes in the book features Claire and her microscope giving Jamie a hilarious lesson in reproductive biology.

Fraser’s Ridge.  We didn’t get to see much of the Ridge community in S4, although Jamie did allude to the farmers who contributed the grain to make whisky.  The community is comprised of a growing array of Scottish immigrants, and the drama they bring to Claire and Jamie’s lives wavers between amusing and disastrous.  I don’t think the show will have time to explore the entire cast of characters, but I’m hoping to see Thomas Christie and his children introduced, at least.  I’ve always found Tom Christie a strangely compelling character; his children, on the other hand, are nothing more than a necessary evil.  I also really hope we meet the twins, Josiah and Keziah Beardsley (Lizzie’s story is about to get really interesting).

The MacKenzie Bloodline.  Despite all the time-traveling she’s been doing, Claire has yet to meet any of her ancestors (that we know of...  DG might be holding out on us).  Roger, on the other hand, is not going to be so lucky (if you’ve read all eight books, you’ll know that Roger runs into his ancestors A LOT).  By the end of S4, I’m not sure Jamie is aware that his daughter is married to Geillis Duncan and Dougal MacKenzie’s descendant, but I wanna be there when he and Murtagh find out (a perfect opportunity for some good dialogue and tension).  And while Roger may be able to explain his ancestry to Jamie and Murtagh (both of whom are fully aware of the existence of time travel), he’s not going to be able to give the same explanation to Jocasta.  In the beginning of TFC, there’s a really great conversation between Jocasta and Roger where Jocasta is kinda fishing around for clues about Roger’s family.  Roger, of course, can’t tell her that he’s actually her great-great-grandnephew (give or take a few ‘great’s).  My hope is that the show includes some version of this conversation and continues to play around with Roger’s MacKenzie heritage (and all its implications).

Future Talk.  With three time-travelers in the family, there’s bound to be some discussion of the future.  Especially with the tension mounting in North Carolina and Murtagh aligning himself with the Regulators.  I am yearning for some deep discussion between Jamie, Murtagh, and the travelers about the events to come.  I have a hunch that either Claire or Bree has already informed Murtagh about the American Revolution, based on a comment he made to Jocasta about a “different ending”, but I want to see it actually played out on screen.  The interplay between the characters who know the future and those who don’t is fascinating to me, and I want more of it.

Jamie the Protector.  Jamie’s protective instincts have had some disastrous consequences this past season, but he is going to redeem himself next season.  Early on in TFC, Jamie claims Roger as the “son of his house”, and he proceeds to stand by that claim throughout the book, especially in the aftermath of Roger’s wrongful hanging at the hands of Governor Tryon.  This time, Jamie’s protective feelings aren’t going to result in a beating, though it’s a close call.  I love this shift, from Jamie beating Roger to Jamie protecting/avenging Roger; it’s a very satisfying development.

Bonus: Geese.  Brianna and Roger may have a child together, but they have never lived together as a married couple.  They also don’t have very much experience being in a serious relationship (S4 showed us that they really don’t know how to argue properly).  However, they have both grown up quite a bit since their hand fasting, and you get to see them learning how to coexist in Chapter 33 of TFC.  It’s a great scene, where Roger’s just come back with the militia, and he and Bree have a meaningless fight because she hasn’t had it easy since the militia left.  But they resolve their argument peacefully as Bree vents her frustrations to Roger and gives him a drawing of some geese as a Christmas present.  A really wonderful everyday moment.

There are, of course, more things I’d like to see, but these are my favorites.  I thought I’d list them out now, since this is going to be a LONG Droughtlander, and I am sure to get obsessed with something else eventually (the new A Discovery of Witches show looks promising).  Also, I’m going to temporarily forget about Season 5 if Bees comes out first.

What are your wishes for Season 5?  If you choose to respond, please be kind and respectful.

[idratherstayslytherin]

Re-writing the story I once wrote, but not really

Some of you may remember my fic “The Feelings We Can’t Let Go”.

It began as a head canon, then the lovely person on tumblr wrote the more put together version of it. We decided to write the fic together. It was going well until university and UK fucked me over. During this whole madness my co-writer disappeared from tumblr and I can’t contact her. I have tried it many times. She didn’t reply. I started writing the fic myself determined to finish it, but my life is hell rn and I don’t have the time to write the two last chapters. I do have the outline and hopefully after i start earning money and start actually getting better mentally and studying and money wise, I’ll finish it. For now I went back to the first version of the headcanon I made  with my co-writer and noticed A LOT OF GRAMMAR mistakes as well as some things that weren’t making sense. I wanted to re write this kind of first chapter, so I did. I added a lot of new text, fixed all the mistakes that I could see and ta da! There you have it. You have to be happy with just this until I have the time to finish this damn fic. I want it to be enjoyable, but also make sense, maybe even help people with their own problems, I want it to seem real and I want it to be a lovely love story. I’m a romantic shoot me. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it <3 I love reading your comments. Also if any artist wants to idk make a fanart of my work now or after I finish this damn fic and have a beta read  it , then feel free to do so. Okay, I’m talking way too much, just STFU Ola, no one wants to listen to you rumble :D 

//////////////

Harry felt like he should have wanted to go back to Hogwarts. Even worse, he knew he should go back there. But he just couldn’t convince himself, not even with Hermione and Ginny returning. Then again, Ron wasn’t going back either, and he didn’t even feel guilty about it, not even after Hermione talked to him about the importance of learning and getting the best possible results in their NEWTs. He got a bit of yelling too, but Hermione directed most of it at Ron, leaving Harry to deal with an angry and sad Ginny, who wanted him to go back.

But there they were on the first of September at King’s Cross station saying their goodbyes and waving after the Hogwarts Express before apparating back to Grimmauld Place. Ron had no intentions of spending the year at the Burrow, it was too far away from London, and he wanted to help George out at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley. He also admitted that he couldn’t really deal with his parents’ grief, and Harry was more than happy to offer him accommodation, not only because Ron was his best mate, but he really needed the company. Grimmauld Place might have looked a lot less gloomy since they renovated it, spending all June and most of July sorting and chucking out old furniture and artefacts, knocking down some of the walls (this being the only way of getting rid of the horrible yelling portrait of Sirius’ mother), and painting the rest in brighter shades, the house was still way too big for one person.

Soon, having turned Hogwarts down, Harry found himself obliged to decide on what he wanted to do with his life or at least the foreseeable future. Of course everyone expected him to become an auror, it seemed like the most obvious choice, but despite admittedly being interested in the job back in their fifth year, he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted to go along with it. He might have defeated Voldemort, but was that really what he was destined to do all his life? Hunt down dark wizards?

He decided on meeting with Kingsley to discuss further possibilities. After getting detailed information about all of jobs he recommended to Harry, and spending three days straight going through the descriptions, forms and books he got, he was sure he would either want to become an Unspeakable or a Curse-breaker. He would have been happy to dive back into his books and papers to choose one of the two jobs. However Ron was already complaining about the whole house being littered with the papers; how Harry did nothing except sit on the couch, read and compare and read and compare; so Harry decided to give himself some time to consider his choice, meanwhile enjoying his freedom.

Do you seriously want to be an Unspeakable?" Ron asked, his mouth full. This was the only part of the last few days he was enjoying, the takeaway they had every evening. "You can never shut up about what you are doing. Do you really think you could go without telling anyone anything about your job?"

"Probably not." Harry shrugged, picking up another slice of pizza. "Though I guess I’ll have to, and it will be worth it.

"C’mon, Curse-breaking seems much more interesting. I’d go with that without hesitation."

"Well then why don’t you? And let me become who I want to be?" Harry snapped. He ate the last bit of pizza, and wiped his hands. " Sorry I didn’t mean that, I’m tired. " He apologised as soon as he realised Ron said nothing that should have angered him. He rubbed his eyes.

"Hardly surprising, you barley slept these past few days, mate, seriously. Just forget about this job thing for a while, it isn’t going to do you any good. Besides, it’s not like you have to start work instantly, you have enough money to live happily for the rest of your life."

"I did sleep last night." Harry protested, deciding not to comment on the money part, as what Ron said was true, he did have a vault full of money. His friend didn’t, and even though he offered to help them, they never accepted it. What he also didn’t mention was that even though he did get a bit of sleep, he kept waking up from nightmares, and if it hadn’t been for the coffee he had every two hours, he would have nodded off halfway through the day.  The nightmares, and pretty much everything else connected to the war were one of those topics they avoided. It sometimes resulted in uncomfortable silences, Harry agreed that it was better this way.

"I wonder who else from our year is going back to school." Ron said, changing the topic. "I know Neville decided to do the auror training. And Seamus isn’t going back either, he said something about opening some pub in Diagon."

"I think I heard Dean was going back."

"Oh yeah I heard that too. And Padma and Parvati. I don’t know about anyone else though."

"Me neither. I only know that most of the Slytherins aren’t returning, a lot of them got house arrests with their parents and stuff like that."

"Malfoy?"

"House arrest, in France. But I think he will be taking NEWTs."

"He deserves to rot in Azkaban with his father" Ron scowled.

"He isn’t that bad. I mean he did save my life once" Harry said, though he didn’t sound too sure about it. He might not have despised him as much as he did before, but it was still Malfoy.

"Yeah, and then you saved his, so don’t get any funny ideas of owing him or anything" Ron told him, making Harry grin, Ron knew him more than anyone else. He did feel like he owed Malfoy, a bit at least, but he guessed that speaking in his favour at the trials made them equal.

"Alright" Harry laughed. He vanished the empty pizza boxes, and stood up, yawning. "I’m tired, let’s pack it in for the day."

"I second that" Ron stood up as well, and the two friends made their way upstairs to their bedrooms, Ron in one of the guest ones, Harry sleeping in Sirius’s old room.

Days passed, Harry visited Kingsley once again, then spent another day reading before eventually deciding on Curse-breaking, which seemed ideal for him except for one small thing: he needed an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Which was impossible to say the least with his skill and knowledge. So he went to the Ministry again, and consulted with several people before agreeing to let them find him a tutor.

He ended up spending a week doing whatever he wanted, before he got any news on the matter. He visited Ron and George; he went to Muggle London; he started repainting Sirius’s old motorbike that Arthur fixed for him, leaving the finishing touches for Harry. He also sat around at home, waiting for Ginny’s face to appear in the fireplace, so she could tell him about school, and he could tell her how much he missed her. He also thought about who will be chosen as his tutor. Was it going to be some weird old Potions master like Slughorn or someone distant and cold, but really talented and intelligent like Snape, or maybe just someone of his age, who was better at the subject than him? The Ministry owl arrived on Friday, with the name and address of his tutor. But something was wrong, the address was somewhere in France. And the name was Draco Lucius Malfoy.

"Are you kidding me? Malfoy?"  Ron asked horrified, when he read through the letter Harry shoved into his face as soon as he got home that evening. "Don’t tell me there isn’t anyone else in the whole wizarding world who could help you in Potions. Why did they have to choose that git?"

"I have no idea" Harry sighed. "But it’s not just that. Why France? Why can’t it be someone here in London? I don’t speak French, I don’t know anyone there, it just doesn’t make any sense."

"Can’t you ask the Ministry to find you someone else?"

"Already tried. But apparently Malfoy is the best solution, as we know each other, and we would both benefit from it."

"Both benefit from it?! How would you both benefit from it? What would Malfoy benefit from it? You are lucky to actually learn something if you don’t get killed, but how can he benefit from it?"

"Search me" Harry rolled his eyes.

"When are you leaving?"

"I have a Portkey for next Wednesday."

"Wednesday? But that’s less than a week!"

"I know, but I guess I’ll just have to do it, no matter what."

"This sucks, mate."

"I know. If I don’t get an O after this, I swear I’ll be using some Unforgivables on some people."

The next few days passed quickly, way too quickly in Harry’s opinion, and soon he found himself at the Ministry, looking at the corkscrew on the table, his belongings in his pocket, all shrunken.

"Here goes nothing" he muttered, before taking hold of the charmed corkscrew, and letting it transport him in only a few seconds to his destination: a little French town.

From what he saw on his walk to the Malfoys’ place (Kingsley thought it would be safer for him to arrive outside the town for whatever reason), he thought it could have been England, the small cottages were no different from those they had back there. The one Malfoy and Narcissa were living in was just like the others, a simple Muggle house. The Ministry told him that he would be staying there in a spare bedroom made for him with the help of the expansion charm, until he mastered the needed level of potionmaking, practising in Malfoy's lab. Apart from this, all he knew was that Narcissa had a Muggle job helping out at a clothes shop in the town, and Draco also worked a bit from home, neither of them allowed to leave the boundaries the Ministry had set, and neither of them possessing a wand.

Narcissa greeted him when he arrived, looking as pale and tired as ever, and much to Harry’s surprise wearing a simple blouse and jeans, something he never thought he’d see her in. She showed him around the house before retreating to the living room where she was sorting through some papers, telling him that Malfoy was in his room, and that he should make himself comfortable in the his bedroom. Harry thanked her, and did as she suggested, unpacking, and quickly Flooing Ron and Ginny before lying down, hoping for a decent night’s sleep, not only so he would have all the energy he needed for next day to face Malfoy, but because he would have felt extremely embarrassed if he had woken up screaming from his nightmares like he did sometimes. Then again, a simple muffliato charm should do for the latter.

Next day he woke up feeling surprisingly fresh and well-rested, that didn't mean he was ready to study Potions. With Malfoy. In France. When he could have been at home, spending time with his friends, or just enjoying his freedom.

But then he reminded himself he needed this to get the job he wanted, so gritting his teeth, he headed downstairs to where Narcissa said the lab was, where his old nemesis was already waiting for him.

"Malfoy" he greeted him, sitting down at the table looking around. The walls were filled with shelves of books and tiny bottles, each of them full of liquids of different colours, labelled neatly. The work space however, was empty except for two cauldrons and a copy of a simple Potions schoolbook. Harry's eyes shifted towards Malfoy, who looked pretty much the same as he did the last time Harry saw him, apart from his white-blonde hair being longer, the strands escaping his elegant hair. He also seemed much thinner, Harry noticed, he must have lost at least 20 pounds, it made the boy's features much sharper and angled than they were before.

"Potter." he nodded, restraining himself from scowling, sitting down opposite to Harry. "So, I’ve heard the Chosen One may not be as perfect as everyone thought so. Problems with Potions? Seriously?"

"Shut up Malfoy!" Harry snapped. He wasn’t expecting any different, but it still angered him that the other boy was already getting under his skin.

"Whatever, Potter." Malfoy shrugged. "But then don’t expect to get anything better than a D." He smirked.

"Fine." Harry said angrily.  "Just shut up about other things and let’s get on with it.  I get it, I won’t pass the stupid exam without the help of perfect Draco Malfoy, who is the best Ministry-recommended tutor in the whole Wizarding world, but we’d make better progress if you actually started explaining things" he snarled.

For a moment Harry thought this would be the end, and Malfoy would stalk out, but after glaring at each other, the blonde broke the eye contact and opened the course book without any further ado, and started explaining everything, starting from the very basics. Harry soon found, that even though he would never admit it to anyone else, Malfoy was a good teacher. He cleared up some things Harry previously didn't understand; and apart from the snarky comments, he was almost patient. Well he did snap and start shouting and swearing when Harry messed up a potion even after trying several times, but still. He was way better than what Harry had expected.

Soon they developed a daily routine which consisted of going down to have breakfast on their own, avoiding each other; having a short, theoretical lesson in the morning; having lunch on their own; a longer practical lesson in the afternoon; spending time on their own; then having dinner on their own, except for when Narcissa insisted that they should sit together, which usually resulted in glares and uncomfortable silences.

But Harry was definitely improving at potions, and after all, that was what mattered. As two weeks passed, and October was drawing nearer, Harry found himself tired of arguing with Malfoy, and the other boy must have felt the same way, because all of a sudden the nasty remarks were gone, and they were actually capable of spending time in one room without wanting to kill one another. This definitely was an improvement. Malfoy would actually compliment him if he did something right, and Harry would smile at him. They didn’t try so hard to avoid each other in the time between the lessons, but actually greeted each other, and sometimes even stopped to have short conversations. Nothing too serious or deep, only little things, but this was already much better, Harry realised that Malfoy’s company was actually quite alright sometimes, now that they weren’t constantly arguing.

Weeks passed, and Harry was getting used to living there, and as now he felt more comfortable around the Malfoys, he decided it was time to change some things. He started going for walks around the town and the countryside. He spent a bit more time with Malfoy, they stayed in the lab every so often after the lessons and just talked. One evening Harry even asked Narcissa if he could cook something. They have been eating takeaway pretty much everyday, and Harry didn’t mind it, but after over a month, he had to admit it, it was getting a little repeatable, and he was craving a home-made meal.

Narcissa was surprised, but happy to let Harry work in the kitchen, so after making a quick supply run to the shop around the corner to get all the ingredients he needed for the curry, his favourite dish, he occupied the kitchen.

As he started heating the oil and chopping up the onions, the unmistakable smell of cooking filled his nose, he realised how much he missed it. Cooking was one of those things the Dursleys made him do, but he didn’t really mind it when he was making food for himself or his friends, and after seven years at Hogwarts without cooking, he enjoyed experimenting with all kinds of recipes that he learned from Muggle cook books.

He had started dicing the meat when he grew aware of someone watching him. As he looked up, he saw Malfoy standing in the doorway, watching him.

"You know, it’s not too polite to stare" he said, smirking at the boy. "And do try to be more secretive if you want to look at me." He added, grinning as he saw Malfoy blush, which was definitely something he hadn’t expected to see. Ever. But now that he did, he couldn't stop laughing, making the blonde boy blush even harder, his normally pale face was a deep shade of red. "You should see your face now!" he choked out, holding onto the counter as he tried to calm down, suppressing the laughter that was bubbling in his stomach. Malfoy just stood by the door, glaring at him, his face still flushed. "I’m just messing with you, no need to plan my death" he said with a shy grin as he finally stopped laughing, and went back to chopping the meat, but still keeping one eye on the other boy.

"I wasn’t. I never did. Plan your death, I mean." Malfoy said quietly. Harry looked up and saw that the boy's face was serious. Harry swallowed thickly and nodded, not knowing what to say, so he just kept staring at him, green eyes locked onto the pair of grey ones.

"So, do you want me to show you how to cook?" Harry broke the silence, moving to one side so Malfoy had his space at the counter, offering the boy a little smile. The blonde boy hesitated, running one hand through his hair, and chewing on his bottom lip, which caught Harry’s attention for some reason, he couldn’t explain, he looked away embarrassed, afraid of being caught staring. Malfoy made his way over to the counter. Harry carried on cutting up the meat, giving the other boy smaller tasks, explaining why he did things the way he did, and within half an hour the spicy scent of the simmering curry was filling the room. After tidying up, Harry sat down on one of the chairs, fanning himself with a piece of newspaper that was laying on the dining table, his gaze fluttering to the other boy, who was pouring himself a glass of water, before leaning back onto the counter, flushed, but this time from the heat of the cooking, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his hair messy and curly from the vapour, making the lines of his face look softer. Harry didn't even know why he thought of that, shaking his head, he stood up, and started setting the table.

"So where did you learn how to cook?" Malfoy asked him, his tone genuinely curious, something Harry still wasn’t completely used to.

"The Dursleys, you know, my foster parents made me cook for them, so I had to, but I actually always enjoyed it a bit." He shrugged.

"They made you cook for them?" Malfoy asked, sounding horrified.

"That wasn’t the worst part. I had to do all the cleaning too, I could never go anywhere. I had to pretend that I didn’t exist whenever they had guests over, and I lived in the broom closet until I was eleven."

"You lived in the broom closet?!" The blonde boy echoed, his voice raised. Harry nodded.  "That’s even worse than how we used to treat our house-elves. At least they had proper bedrooms."

Harry just shrugged again, and went to serve the dinner without a word, he didn’t understand why Malfoy was so shocked by how the Dursleys have treated him, or why he cared at all. Dinner passed quietly, apart from Narcissa complimenting Harry on the curry, but otherwise they ate in a silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was just strange. He noticed Malfoy looking at him few times, but he always looked away when Harry caught him staring. When they finished eating, Harry did the washing up by magic, not wanting to spend the rest of the evening scrubbing pans, something Draco watched almost in awe, telling Harry his wand was taken by the Ministry, and how he missed using magic, how strange doing everything manually was.

They carried on talking, and walked up the stairs together, but when they stopped on the landing, instead of parting ways, Malfoy asked Harry whether he could explain Muggle technology to him, and Harry was happy to do that, so he followed the other boy into his bedroom. He was surprised to see that the room wasn’t much different from the one he was staying in, except for having more books and other bits of things. But the walls were plain white, the bed wasn’t the posh four-poster he was expecting, and wasn’t covered in Slytherin green sheets with silver lining. It was just a simple bedroom.

"What were you expecting, Potter?" Draco smirked, and Harry realised he must have been staring in shock.  "This isn’t Malfoy Manor."

"I don’t know. I just thought it would be more like you."

"More like me? And what’s that like?"

"Well definitely not this" Harry said, gesturing around the room.

"Oh and you know me so well that you are positive that I loved Malfoy Manor and now couldn’t stand living somewhere that wasn’t green and grey and silver and black and full of snake-patterns" Draco snorted.

"That’s not what I… oh never mind" Harry rolled his eyes, already feeling irritated with Malfoy, but also himself for thinking that they could actually spend time together properly, without things like this. He was on the verge of walking back to his own bedroom, when he noticed that Malfoy wasn’t glaring at him, he was smirking. Harry sighed, and flopped down onto the bed next to the boy, and started telling him how toasters and TVs and computers worked. He actually enjoyed it more than he thought he would, and he was surprised to see that Malfoy wasn’t being difficult, but genuinely curious and interested, and would listen to Harry’s explanations without interrupting, only showering him with questions afterwards, a fascinated smile spreading over his face, Harry thought that Malfoy was much nicer this way, smiling, friendly, patient and interested in almost a childlike way.

They made this a regular thing, often making breakfast or dinner together, and spending hours before going to sleep talking about Muggle things, and sometimes bringing up other topics as well, and Harry realised he was starting to enjoy Malfoy’s company.

Harry was also improving in Potions, he was now able to make quite a lot of decent ones, and Malfoy was almost proud of him. However then he accidentally burned the cauldron down, causing the blonde boy to give him silent treatment and avoid him after yelling at him about being irresponsible and hopeless.

But after a day of ignoring each other they called truce, and went back to doing things together. This was when Harry realised actually how much time they spent together, and how he talked to Ron or Hermione and Ginny less and less, calling the girls late that evening, feeling guilty. Hermione told him about the lessons, and asked him questions about potions, she was happy with his progress, reminding him again how important it was, and that he needed to carry on. She then left Harry to talk to Ginny privately. They talked about school mostly, and how they missed each other, and how Harry had to go home for Christmas, because Ginny couldn’t go any longer without talking to him properly, face to face, or kissing him, or touching him, and before saying goodbye, Ginny pulled her shirt up, teasing Harry, saying all kinds of dirty words she could think of, leaving the boy with a hard-on. He was too embarrassed to wank, being separated from Malfoy by only one thin wall.

He kept thinking about Ginny, even though he didn’t call her for some time, thinking how things would be when they both got back home. Will they get married straight away? Will they have kids? And if yes, how many? He missed her, a lot, but he had to admit, these thoughts were scaring him slightly. He knew Ron and Hermione were planning on getting married and moving in together when Hermione graduated, but Harry wasn’t sure if he could imagine himself settling down already and becoming a father.

In the end he found himself in the lab, as he did quite often for some time now, deciding it was the best time to practice, trying to make some dreamless sleep for himself, but failing, which meant he could only hope for a decent night’s sleep without nightmares, even though he knew it was unlikely.

He did seem to have less nightmares than before, but now when he did, they were the worst ever, and he would wake up screaming, and couldn’t go back to sleep properly afterwards, and would be stressed and irritable all day. He just really hoped Malfoy never heard him screaming, embarrassed even by the thought of it. One night he felt two unfamiliar firm hands shaking him awake, and a voice, unsure yet steady telling him to breathe, and how it only had been a dream, and finally when Harry was calm enough, handing him a vial of dreamless sleep, he thought he never could have been more thankful, even though he was indeed extremely embarrassed.

Malfoy gave him dreamless sleep and that was all that mattered, because he slept until 1 PM next day, and when he woke up, he feels much better than other mornings, except for the sadness and anger that lingered from the nightmare, but he was used to that. He didn’t even want to get up from bed, he wanted to just stay there and disappear, somehow slip into nonexistence. It was mostly on the days after his nightmares, but sometimes even on just ordinary days, that he thought of what it would have been like to stay dead. He knew some people would have missed him, but with the Horcrux in him destroyed, the world didn’t need him anymore. And it wasn’t bad, it didn’t hurt at all, Sirius had been right, he didn’t feel anything. It didn’t really feel like being dead. It didn’t feel like anything to be honest. But he came back, even though he wasn’t sure he should have.

He decided to go and tell Malfoy that he wasn’t in the mood to study, but he didn’t find the boy in his bedroom or the lab or anywhere else. Or at least anywhere he was expecting to find him, he realised why as he entered the kitchen, there stood Malfoy he was cooking something by the stove, it smelt amazing. The smell of cinnamon mixed with apples and something sweet filled Harry's nose.

"Hi." he said quietly, stopping in the doorway.

"Hey," Malfoy looked up to greet him. "You look like shit" he informed him. Harry snorted. He didn’t need Malfoy to tell him that. He felt like shit.  "I’m making you food. Sit."

"What?  Harry looked up at him, shocked, unsure if he heard him right. Malfoy was making him breakfast. Malfoy. For him. How did this even happen? And why?

"Can’t you ever do just one thing you’re asked for?" The blonde boy asked, rolling his eyes. "Are you really that much of a rebel?" He asked, as he watched Harry sit down, still dazed, he smiled. His voice was softer than the usual, and Harry couldn't understand why. He continued to stare at the blonde boy in complete shock, until the latter lets out a soft chuckle, and told him to stop staring at him with his mouth open. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm in embarrassment, and he mumbled something Malfoy couldn't quite make sense of. Harry dropped his gaze to the table, and toyed with the spoon. He runhis hand through his hair which was messier than usual, he didn’t even try to comb it as he was planning to go back to bed. He felt Malfoy's eyes on him. Harry turned his head to meet the blonde boy's gaze just as Malfoy turned away.

Malfoy sat down opposite to Harry, handing him his breakfast and a cup of coffee, he himself only drinking tea.

They sat in silence, the blonde watching Harry eat.

"We don’t have to study today" he said, breaking the silence. Harry just nodded, still confused by the boy’s kindness, and carried on eating.  As he finished, he watched Malfoy sipping his tea, gazing out of the window. He looked different, Harry thought, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the difference, the only thing he noticed was that his hair was messier than usual. That couldn’t have made such a big difference, it was more than that. It was something about his whole face, all of his features. But mostly his eyes. His eyes were definitely different, no longer cold and distant, but almost soft. Harry watched his eyes fixed on the garden outside, the shape of the window reflected in the sliver greyness. The practically white eyelashes around his eyes. His pale, porcelain-like skin. The pointiness of his nose. The pinkness of his lips, that for once weren’t frowning. His perfect jawline. The way his shoulder length hair fell onto his shoulders. Harry thought he was beautiful. He felt weird had just thought that, but as he continued to look at the boy, he couldn’t help but admit it. He also couldn't help but notice how his heart was hammering in his chest. He tore his gaze away from the boy and looked back down at the table. What was wrong with him? Why was he finding Malfoy attractive? He swallowed hard, allowing himself another glance at the boy. He noticed the longing in his eyes, the sadness on his face, and he realised, Malfoy must be missing being outdoors. Of course he must miss being outside! He had been in the house arrest for over a year.

Harry couldn't stop thinking how terrible it must be, not being able to go out, and within a minute the idea pops in his mind. He stood up abruptly and told Malfoy he’d be back in a sec. He rushed up to the bedroom and called Kingsley on the Floo, begging him to allow Malfoy leave the house with him, explaining what a great teacher he was, and telling the Minister that he trusted him. He didn’t actually realise all of this before he said it out loud, but it was true. He trusted Malfoy, especially after he gave Harry dreamless sleep and made him breakfast. He deserved something good. Harry was really pleased with himself when Kingsley permitted him to open the doors and go somewhere with Malfoy. He had to make him a promise that he’d look out for the blonde and would be careful, which Harry promised he would. He quickly packed few things and rushed back down to the kitchen.

Malfoy looked up startled as Harry re-entered the kitchen, his expression soon turning to shock, as Harry told him to get up because they were going out.

"What do you mean ‘out’?" He asked, looking at Harry in confusion.

"I talked to Kingsley" Harry shrugged, as if it was nothing, already making his way to the door, unlocking it, and casting several counter spells that would let Draco out as well. The blonde boy followed him, still shocked and surprised, but as he stepped outside and inhaled the fresh air and felt the breeze tug at his hair, he just closed his eyes and let a smile spread across his face. Gosh, how he had missed this. Harry stood looking at him, smiling, thinking how gorgeous Malfoy looked with the strands of blonde hair flowing around his face. No. He wasn’t gorgeous, Harry thought, feeling angry with himself, feeling like his thoughts were betraying him.

"There’s a beach a few miles from here" Draco spoke up.

"Are you suggesting we go there?" Harry asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"thought that was obvious" Draco smirked, and Harry grinned at him as they set off. They walked in silence, until Draco spoke again.  "Thanks. For taking me out." He said quietly. Harry looked up at him.  "And everything" the boy carried on.  "Testifying for my mother. Saving my life in that room."

Harry didn’t say anything for a few moments. The situation was so strange, Malfoy sounded so honest and so vulnerable, and he just didn’t quite know what to say.

"I did what I thought had to be done." He said in the end.  "And… I never thought you deserved Azkaban." He added after a pause, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes. "You saved me too, at the Manor."

"I should have done more" the blonde boy whispered.  "I was a coward. I still am. I should have helped." The words spilled out of Draco, no louder than the wind whistling in their ears, and if Harry hadn’t seen his lips moving, he wouldn’t have believed that he heard what he heard. He watched the boy’s face, noticing the way his eyes were shining, tears flooding them. "I deserved all they planned for me at the trial. You should have left me there, but I guess you can’t stop yourself from saving people’s lives, even if you hate them." He said, a sad smile on his face, Harry found it heart wrenching. He swallowed thickly, once again lost for words. He wanted to tell him that it wasn’t true, that he didn’t deserve to be punished, that he didn’t hate him. He wanted to squeeze his hand and tell him it was okay. But he didn’t, instead he kept quiet, and carried on walking.

Neither of them said anything on the rest of the way to the beach. It was quite a long walk, they both stopped to catch their breaths as they arrived at the end of the cliff from where the carved steps led down to the beach. Harry had been going out for strolls around the area, but he felt a little exhausted after the walk, and Draco, who had been indoors for ages was clutching his side, but it was definitely worth it.

The view was beautiful, the sun was just starting to set, tainting the sky pink and orange, the warm light reflecting on the surface of the water, the white cliffs and the pale sand on the shore making the picture perfect. It was breezy, but not too much, just enough to ripple the surface of the ocean and to catch in their hair.

They made their way down to the beach, Harry spread out the blankets he brought with him, before sitting down, Malfoy following him, they sat down, watching the sky together.

"I miss Sirius." Harry suddenly blurted out, not even knowing why he said it, regretting it immediately.

"Your godfather?" Malfoy asked, not looking at him, messing around with a stick he found in the sand. Harry nodded, and lied back on the blanket.

"He and Remus were the only people who made me feel like-" He took sharp intake of breath. "-like I still had a piece of my parents with me" he sighed. He didn’t know why he was telling Malfoy this, but he couldn't stop himself. As the blonde boy seemed genuinely curious, Harry carried on talking, telling him about third year, how he met Sirius, and about Peter Pettigrew, and the Marauders Map, and about the Order of the Phoenix, and everything Sirius told him about his parents. Malfoy listened intensely, asking questions every so often, being very careful not to cross the boundaries.

"I’m sorry they aren’t around anymore." Malfoy simply said when Harry stopped talking. He tilted his head to the side, looking at Malfoy’s face, studying his expression, but he couldn't see anything except for honesty and sadness, and something slightly even like an affection. He felt like crying, but he didn't want to cry in front of the other boy. He knew he should feel angry, after all if Malfoy hadn’t let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, if his father hadn’t been there at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius and Remus could still be have been alive, but that’s too many ‘if’s. Harry thought of asking Malfoy what his intentions actually were, or something, but he chose to keep silent.

"I’m going swimming" he announced after laying around for a while, he stood up, already taking his shirt off.

"Are you crazy? It must be minus twenty down there°C!" Draco exclaimed, sitting up.

"Yeah, sure, minus two hundred." Harry chuckled. "Chill Malfoy ." Harry rolled his eyes, shucking his jeans as well, making his way to the water, ignoring the feeling of the other boy’s eyes on him.

"Come back here you prat, I don't fancy being framed for your death. It’s dark and it’s cold and you will drown. We can come back here tomorrow and then you can do whatever you want." Malfoy called after him, making Harry laugh.

"If you are so worried about me, come with me" he snorted, stepping into the water, leaning down and splashing it over his body, before carrying on walking deeper into the water. He was in knee-deep when Malfoy caught up with him, stopping at the side of the water. Harry went in even deeper, looking back and shooting a grin at Malfoy. "You better take that shirt off if you want to rescue me when I drown."

The blonde boy just stood there shaking his head as Harry carried on, the water was now up to his shoulders. He couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the fully clothed Malfoy standing on the beach, and suddenly an idea crossed his mind. What if he faked drowning? Would Malfoy really rush to rescue him? He grinned in anticipation, before going in a bit deeper, and pretending to drown, yelling for help, and sure enough, the blonde was there beside him within seconds, his hands around Harry’s waist.

"You idiot" Malfoy said angrily, letting go of Harry when the brunette burst out laughing.

"And you said I’m the one with a saving people's lives-problem." Harry choked out, still shaking from laughter, clutching his stomach with his arms.

"You’re such an imbecile! We could have both lost our footing! I thought you were really drowning." he sneered, and splashed Harry with water. The other boy splashed him back immediately, still laughing, and soon enough Draco was laughing too. They were splashing each other madly, trying to get away from one another, making their way to the beach.

"Scared?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow as they reached the dry land, still breathless from laughing, clutching each other.

"You wish."  Draco smirked, and chased Harry back to the blankets, ending up on top of Harry, kneeling between the boy’s legs, holding his hands down above his head. "Feeling defeated, Potter? Did I just defeat the Great Harry Potter?

"As if I’d let you." Harry said, wrapping his legs around Malfoy's waist. He knocked the boy over, straddling him, with a triumphant grin, which died down as soon as their eyes met. Until now, Harry didn’t quite realise how close they were, only a few inches between their faces. He was starting to feel uncomfortable, and dropped his gaze, but if anything, this made things worse, as he found himself staring at Malfoy’s chest, his white shirt sticking to his body, the wetness making it almost see-through, the boy’s lean muscles and his hardened nipples visible to Harry, making him blush. What was wrong with him? It was the third time that day that he found the boy extremely attractive.

"Potter…" Malfoy spoke up, sounding a little embarrassed, as he shifted underneath him. Harry didn't get it for a moment, but then he realises he had an unmistakable hardness in his pants, and it was pressing right into the blonde boy’s thigh.

"Shit, I’m sorry, I just…" he stammered, as he stood up as fast as he could.

"Stop, it’s okay. It’s a normal reaction, I guess, I mean you’ve been away from your girlfriend, and…" Malfoy trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, avoiding looking at Harry, who was also avoiding looking anywhere near the other boy.  "Let’s go home. Or do you want me to go and you can just stay here, think of your lovely girlfriend, jerk off, and meet me back at the house" Draco said, picking their stuff up, his words making Harry blush even harder.

"I’m… I’ll be alright" Harry managed to say. Malfoy snorts.

"For Merlin’s sake, just stay here, and follow me back when you-" "fuck, just take care of yourself, Potter!" With that said, Malfoy was already turning his back to Harry.

"You are wet. You’ll catch a cold." Harry said desperately, not wanting to make this situation any awkward, which he probably was doing anyway.

"Well then cast a drying charm on me, will you?!" Malfoy looked angry. Why was he like that? He was sneering at Harry, Harry felt like they were back at Hogwarts and Malfoy was about to make one of his snarky comments that always boiled Harry's blood. "You are the one with a wand, you arse!" He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. "if you are so concerned about my health then do it." he snapped, and Harry obeyed. As soon as he did, the blonde haired boy turned around and left in a rush without saying another word. What was wrong with him? Why did he get so pricky about all of this?!

He left Harry there on the beach. On his own. With a bulge in his pants. Still painfully pressing to his trousers.

He tried to think of Ginny, he really did, but he couldn’t help it, his thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, Malfoy’s hair flowing in the breeze, and Harry remembered how much he wanted to run his hands through it. The closeness of the boy made his body shiver, his angular face, his soft silver eyes, his flat yet arousing chest… oh Merlin, he felt like he could melt away just thinking of him, however weird it is, and however guilty he felt about not thinking of Ginny. What the fresh hell?! Malfoy was a boy! Harry wasn't gay for crying out loud! How the hell was he getting of to the thoughts of Malfoy?

The next few days passed in their usual routine, making breakfast together, Potions theory, having lunch together, brewing, making dinner together, and talking about Muggle things until it’s time for bed. Neither of them mentioned the day at the beach, and Harry was thankful for that, but he couldn’t stop thinking back to that very day, and what it felt like to be that close to Malfoy. He kept thinking back, and would often get distracted from doing whatever he was just by looking at Malfoy, or listening the way he talked about Potions, with such enthusiasm, or the excitement on his face when he showed Harry a book on Muggle things and told him how he finally understood how something worked, and it dawned on him, that he was growing more and more attracted to him.

It wasn’t just his looks that made Harry want to press the other boy to the wall and snog him senseless, though he didn’t even try to deny how his soft platinum hair and silver eyes drove him crazy, but it was his whole personality. The way he was nice to Harry now, always, but still kept teasing him, and Harry would tease back, and sometimes it occurred him that it felt almost like they were flirting or something. Or how patient and serious he could be as a teacher. Or how clever and intelligent he was, almost like Hermione, but in a different way. Or how he enjoyed just small things, like walking out into the garden when the sun was shining, or finding a new book among his mother’s belongings that he could read, or a nice meal they made together. How honest he could be sometimes. How passionate he would get if he was talking about something that was important to him. How similar his sense of humour was to Harry’s. He felt like they could be friends, like actual friends, who would stay in contact and have fun together even when they weren’t locked up in a small cottage in France together to study Potions. But real friends. And maybe even more, because Harry wanted to touch him again, to feel his soft skin, or his silky looking hair. Malfoy was driving Harry crazy, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

After another week or so Draco told him that he was doing well enough to pass his NEWTs easily, and they decided to go down to the beach once again, before Christmas. They spent the whole day there, taking a basket of food, they swam, but only a bit because the water was much colder by now, they talked and laughed and talked even more, about school, about their childhoods, about Quidditch, anything they thought of. Harry couldn't imagine his life without the blonde boy by now. He thought of how hard it will be for him to leave this bastard. How hard will it be to say goodbye to all their memories. Forget about all that they have accomplished and of course, about the whole attraction thing. Harry didn't even know if maybe he allowed himself do what his mind, and other parts of his body, told him to do, then would he discover something about himself. He found his mind drifting off to this idea while he stared at the blonde looking up to the sky.

As the sky grew darker, covered in thousands of sparkling spots, bright and shining like diamonds, scattered all over the sheet of the night, they lay back on their blankets, and Malfoy started to point the constellations out to Harry, saving his favourite one, his own one, the dragon for last. His voice proud as he told the boy next to him which one it was, which Harry found adorable, and returned the boy’s smirk with a grin of his own. Their eyes met for longer than they have ever held each other's gaze. It was like looking at the other's soul through them, finally seeing the real version of the person they never got the chance to get to know better. Harry wanted to kiss Malfoy. He wanted to throw his arms around the boy and press their lips together. He didn't. Whether it was because he was scared of what would happen if he did or he was scared of what he would become if he made this move. Harry turned his face towards the ground. The moment was ruined.

Sometime after staying quiet for a while, they started to talk about more serious things, and Malfoy told Harry how he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore, and how he only realised then that his parents were wrong, and how all he wanted before was to make his father proud. How he did everything afterwards just so Voldemort wouldn’t kill his parents. How terrible it was to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but how he had no other choice if he wanted his parents to live. What it was like to live at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord. How he wanted to just apparate somewhere where no one knew him and there were no expectations he had to live up to, no war, no pain, no suffering. How he felt like a coward but still didn’t do anything.

Harry saw the tears shining on Malfoy's cheeks, in the moonlight, as he got to the end of his story, and without thinking, he wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him close to himself. Malfoy instantly pulled back as if Harry's touch burned him. He mumbled something about not wanting to be pitied and knowing that he was a coward and a bad person but he wanted to change, and Harry didn’t know what to say, so he just sat there beside him.

Later they lay down on their blankets, and fell asleep next to each other under the starry sky.

When Harry woke up, to the first rays of sunshine stroking his skin, he found himself wrapped around Malfoy's arms, their bodies pressed together. He stayed in those arms for a while, enjoying the warmth that came from Draco's, not Malfoy's, body. Oh how much he wanted to stay here forever and just breath this air, go for long walks, talk to Draco, discover himself, get away from all the stress that England and people there caused him. But he couldn't do it. He felt too obligated to be the man everyone expected him to be. He couldn't just disappear and stay here with the blonde. It would be mad. Besides, he had his friends in England, his girlfriend, probably soon to be wife. He wanted to have a family and a job that he enjoyed, the job that would make him feel more human than just the Savour of Wizarding World. He had to go back home, no matter how much his heart was begging him to stay here and try losing himself in the unknown, something that didn't feel quite possible and normal, in something that was as exciting as scary. Just trying to be happy without all the shit that was going to await for him in London. Harry got up from under the blanket and Draco's arms carefully, making sure he wouldn’t wake the other boy up. He conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, with a deep sigh he started writing a letter. He knew he wasn’t the best with words, especially when they were goodbyes, and writing it all down helped, he could say all the things he could never say face to face. He could thank Draco and promise him he’d talk to Kingsley and find a way for him to come back to England. At least that's what Harry wanted. If he couldn't stay here he wanted to hold on to this unexpected friendship in any way he could. He wrote how he’d wait for Draco, and would want to see him, when he did come back to WIzarding World where Harry would be. Harry realised how much he's going to miss Draco, his smile, his snaky comments, the lessons with him, their midnight or morning walks to the beach, their inside jokes, their conversations, Draco's eyes that at some point became everything Harry could think of, just Draco Malfoy in general, still the same git, but trying to become better.

Harry rolled up his blanket and put it back into the basket along with all of the other scattered bits, and put the letter on top. He looked down  at the boy below him, and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek, feeling the soft skin underneath his lips and smelling the scent he will never be able to get out of his mind, he didn't realise when a warm tear run down his cheek. He shook himself from the trans he was in. Before he got up to his feet and head back to Malfoy's house and then the town to take his Portkey back to London, he took one last look at Draco sleeping peacefully on the beach, Harry once again couldn't breath. If he never again got the chance to see this idiot, he didn't know if he would ever feel understood and complete as much as he did in Draco's presence. He could only hope for the best.

////////////////

Read Chapter Two HERE

[buttercupsfrocks]

Hey, Tumblr, did you know that there’s an Interior Design Police as well as a Fashion Police?! Strangely neither did I until I stumbled upon a listicle entitled 75 Things No Woman Over 50 Should Own on the delusionarily titled bestlifeonline.com. There, along with the usual arbitrary selections of sartorial crimes against humanity, (tracky bottoms, skinny scarves, bolero jackets), were the following:-

Tapestries. (What, even if one designed and made them oneself, comme ça?)

Neon signs.

A piggy bank.

Novelty salt and pepper shakers, (Oops!)

A vinyl tablecloth. 

Novelty pillows. (Dang!)

A rolodex.

Indoor wicker furniture.

A lava lamp. (Who doesn’t love a lava lamp? Not this fully paid up B52s fan, I can assure you).

A dish of seashells.  (D’oh! Missed the memo again).

Framed autographs (yep, got one of those too).

Talk about random. And there’s more; much more. It appears I should have jettisoned my giant pin boards at least twenty years ago, along with my magnifying mirror, stuffed animals, coloured pens, fairy lights, frameless posters, cheap mismatched silverware, decorations based on cartoon characters, mismatched towels, striped wallpaper, tassels, and elaborate keychains. (They’d have a blue fit if they knew that one of my keychains has both a twiddly fake key and a tassel on it). In fact the entire website is little more than an endless litany of stuff you should feel ashamed about owning, wearing, and in some cases, even saying. Like I totes can’t say “totes” – me, a writer, who loves slang so much she has at least a bookshelf-and-a-half dedicated to it. I also can’t say: “OMG”,  “humblebrag”, “talk to the hand”, “fauxpology”, “sorry not sorry”, “I can’t even”, “as if”, “sus”, (a term in common UK parlance among people of all age groups for the duration of my lifetime), “ship”, (fuck you; Spuffy forever), and…wait for it…”adulting”, even though I plainly know a good deal more about doing it than the embarrassingly embarassable twelve year old ninny who probably wrote the article.

And still on the subjects of lists that give me the right royal pip, there’s thelist.com. 

“If you are familiar with Dr Martens, you are too old to wear them.” 

I’m sorry, what now?! 

“We know those Crocs and orthopaedic shoes are super comfy, but they're not doing you any favours. There's something to be said for smart, sensible footwear, but you don't have to sacrifice your style and give away your age just to save yourself a few blisters”.

Unless of course you suffer with any kind of condition that dictates you  have to wear fugly orthopaedic footwear, as numerous older people do. And blisters are the least of my problems, bub. Believe me the bunting and party hats come out when I can persuade anything approaching normal-looking footwear to accommodate my orthotics. Doc Martens are one of the precious few options available to me. I am, incidentally, feeling especially “salty” (another word my age precludes me from using), about this right now as, having discovered I can sometimes wear sandals with a moulded orthotic-like sole, these Office sandals... 

...which I genuinely love and desperately wanted to rock this summer, damn near crippled me when I tried them on. 

For all the blather about older women being able to cast off the shackles of convention and wear what we please, (or whatever the expert du jour thinks is within reason), the same unspoken assumptions that prevail in mainstream ladymedia are present in spades on these websites. Nobody reading could possibly be fat, or if they are they’re assumed to be fighting their poor beleaguered bodies unto death. The only chub ever alluded to, (albeit soto voce), is “middle aged spread”, but only the vestigial kind that can be miraculously rendered  invisible by the belting of an “unflattering” oversized garment in the middle. 

“Show off your curves by adding a cute belt to that dress or coat. It will accentuate your shape and let you still wear those comfortable items in your wardrobe without looking like you're wearing a muumuu.”

Never mind that I quite like wearing a muumuu, far from showing off my curves, belting any of my coats would make me look like the Albert Hall, which while undoubtably a Look, is not one I’m after.  

“Balance is important when it comes to crafting a stylish look. Wearing oversized clothing disrupts that delicate equilibrium and unintentionally ages you.”  

What. Ever. 

The hectoring never lets up. 

“There really is no such thing as grown up glitter when it comes to apparel, so it's best to accept that fact and avoid glittery tops, bottoms, and everything else!” 

“Dressing like the '80s or '90s can be fun for a party, but being attached to a trend from your youth can look tired and disconnected and therefore can make one age themselves.” 

“Large prints, especially on a tight clothing item like leggings, are an avoid-at-all-costs look. They are just too loud and aren't a piece that helps you look your best”

Among the ten items everyday.health.com bans me from wearing on account of my encroaching dotage are “too trendy denim”. Apparently I’m “not in my element” with it so my hard work was all for nought. Also verboten are oversized, overly decorated hobo bags, cheap unflattering underwear; (fat chance of finding cheap underwear in plus-sizes anyway though apparently I should do like the Sainted Gwyneth and wear Spanx under everything. Because she totally needs to and I so enjoy colic); and…wait for it…wait for it...  

...“loud accessories”. This includes, horror of horrors, plastic earrings, which apparently I forfeited the right to wear at 35. (Do they count vintage phenolic, bakelite, and lucite as plastic I wonder? Because if enough rich older women get dissuaded from wearing it I might actually be able to afford some instead of faking it). Instead I’m exhorted to make a... 

“Stunning Substitute: think quality and quantity. Limit yourself to one funky accessory per outfit – as long as it’s well-made. Think a leopard-print scarf, thin silver bangles or a gold clutch to dress up nice jeans and a simple top”. 

Yeah, no. And, by the way here’s a picture of Helen Mirren in quite the loudest plastic necklace I’ve ever seen which, as you can plainly see, ages her terribly. 

*snort*

Which brings me neatly to the subject of role models. Dame Helen comes up a lot. Here’s Harper’s Bazaar with some more:

“Pay close attention to the way women like Robin Wright, Julianne Moore, and Kristin Scott Thomas dress. And revel in the moment when you can justify shopping for labels like Céline, Calvin Klein, Jil Sander, and the Row — because not all sweaters are created equal. The Perfect Length (not too long, not Rihanna short), with the just-tantalizing-enough neckline, is more than worth the extra zeros”.  

Wow. So much nope to pick apart in just three sentences! 

Firstly, while I’m sure they’re all perfectly charming, I look nothing at all like any of these women, so why would I aspire to their style? Secondly, they have allllllll the extra zeros in their bank accounts while I have zero zeros. Thirdly, even if I could afford any of those labels, (a sweater from The Row costs well over a thousand quid by the way), why the love of little fluffy kittens would anyone think I want to dress like this?

I mean I know I like an oversized garment but I’m good with Monki, thanks. If that lot doesn’t say, “this was the only shit I could find to fit me”, I don’t know what does. And quite what the tiny, terminally haggard looking Olsen twins, who dreamed up the wretched label, would look like in any of this eye-bleedingly expensive folderol I shudder to think. You’d probably need to send in the fire brigade to find them in all that fabric, poor loves.

At its root shaming-as-entertainment is a tool for capitalism, both simple and complex. Feel mortified for owning something age inappropriate? Buy something new and more grown up, preferably at enormous expense. Or, if pay day’s too far off, invest in some garbage gossip rag and bitch about the state of those richer and more famous than you are. It’ll make you feel great for all of five minutes, then you can fill the emptiness that follows in its wake with some cheap fast fashion or cake. Even though cake is naughty and unclean and fast fashion is killing the environment; but hey that’s what diet books (kerching!) and gym memberships (kerching!) and ethical fashion, (with a cut-off size of 16), are for, right? 

Ironically, in yet another catalogue of grievous mistakes to make once you’re over forty, bestlifemyarse.com includes “neglecting your mental health” and “basing yourself-worth on what other people think”. But how the hell are women expected to do that under a constant barrage of opprobrium, not least since also included in the aforementioned list is “avoiding the scale”?

Tumblr, I put it to you that people are just as likely to buy stuff if they’re feeling good about themselves than if they’re feeling shite. I fucking love stuff but there has to be an alternative way to sell it that’s less damaging to our sanity and self esteem. That’s in part why fat women created their own media. But, the more it edges into the mainstream, the more it it puts the wind up advertisers and those who rely on their sponsorship. So now our message – the one about self acceptance and being able to live unrepentantly in the bodies we have – has been appropriated, de-fanged, and rebranded as “Body Positivity”, an ersatz movement intended to reassure average-sized women fretful they might be a little bit fat, with the added proviso, “as long as you’re healthy”, (i.e not fat). And while the net abounds with token examples of older lady bloggers granted the status of fashion maven, they’re all slender as reeds, and most of them are ex-models. Big fucking whoop. Meanwhile anyone of any age who is objectively fat is “promoting obesity” simply by expressing our personal style in public.

My collection of shells incidentally, includes some my mum brought me back from the Channel Islands when I was a child; a conch a friend dove for  in the Virgin Islands and presented me for my 19th birthday; several beauties that held pride of place in a late family friend’s study for decades; an abalone shell from New Zealand plucked from the beach by my Kiwi pal Di; a sand dollar from Ocean Beach in San Francisco given to me by my dear friend Jude who died of secondary breast cancer a few months before Jane did; some pebbles gathered with my friend Lesley in literal sub-zero temperatures on a completely deserted beach one not-so-flaming June up north, both of us in hysterics over the utter bleakness of it all, and a load more shells from the Pembrokeshire coast contributed by my friend Steve’s departed mum back in the 1980s. Even the bowl itself was given to me by Karen, whose parents found it in the attic of their new house and thought I might like it. It’s a veritable a lifetime in shells; a celebration of love and friendship spanning decades. In short it has meaning, which is a damned sight more than you can say for any of these wretched lists.

Rise above the buzzkill, Tumblr.