#at least the thoughts have been recorded for others' perusal.

[erstwhilesparrow]

okay. been thinking about double life mecha AUs because there's some really good pacific rim AUs out there that make me want to chew on drywall. let's. attempt putting thoughts to words:

not really thinking about pacific rim specifically on account of I Haven't Finished That Movie. the drift thing sounds cool, i am generally willing to trust that it can be / is an interesting analogue for soulbonds. people should tell me if this is true / false.

also thinking about the way friends at the table tends to talk about mechs. Mechs Are About Bodies. what bodies do we think are beautiful / terrifying / grotesque. what do we think of as a human body. how do we talk about bodies and machines and where are the [blurred lines / overlaps / divergences]. this can be interesting when considered next to double life on account of [minecraft bodies are weird]? the only way to really interact with them is. distantly or violently. you can throw someone a thing but you can't put that thing in their hand directly. you can punch someone but you can't hold them. you can stand in front of someone but that doesn't necessarily stop them from moving past / through you. i don't have more of a thing here but this could be Interesting To Play With.

thinking about neon genesis evangelion's thing where their mechs are explicitly an attempt to copy a technology / being that they didn't quite understand that was capable of destroying the world. connected to this, thinking about minecraft as a game whose history clearly contains Something Happening. the ruins and the ancient cities and so much of it overgrown and wrecked. i like the idea of their mechs being something they copied the shape of but not the purpose. like, these things used to be used for games and now they are for war?

("sparrow are you implying the existence of mech sports" yeah have you ever seen friends at the table's bonus episode where they play Sports Are Just Numerology and invent mech sports. it's good and important and There's Precedent. you're lucky i didn't try to bring Mech Fishing into this.)

related to the point about games, opening sentence that struck me and never went anywhere: "It works just like the old games: three strikes and you're out." (about martyn trying to save grian, trying to save ren, trying to save cleo, and then failing or being rejected at each turn and giving up and killing scott. the realization that grian didn't want / need to be saved from scar in 3rd life. the dying right after ren did trying to kill desert duo in that season's finale, and also i hear whispers about helping ren out with a fire in his base in last life? thinking cleo needs to be convinced / saved from scott in double life and being told no, cleo suggested this and wanted it. hell, even as its own thing separate from mechs, this is not completely nothing.)

considering a scene where cleo, fed up with whatever nonsense martyn's doing, asks what he's even trying to accomplish, and martyn answers, "I'm going to get us out of here." which. implies some things. i haven't bothered fleshing out those things.

mech names. shoutout to Thunderbirds_and_Lightning for Slingshot Eden and Flower Delta. shoutout to friends at the table for Belgard and Stray Dog and a million other incredible names that i'm forgetting. wouldn't it be fun to have names that refer to each part of the pair. Mawseed:Brachiate. Calotrope:Diffusion. wouldn't it be fun to put them next to each other ostensibly joined but still visibly separated by something. consider the ways this can be like soulmates.

okay 100% this one is a porn premise but thinking about that post that's like "mech pilots aren't horny because of the joy of meeting your equal in battle or whatever, they're horny because the mechs have direct connections to their nervous systems and inextricably link violence / destruction to being pumped full of dopamine / oxytocin" and martyn getting fucked up while still connected to the mech and later showing up on cleo's doorstep talking about how his brain's gotten scrambled and asking them to hurt him because it's the only thing that feels good anymore and they're the only one who gets it. (alternatively, asking to have someone to hurt. alternatively alternatively, neither of them quite actually wants to be the one getting hurt but also they are the only ones who understand each other about this so they suck it up and deal and remind themselves they'll get their turn later.)

actually. direct nervous system connection to the mech is Also something that would be fun and interesting to play with just in full generality. i don't have more here but like. You Can Make This Upsetting (tone: having fun :] ). (Mechs Are About Bodies: what bodies count as bodies? what's a fair punching bag and what needs careful maintenance and how might a war adjust those priorities? -- thinking also about that one ttrpg that has a move specifically called Meat Is Cheap; Save The Metal.)

also thinking about that post about. mech pilots should be more visibly changed by their connections to their mechs? like. can't keep down food that isn't This One Specific Nutrient Paste. visibly haggard and also drippy from spending so much time in the cockpit filled with the fluid that lets them interface with the mech. clearly moving in ways and with the force necessitated by a giant body of metal, even when not in that giant metal body. cleo and martyn using each other as mirrors, tracking the other's deterioration (comparing it against their own?) and feeling some type of way about it? could do miserable (delightful) sickfic about this.

related to above: (1) cleo and martyn as mirrors of each other ("we're both survivors"). (2) that thing about not having mirrors causing you to kind of forgetting you're a person (and this also, is about mechs, because when you make a world with mechs it is probably good to ask: 'are mechs people?' AND 'are the people put inside mechs considered people?' thank you austin walker for your list of mech questions.).

[ivysangel]

READ BETWEEN THE LINES (JASON TODD)

NOTES/CW - continuation of this post, literally just straight up porn, fem!reader, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, -17 dni, my first time writing smut in this format so plz be nice this shit is NOT for the weak !!! (1.7k)

It's about an hour before Jason caps the highlighter in his hand, having skimmed over the entire book in record time, picking out five or six quotes that would boost your essay into A territory. Except, you weren't concerned about the essay or what grade you got. Yeah, sure, when you had first invited him over, it was genuinely because you needed feedback, but now you have the feedback

"It's written well, only problem is that you need better quotes."

You remember his words as clear as day because they're the reason why Jason had been occupied with your assignment and not the ache between your legs. Now that his perusal of quotes was over, finished, done, and the book was closed, you could finally get relief from something other than your thighs being squeezed together so tight the blood flow was being cut off from your lower extremities.

He carefully cleans up the area, stacking papers strewn across the table and putting pens away. It may have seemed like he was just tidying the table, but you knew that he was messing with you. Typically, you wouldn't give in so easily, but your body was getting hotter by the second, and there was a thin sheen of sweat forming on your back.

God, it was hot. The room was hot, your sweater was hot, and your boyfriend was so fucking hot; and so fucking annoying.

"Jason," you murmur, shifting in your seat as his eyes rake up your figure, shrouded in cozy brown wool. "you said...please, can you just-"

A breathy laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head, raking a hand through jet-black hair. He slides the chair back, stands up, and walks over to where you sit. Hovering over you and looking down at your face, which could only be described as pitiful. Your eyes are wide, and your mouth's parted slightly as you manually breathe. Yeah, you look pathetic, but it's not surprising, given the tortuous amount of arousal you were feeling and how badly you needed to get it out of your system.

"Jason." you say again, needier this time. "you said you would..." You trail off, pleading eyes find his as he looks down at you amusedly. His hands make their way to your cheeks, and he tugs at your head ever so slightly, prompting you to stand up.

"You're cute when you get like this," he says before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips. You bring your arms around his neck, tugging him closer to you and deepening the kiss. It very quickly devolves into a mess of tongue as your hands eagerly roam his body, sliding up his shirt and running over the rippled abs he keeps hidden away.

"Woah, easy girl," he says, pulling back, and you whimper at the sudden absence of contact between you. "I'm not gonna fuck you standing up." He looks up for a second, seemingly in thought, "At least not today."

The next part happens fast. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and around his waist, and you gasp at the sudden lack of floor beneath your feet. One hand stays on your leg while the other finds the small of your back, and he walks you over to the couch, laying you down gently.

"You're so impatient sometimes, you know that?" his hands push your sweater up a bit, and you grab the hem, pulling it over your bra and holding it at your neck. "I waited for like two hours." you breathe out as he places a few wet, open-mouthed kisses on your stomach before moving downwards and unbuttoning your jeans, tugging them and your underwear down in one swift movement. "oh, but I'm the impatient one."

He comes back up to your face, a dumb fucking grin playing on his lips, and he kisses you so gently you're slightly taken aback. "I love you," he says, nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing in your scent.

"Love me so much you're skipping the foreplay?"

"Watching you try not to finger fuck yourself for two hours was the foreplay, babe."

You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he gets the message, sitting up for a second and pulling it over his head. He tosses it over the side of the couch, then climbs off you to move onto his pants, and you take the opportunity to lift yourself slightly, removing what was left of your outfit before looking over your shoulder and tossing it behind you. When you turn back around, you're met with the bright pink tip of Jason's cock, white beads of pre-cum collecting on his tip. You've seen him naked dozens of times. Touched him, sucked him, fucked him; dozens of times. But you never really get used to how attractive he is and how much more turned on you get when you see how turned on he is by you.

He pulls you towards him by the foot, and you giggle, knowing what's to come. A calloused hand grabs hold of one of your legs, lifting it up and exposing your cunt. The inside of your thighs, already soaked from the sheer amount of wetness coming from your pussy. "Jesus Christ," he breathes, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head down to see what he sees. Even you're shocked at how much your own folds were glistening. You glance up at him, and he gives you a questioning look, a silent "Do you think we need to prepare?" and you take another peek in between your legs, decidedly shaking your head no.

Still holding your leg up with one hand, he grabs his cock with the other, stroking it a couple times and coating it in pre-cum, before lining it up with your entrance. You feel his tip prodding at your hole, and you bite down on your lip, already imagining how good it'll feel when he's inside you.

"You ready?" 

"Do you even have to ask?"

He slides inside of you with little resistance, but you still feel how agonizingly good the stretch is. He lets out a long, drawn-out groan, stilling completely before pulling out and pushing back in all the way. He moves steadily, rocking his hips back and forth, in and out. Each stroke hits deep, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. The thickness of his cock giving you an ache so good you think you might die if you never got to experience it again. He quickens his pace a little, your tits bouncing every time his hips make contact with your pussy, and your hands find the cushions of the couch, gripping them every time he hits your sweet spot.

His free hand grabs your other thigh, pushing it towards you, and you hook your arms under your knees, bringing them to your chest, allowing him to reach even deeper than before. He leans in closer, pressing your legs further into your body, and your thighs ache. Still, the pleasure you feel overshadows the pain by a long shot.

A few groans escape Jason's lips, he's never been much of a talker during sex, and you've never really cared because the sounds he makes are enough to keep you clenching around his dick until the end of time. "Fuck." he mutters, and that alone is enough to make the familiar knot in your stomach start to unravel. You unhook one of your arms and squeeze your hand into the incredibly tight space between your legs, rubbing fast circles around your clit, while you feel Jason's pace start to falter.

Your back arches, and you lean your head so far back into the couch that you can't see his face anymore. The lewd sounds of your cunt sucking up his dick fill the room, and it's only a few seconds before you start seeing white. An overwhelming sense of euphoria washes over your body as you dig your nails into the soft cushion of the couch, and he fucks you through your orgasm, continuously kissing your cervix until you feel his cock twitch inside of you as he spills hot streams of cum inside your cunt.

Your lungs painfully expand as you try to make up for the lack of oxygen from holding your breath through your orgasm, and you tilt your head forward into a position where you can see him. Your hand makes its way up into his hair, his head hanging low, face out of view as you both catch your breath. You tug at his locks lightly, and he lifts his head, following your eyes to the legs that were squished between the two of you. Pulling back from you and holding himself up with his arms, he gives you space to stretch out on either side of the couch. You finally get a good look at him as he sits above you, hair clinging to his forehead, cheeks flushed red, and light-catching on the little bit of sweat clinging to his skin. God, you could fuck him again right now.

"You need to be spayed. This can't keep happening," he says, knowing exactly what you're thinking.

"What am I, a fucking cat?" you ask, feigning offense.

"No, but you have the libido of one in heat." he leans down again, hovering above your face, breathing out a shaky laugh. And even though your legs have gone limp, and your lungs hurt from how heavy you've been breathing, you still clench around him, seemingly ready to go again. "Nope," he says, climbing off you and gently pulling out. You wince, the sudden emptiness unbearable. He's right; you do need to be spayed. 

"I know you have the stamina for it," you joke, eyes following him as he picks up various articles of clothing off the floor before taking them to the hamper in the bathroom. You hear the sound of water running, and he returns with a wet rag in hand. "I know I do," he walks over to you, lifting one of your legs to give him better access to the mess between your thighs. "the question is, do you?"

You let out an airy laugh, watching him furrow his brows as he wipes down your legs, intent on cleaning you up. "Wanna find out?" you ask; he looks up from the mess to see the grin on your face before returning to the task at hand. 

"There's something seriously wrong with you." 

i hope you guys enjoyed this, it literally stressed me tf out !! again, my first time writing like a real smut scene so if it's not good then yk why. tell your favorite smut writers you love them because i can tell you from experience, this is much harder than it seems !!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t mind working evenings during the week. In the hour before closing time, it’s pretty slow. There isn’t much for you to do much follow the tune of the instrumental jazz and lean on the counter behind your till. Management is hidden in the back office so you don’t even need to pretend to work.

So it is that you’re startled at the unexpected figure strutting around the table of stationary and novelties across from the checkout. You stand straight as you smile at the man, not letting it falter as you recognise him. You brace yourself and swallow as your mouth runs dry. He’s been here almost every day this week; at least, when you’ve been in.

“Oh, uh,” you don’t notice anything in his hands aside from his cell phone, “Mr. Pine isn’t here, sir. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply until he’s at the counter. His blue eyes bore into you as he rests his hand against the edge, gripping his phone tight. A small furrow scrunches between his brows.

“I didn’t ask,” he smiles.

“Well, er, sorry, I thought…” you chew your lip nervously. Each time he’s been in, he’s asked for the store owner. You assume he knows him. And he’s of the demographic who likes to make a fuss when he doesn’t get what he wants. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees, still grinning.

You squirm and run your fingertips over the keyboard. “Well, is there anything I can help you find? We’re closing up soon–”

“You’re trying to get me to leave?” He challenges.

“Not at all,” you croak. “Sorry, sir.”

“Andy,” he pulls his hand away, instead crossing his arms and leaning his elbows on the counter. He reads your name tag, “it’s fine. I was just looking around. Figure a book might help keep me busy.” 

He has a very intense way of watching you. Very on the point. He speaks directly to you, but you’re more the type to focus above someone or past them.

“Do you have a favourite genre?” You prompt. It’s easiest to talk about work and you have a dozen suggestions.

“Not really. You know, I work a lot and I never really had a chance to read much outside of deposition records,” he shrugs and raises his eyebrows, “don’t make my mistakes. Don’t waste your life working overtime. Enjoy the small things. Like books, you’re never gonna find a fairytale in real life.”

You feel a bit bad for him but try not to show it. You don’t want to insult it and he seems to pendulum between amiable and unapproachable. You nod and put on your customer service smile.

“Oh, thanks, I guess you’re probably right,” you eke out, “do you like thrillers? They’re pretty popular and we’re having a special.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s somewhere to start,” he rubs his beard, the hand clutching his phone against the counter as he leans on the same elbow, “what do you read?”

You give your usual answer, vague and not entirely false, “fantasy, mostly.”

“Like The Hobbit or whatever?” He wonders.

“Sure, I’ve read that,” you say.

“My wife– ex, now, she was a Tolkien fan,” his lips slant, “twenty years, no kids. Got nothing to show for it.” He pushes himself straight, “I’m sorry, you caught me on a bad night. I, whatever you suggest, I’ll take it. I need something to get my mind off of… everything.”

“Oh, sure, well, we have our best sellers down here,” you point over the counter and the racks between each till, “Conrad’s always a good choice.”

He hums and backs up. He peruses the books silently as you twiddle your fingers impatiently. You’ve had awkward encounters with customers before, almost daily, but something about him is a bit too cringe for you. You hate to even think like that. You feel mean. He’s just going through some things. And who isn't?

He plucks up a book and comes back to your till. He lays it down and slides his phone into his pants pocket, then reaches under his jacket. He takes out his wallet and pauses as he unfolds it, “wait, do you get commission? I could grab a few more.”

“Um, no,” you login and scan the barcode on the book, “but there’s a survey on you receipt. If you fill that out, I get credit for that.”

“Oh, sure, a survey,” he agrees as he slides out a card.

“And did you have our rewards card?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “what’s that?”

Great. You peek at the time in the corner of the till screen. It’s getting close to closing.

“So, for purchases you collect points. Kinda like air miles. When you buy items that are part of a promotion, you receive double, and for prestige members, there are triple point days. You can collect points to earn store credit.”

He nods and considers it. He tilts his head as his cheek dimples, “so, that costs money?”

“Yes, twenty-five dollars for paperback level and forty for prestige.”

He weighs the options. You expect the amounts to deter him like most customers. He taps his card on the counter, “you know what, I’ll do the forty. I’m looking to get into reading so I’ll be back for sure.”

“Oh, uh, right, okay,” you say with surprise, “I’ll just get you registered.”

You reach past the till and grab one of the cards displayed behind it. You scan it and go through the whole routine; name, phone number, email. You get all his info in and offer him a bag before you turn the debit machine towards him. He taps his card and the approval chirps loudly.

“Great, so, if you wanna do the survey,” you say as his receipt prints out, “you can scan this QR code and it will direct you straight to the survey.” You tear off the receipt and circle at the bottom, “my employee number is here, you’ll have to enter that and the transaction ID.”

You fold the receipt and hand it over. He takes it and looks it over with a squint. He raises his chin and gives a half-smile, “um, this QR thing? How do I… I’m sorry, I’m a bit slow. Could you show me?”

You want to say no. You want to point to the clock and tell him to have a good day but he’s actually going to do the survey. You need a good review.

“Sure, um, I’ll show you. Just on your phone,” you step closer as he digs his hand in his pants pocket, “let me see the receipt.”

“Thank you so much,” he says, “you’re so patient with me.”

[tennessoui]

Kit! I'm obsessed with your writing!

For the prompt list: 25!

(prompt list)

i don't think i've ever done this prompt/this combination!

25. librarian/avid reader au (sort of)

(2.6k)

As a Jedi who rarely goes undercover, Obi-Wan is used to the occasional stare. Citizens of the Republic are all too often fascinated by the Jedi, and Obi-Wan knows he looks like a holo-perfect one. His choice of wardrobe rarely deviates from Jedi standard, and he’s been told he radiates the sort of complete inner peace that people associate with Jedi. It’s all very flattering and it mostly means that it is impossible for him not to be made as a Jedi the moment he steps out of the Temple.

So he’s rather used to the occasional stare from civilians. It’s almost to be expected.

He is much less used to that sort of attention within the Temple. 

Especially within the Archives, where general practice and observation of decorum demands that all who are present must keep their noses out of everyone else’s business. Jedi do not come to the Archives to chat. They come to research, to learn, to study.

They certainly do not come to the Archives to gawp at other more respectable Jedi.

Obi-Wan tries to convey this in the glare he sends across the cavernous reading room to the padawan currently watching him from between the stacks of datapads.

It must work because the padawan’s eyes widen and then he ducks out of sight, disappearing in a flash of lilac robes, the color of fabric denoting an Archival padawan.

Huh.

He’s never drawn the ire of the Archival Jedi before, and he doesn’t quite understand what he could have done now. After all, he is waist-deep in a research project for Grandmaster Yoda—he is in the Archives almost every day of the week and makes a point to abide all of the Archive’s customs and rules.

When Obi-Wan leaves a few hours later, daily notes carefully tucked away in a bag and two datapads on loan, he checks with the droid that scans the serials on the ‘pads, but the droid has no record of Obi-Wan Kenobi possessing an overdue ‘pad or flimsi-book. 

It’s strange.

But then, padawans are strange creatures. Probably why Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’ll ever have one himself.

—-------------

Three days later, he returns to the Archives, one datapad in his bag for return.

It’d looked promising on the shelf, a database containing different accounts of the oral history of Jedha, but upon further perusal, it had been useless to his needs. What Obi-Wan was researching—what he needed to find were descriptions of the earliest Jedi on Jedha. The growth of two factions inside that temple, told from an outsider’s point of view. 

What he needed to find was a description of the beginning of the Sith, and that was proving difficult.

He deposits the datapad at the droid’s counter, tapping his fingers along the surface for a moment in thought before he turns to stride deeper into the Archives. He supposes—there are planets outside of Jedha with histories heavy in Sith ideology. He does not have to start with Jedha, even if that’s where the Sith Order began.

He can pull a list of the most notorious Sith lords; he can note down their homeworlds, perhaps request Council permission to travel to those planets. To understand the past, one must understand the present too—or the nearer decades of history at the very least. 

It’s a place to start, anyway.

Two hours later, he has neatly copied down the names, titles, and homeworlds of six different Sith lords.

And then he runs into a problem. His search of the Sith Lord Plagueius results in a short missive from the database:

>> User: OWKenobi, ACCESS has been denied. Your activity has been flagged as SUSPICIOUS.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks around himself, half wondering if anyone else is experiencing the same sort of problem.

But the group of Initiates closeby seem to be carrying along fine, giggling quietly to themselves as they pick at the keyboards in front of them.

Obi-Wan frowns and turns back to his own keyboard, deleting the name of the Sith lord and typing in another’s. Darth Feindan, a ruthless Sith who had lived close to five hundred years ago, known as the ghost of the Outer Rim and known for—

>> User: OWKenobi, ACCESS has been denied. Your activity has been flagged as SUSPICIOUS.

Alright. Fine. Darth Derritus. He had risen to power a thousand years before, because of—

>> User: OWKenobi, ACCESS has been denied. Your activity has been flagged as SUSPICIOUS.

“What?” Obi-Wan murmurs to himself, putting down his stylus finally to stare at the locked screen.

When he drags the cursor across the screen, a new message pops up.

User: OWKenobi, your account has been LOCKED. Please see SYSTEM ADMIN for SUPPORT.

He blows out a shocked, annoyed breath, standing from his desk. Alright. Obviously there’s been some sort of mistake, and Obi-Wan can sort of understand what’s happened. The Sith are not much of a threat to the Jedi Order in this day and age, but they’re still considered rather…taboo.

Obviously, his purely academic interest was flagged as suspicious because of the nature of some Jedi attitudes towards the remnants of the Sith. 

All he’ll have to do is talk with the Archival staff and get his access back. Perhaps Jocasta Nu is present today. He will tell her of the error, that he has been assigned a research project by the Grandmaster Yoda, and she will straighten things out.

Yes, she’ll handle it completely.

Only it’s not Master Nu behind the Archival desk when Obi-Wan approaches the front entrance.

It’s the same lilac-clad padawan that Obi-Wan had caught glaring at him all those days ago.

And to make matters worse, the boy is glaring at him again, watching him approach with his arms crossed over his chest.

Obi-Wan fights the urge to glare back. He is an accomplished Jedi Knight, and this is a youngling.

Well, not a youngling. He is obviously a senior padawan, braid long enough to reach past his shoulder and rest over his heart. Obi-Wan would put him at perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty. There’s something still rather boyish about his features, despite the overall pleasantness of his dark eyes, soft lips, apparent cheekbones.

Though that just may be the childish scowl he’s wearing as Obi-Wan approaches. As soon as he gets to the counter, however, the boy drops his eyes to the book in front of him as if it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “Hello,” Obi-Wan says, because he is an accomplished Jedi Knight who is capable of keeping annoyance out of his tone. “I seem to have run into a problem with my research.”

“Oh?” The senior padawan says, sounding somehow both insouciant and insolent. Obi-Wan bites on his tongue so he cannot say any of the first five things that pop into his mind. “Yes,” he says instead. “The problem being that a system administrator seems to have locked me out of my account.”

The system administrator in question turns another page in his book. “What were you researching?” 

“Information that I as a Jedi Knight have the right to access,” Obi-Wan snaps, irritation seeping into his tone despite his best abilities. “Now can you please give me back my account permissions, padawan—” he breaks off and cranes his head to look at the nameplate on the desk.  “—Skywalker so that I can get back to work?”

Padawan Skywalker shuts his book with much more force than is required as he turns his face up to glare at Obi-Wan. “You’re researching the Dark Side.”

“I’m certainly trying my best to,” Obi-Wan replies drily. “It would go a lot faster if you would unlock my account.”

“Why are you researching the Dark side?” 

“Because I’m deliberating the benefits of Falling and would like to understand their position on universal healthcare for Dark side users before committing, padawan. Now, could—” “You’re not funny,” Padawan Skywalker says furiously, lips suddenly pinched white, taking his book and his bag and turning away.

Obi-Wan watches him go with his mouth open.

Well, he supposes that means he must put a pin in researching the Dark side for the moment.

Good thing he has just stumbled upon another subject worth investigating.

—--------------------

He feels rather sheepish the next day when he returns to the Archives with a cup of take-away caf in one hand and folded piece of flimsi in the other.

Thank the Force Padawan Skywalker is behind the front desk once more. 

Damn the Force that Padawan Skywalker is behind the front desk once more.

He’s leaning with his head on the palm of his hand, pushing his stylus around on a blank sheet of paper with the Force as his other fingers drum restlessly over the protective covers of the datapads near him.

“Does your master allow you to use the Force in such a needless way, padawan?” Obi-Wan is saying automatically before he can bite his own tongue off which really would have been preferable. Anakin Skywalker lets the stylus drop and glares up at him as if he thinks so as well. “What are you doing back here?” He says, an accusation.

Obi-Wan, because he may be more of a youngling than he gives himself credit for, says, “This is a public place.”

And Anakin Skywalker, who is every inch a nineteen year old child, sneers and replies, “Maybe for people with account access,” which really just makes Obi-Wan want to close his eyes and take several deep breaths and then pinch at the bridge of his nose.

But he cannot do that, because he’s holding a piece of flimsi paper in one hand and a cup of apology caf in the other one.

So instead he places the caf on the counter and pushes it closer to Anakin. “I didn’t recognize you,” he says before Anakin can decide to throw it at him or push it away or point out the sign at the entrance to the Archives that says, in very bold letters, NO FOOD OR DRINK PLEASE.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan’s words throw him off guard. “What?”

“Yesterday,” Obi-Wan says patiently. “I didn’t recognize you nor your name. I’m sorry, Anakin.”

Anakin blinks. For the first time in ten years, Obi-Wan is treated with the sight of the boy’s face without a glare or sneer or unpleasant expression. He’s all wide-eyed disbelief, slightly parted lips, dark eyelashes, darker brows, creased in confusion.

Obi-Wan suddenly and very intently misses the sneer. At least then the boy was too annoying to be considered attractive.

He’s much too young to be considered attractive now, Obi-Wan reminds himself rather pointedly. 

And he’s still annoying.

“It’s been ten years,” Anakin points out. His presence in the Force has turned rather…shy, akin to a blush as he reaches out and takes the caf from the counter, curling both hands around the cup. “And we never met.” “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “But we should have. We would have shared the same master, if the Force were kinder.”

And they really should have—Obi-Wan had been Knighted at the age of twenty-three. Two years later, his old master went on a mission with his old master to Naboo. When they’d ended up on Tatooine instead, Qui-Gon Jinn had found a stray he’d wanted to adopt, a little boy from the desert. And when he’d been murdered only a few days later, Yan Dooku had stepped in and taken the boy as his padawan.

Up until he left the Order four years ago.

“Yeah, well,” Anakin mutters, shoulders falling down and in slightly. “It is what it is.”

The rumors are impossible to escape, and Obi-Wan admits that they’re…intriguing. That Dooku didn’t just leave the Order four years ago, but that he Fell. That he succumbed to the Dark Side after years of fighting against it. That studying the Dark had become a fevered pastime of his in the last few months before he Fell. Before he left.

Before he left his padawan behind.

“Lilac suits you,” Obi-Wan blurts out, wholly without meaning to. The boy had just looked so despondent for a moment, so pinned and small. 

He has not had an easy lot of it, one master dead at the hands of a Sith after only a few days in his company and the other giving him up after several years to become one.

No wonder he’d been so suspicious of Obi-Wan’s research. The poor boy probably sees the potential for Sith in everyone’s shadows. Obi-Wan knows he would, if it were his master who Fell.

“Um,” Anakin says, and his cheeks flame red. Obi-Wan’s own darken in response. “Thank you.” He darts his eyes from Obi-Wan’s face and then back, as if he doesn’t want to look away for long. “Master Nu took me on after my master—left. She says I could become an Archival Knight within a few years.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, and he finds that he means it. Despite the boy’s terrible customer service. “And speaking of the Archives, padawan, I thought you might like to see this.”

He unfolds the piece of flimsi with a flourish and places it down on the counter between them. Anakin glances down at it and then back up, as if checking to make sure Obi-Wan would like him to read it. 

Obi-Wan gives him an encouraging nod. Padawan Skywalker seems like the sort of padawan to thrive under encouragement.

“Please reinstate Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Archival account access, as I as Grandmaster of the Jedi Order have given him leave to research a topic of great importance to me: the nature and nurture of Dark side use on Jedha, coordinates….” Anakin trails off, and then looks up at Obi-Wan again, eyebrows furrowed. “Yoda doesn’t talk like this, everyone knows that. Put more effort in your counterfeiting, you should have, Knight Kenobi.”

“Grandmaster Yoda did not write that,” Obi-Wan corrects. “I did. However, he did sign it,” he gestures to the edge of the flimsi.

But Anakin does not look impressed. He also does not look like a boy who is about to give Obi-Wan access to his accounts. “How do I know you didn’t just forge his signature?” “Because that’s the imprint of his hand,” Obi-Wan says incredulously. “And I do not have claws.”

“It looks like a pigeon’s foot,” Anakin studies the flimsi for another second before pushing it away. “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this. It’s obviously a fake.”

Obi-Wan had watched Yoda dip his claws into the ink for the signature himself. His irritation comes rushing back in a tidal wave of rage. “What.” Padawan Skywalker shrugs and sips his caf. “Sorry, Knight Kenobi. Thank you for the caf though.” 

There’s a fucking smirk at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are fucking twinkling.

Obi-Wan has never wanted to strangle someone more. “You don’t deserve that caf,” he tells him lowly, grabbing up the flimsi and crinkling it in his fist.

“Oh?” Padawan Skywalker says. “Was it a bribe? I thought it was an apology for being a dick yesterday.”

It was both actually. 

“Padawan Skywalker,” Obi-Wan says, closing his eyes and exhaling through his nose, reaching for calm. “I need access to those texts on the Dark side for important research.” “Knight Kenobi,” Anakin says in the same tone. “I cannot give you access to those texts while your account is under investigation for suspicious activity. However there are other titles you may find useful that you can access while you wait for the Archival staff to conclude their investigation, and I would be happy to point you towards them, should you like.” Obi-Wan’s teeth ache from clenching his jaw so tightly. “Fine,” he snaps. “What do you have?” “Methods for Mindful Meditation by Master Muinollie comes to mind,” Anakin blinks up at him with a beatific smile. “It’s currently on loan to the crechèmaster, but I can put you on the waitlist. Think of it like an exercise in patience.”

Obi-Wan lets out an audible growl and turns away before he can do something stupid like throttle his grandmaster’s old padawan.

It's almost as tempting as the boy looks when he smiles.

[spookwyrdie]

👋🏻 heyyy so I was watching some of Skz old content and I kinda noticed how shy Seungmin gets when he's made to do something like dance alone in front of everyone or do aegyo or something. And I'm a huge fan of sub Minnie🤤 so I was wondering if you'd be open to write a fic where he's made to wear a remote controlled vibrator on his cock (and maybe one in his ass too😉) out in public or to dance practice or something that means it'd be a while before he gets to go back home and reader just playing with him and teasing him throughout the whole thing and maybe asking one of the members to record his reactions and send it to you. And like what if Minnie knew that the others were aware of his ✨ predicament ✨ and he's even more embarrassed, trying to keep quiet and act unaffected but you and him both know hes wayy to sensitive for that. 🤭🤭 Just love how red his face and ears get when he's shy or flustered. You're my fav smut author here and I ADORE🥰 your sub skz fics soo much and I'd really love to read this idea in your writing but it's okay if you don't want to. Have a good day/afternoon/night❤️😘

Anon! When I say I thought about this all day, I mean I thought about this ALL DAY.

Here it is!

Only Wanna Be With You~

sub!Seungmin x domme!reader

warnings: smut, sexual content, exhibitionism, public play, vibrators, edging

summary: You and Seungmin hang out at a karaoke bar to unwind, but you have a plan for him. Can he keep his cool in public?

word: 1.5k

a/n: I laughed very hard when Seungmin did this cover at one of their concerts, so I obviously had to add it. I also was thinking about a vibe like this one, in case anyone was curious. <3

You look up from your position on your knees, Seungmin’s cock in your hand as you adjust the cock ring to fit snugly against his groin, “I’m going to ask for the thousandth time, are you sure about this, Minnie?” 

“Y/n, I might be a little nervous but like... I think this’ll be fun.” A blush dusts his cheeks, thinking about handing over such an intimate type of control in public. He’s wearing a silicone cock ring with a vibrator that sits up against his perineum. Just knowing that it's there plus the constant light pressure is enough to twitch against the silicone.  

“Okay, you remember what we talked about, if you want to stop?” 

“Yeah, I snap my fingers at least 3 times,” he says. 

“Good,” you stand, taking his balls in one hand and pressing the motionless vibrator up towards his perineum. He grunts in surprise, the gentle squeeze is enough to have his hips bucking towards you, his hands grab your shoulders to steady his weight. 

You two have been getting together for a few weeks now, learning what the other likes, talking about boundaries, and what sorts of kink you’re both interested in trying. This is one of the first nights where you’re testing the waters, seeing how a little secret exhibitionism feels for him.  

The two of you arrive at the dive bar where you meet the rest of the guys. Celebrating the end of the semester, you all decided a shitty little dive bar on a karaoke night would be a great way to let off some steam. When you walk in, Hyunjin waves you over.  

“We got one of the best booths in the whole place!” he shouts over someone butchering a Lady Gaga song. You slide in next to Hyunjin, Seungmin pressed up against your side. The tablet at the table with a drink list and the karaoke sign-up sheet is shoved in front of your face.  

“Pick one! Everyone is required to do at least one song!” Han shouts over the table. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do something sexy!” 

“You’ll have to buy me a drink BEFORE I do a sexy song!” you laugh.  

You peruse the drink list, grab a couple of beers for you and Seungmin, and mull over the list of songs. Seungmin tries to look over your shoulder while you choose, but you cover the screen with your hand. You give him a playful smile and pass the tablet to him, running your hand up his thigh as he chooses his song.  

Han’s name flashes up on the screen, “Oh shit, MY TURN!” He bounds up to the little stage, pulls the microphone out of the stand, and “Pony” by Ginuwine starts playing. Han is living it up, hip thrusting and doing body rolls, while the table laughs. You sneak your phone out of your pocket and open the app for the remote control. 

Seungmin’s whole body lurches forward as if being electrocuted, his moan covered by the bass from the song. The vibrations shudder through him so hard, the shock from not giving him a warning makes his cock twitch in time with his heartbeat. He grabs your free hand and clamps it in his, rutting his hips into the worn pleather seat below him. Each roll of his hips presses the vibrator further into the sensitive area behind his balls. His head rolls onto your shoulder, whining into your neck. 

“I’ve barely turned the thing on, baby, and you’re already such a mess,” you chuckle in his ear. Pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as he squirms in his seat. You look across the table, catching Changbin’s eyes as he appraises your situation. He gives you a knowing smirk. 

“Seungmin!” he calls out. Seungmin’s head snaps up, a panicked look in his eyes. “What song did you pick?” 

“I- I picked...” he slams his eyes shut as you amp up the vibrations. The way his face contorts, biting his lip to keep his moans from spilling out, has you salivating.  

You turn your head towards Changbin, meeting his smirk with one of your own, “You’ll just have to wait until it’s his turn to find out.” 

After a few minutes toying with Seungmin, you turn off the vibrator. Your name flashes up on the screen, and you shoo him out of the way to go up for your song. Seungmin’s legs are like jelly, so it takes him a moment to get his bearings.  

You go up to the little stage and your song starts playing. As the intro plays, you notice the boys leering at Seungmin, poking fun at the very obvious hard time he’s having. He looks up at you as you start singing, and you hold his gaze. 

Going with tonight’s theme, you chose a sexy song - “I Touch Myself” by the Divinyls. It’s true, you don’t want anyone else, you sing directly at Seungmin. He’s blushing for a different reason, his jaw on the floor as you confidently sway your hips and run your hands down your body while you sing a song about masturbation directly to your boy and his new little toy.  

During the guitar solo, you fish your phone out of your pocket again and turn on the vibrator again. This time, you take your thumb and match the beat of your song with as you play with the intensity of the vibrations. Seungmin looks like he’s trying to catch his breath, leaning back into the cushion of the booth again, his hands balled into fists on the table. The rest of the boys are chuckling at him, Felix going so far as to whip out his phone and snap a few photos of Seungmin’s agony. 

Your song ends and you turn off the vibrator again, shooting Seungmin a devilish smile. The entire table cheers louder than the rest of the bar. You mosey back over to your table, and you get an eyeful of exactly how red Seungmin has gotten. His ears are so bright, and his cheeks look like they’ve been slapped. You run your fingers through his hair and bend down to whisper in his ear, “Your turn, baby.” 

He looks up at you in confusion, his eyes practically glazed over. You peck him on the lips then point to the stage where the screen is flashing his name. You grab his arm and pull him out of his seat. He wobbles a bit as you push him towards the stage. He grabs the mic stand to steady himself as his song starts. 

“Hootie and the Blowfish?” The whole table giggles at his 90’s soft rock choice. Seungmin glares at the table as he catches your eye. He sings directly to you, adding a little snark to the lyrics. You look back at him, tongue running over your teeth as you hold up your phone again. His eyes go wide. 

“There’s nothin’ I can do, I only wanna be with yo- Uuuungh" he groans out as you turn the vibe up to the highest setting all at once. Somehow, he still finds his singing voice enough to continue the song. Sometimes his voice shakes a little when you bounce the intensity up and down on his vibe, an outline of his cock visible in his dark pants. His cheeks and ears are blazing red, his eyes flutter with arousal and concentration. You can tell he’s holding back, focusing on keeping his hips still. You still notice him convulse every few seconds, his pelvis jerking forward at the change in the vibrator’s speed.  

During the last part of the chorus, you turn the vibe all the way back up and Seungmin literally falls to his knees, masking his moan as the final note to sing. The bar cheers, especially your table, stomping their feet at his performance. He places the mic back on the stand and walks back to the table trembling.  

You're beaming with pride as you watch him return to the booth, unsteady on his feet. He stops right in front of you, grabs your arms and pulls you up, wrapping you in his embrace. He pulls you tight to his body, crashing his lips to yours, engulfing you in a kiss. You barely hear the other boys cooing at you, making kissy noises in your direction. 

“Home. Now. I need you,” he pants out, pressing his cock into your thigh.  

“Aw, Minnie, you’re so worked up,” you say as you lean your forehead against his. Your phone is still in your hand. You take your thumb, moving the intensity of the vibe back up. Seungmin buries his face in your neck, muffling the guttural cry that rips out of his throat as his hips thrust into your thigh. 

“GET A ROOM!” everyone at the table shouts.  

You grip onto the back of Seungmin’s hair, pulling his face gently away from your neck. Tears welling up in his lashes. He just looks so pathetic, eyes pleading for release. 

“Alright, let’s get you home,” you say as you smile sweetly and turn off the vibe. He sags in your arms. You lift his head once again, kissing him so gently. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m finished with you yet.” 

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟑   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   NAKAWE, 2023

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  Karolina Teague was hardly famous. Her name carried a certain heft among culture critics whose heyday had passed, but she liked the anonymity that came with being washed up. All of her favorite people were has-beens, after all, and she wasn’t ashamed to spend her time reminiscing about days past with them or anyone else who would listen. Today, she welcomed a whole crew of listeners into her Nakawe home—a film crew to be exact, led by a director-producer duo who had known her name well before a previous interviewee mentioned it to them. She wouldn’t be the star of their documentary, but they believed from its inception that the story wouldn’t be complete without her thoughts.

❧ honestly very proud of the scrapbooking !!!! this is basically just shameless exposition, but i am convinced i picked a creative vehicle for it :^) i watched that 90s docuseries on hulu a year ago and this specific story post was born fjdhjf anyway, canonically, no one would be writing or printing in script like that but i am simply NOT that committed to my worldbuilding sdkjfsf consider this whole thing an english language reimagining (^:

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Karolina took them on a tour of her colorful seaside house, one concluding in a room already set up for their perusal. It was the archive, she explained. This was what they came for; her recollections were valuable, but she had so much more than her own memories. Photographs waited on the tables, and an old television screen teased some scene from exclusive VHS tapes. Karolina plopped down onto a sofa and gestured widely, saying, “Have a look. I’m ready when you are.” 

The director, a woman named Ildaria, picked up a photograph. 

“Can you tell us about her?” 

Karolina beckoned for the photo, and Ildaria walked over to hand it to her. For a moment, she peered at it, keeping everyone in suspense. Finally, she replied, “Sure. What’s she going to do, sue me?”

“Maybe,” a cameraman elsewhere in the room snorted.

“I’ll take the risk,” Karolina laughed. “Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993.”

The producer, Eilo, held up another photograph. “What’s the story here?” he asked.

Karolina reached for it. Unlike the other photo, this one was a proper candid. There were several people in the frame, but Leonor was at the center, kneeling by a table with her hand draped across Renzo’s thigh as he held her head in his palm and said something beyond the capture of still photography.

“It wasn’t anything formal,” Karolina explained. “Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like.” She shrugged. “That was Renzo.” 

“And Leonor?” Ildaria asked, having sat down nearby. 

“Like I said,” Karolina began. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—” 

“Did she do that?” Ildaria’s eyes were wide.

Karolina cleared her throat. “No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.”

The crew listened, rapt, having stopped flipping through albums and poking around the bookcases, eager to hear something explosive. They had set out to make a documentary about a particular time and place. The Den at the turn of the century was their subject. That glorious decade solidified its place in celebrity culture, to say nothing of its place in music history. The princess was just a footnote in that story. Nonetheless, it was a tantalizing footnote. Most people below a certain age were shocked to hear that she hadn’t been a humorless, buttoned-up bureaucrat her entire life. The idea that someone whose day job involved keeping the country afloat may have once been young and reckless intrigued. That she was adjacent to the salacious stories of sex, drugs, and rock and roll they knew better nearly crossed the line into unbelievable. Yet, people in Uspana also knew their royals had been wrapped up in the glamor of celebrity for decades. Even now, they continued to rub elbows with rock stars, including the one elder princess who was herself a music star. 

“She’s a different person now, clearly,” Karolina continued. She spoke tentatively still but nonetheless addressed what everyone wanted to know. “But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.” 

Karolina shrugged again. “She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was snobby, but my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.” 

Someone coughed. The rifling through materials resumed. Ildaria and Eilo shared a look. 

“You haven’t talked to her since ‘92?” Ildaria asked. Eilo, meanwhile, had pulled out his cell phone and was typing with fast fingers. 

Karolina shook her head. “So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her.” She grinned, then added as an aside, “Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.”

“We’d like to see them sometime,” Ildaria responded. 

Karolina nodded, then shook her head and clarified, “Which—my tapes or the email?” 

Eilo answered without looking up, “Both.”

He finished what he was doing after a moment of quiet, then held his phone up for Ildaria and Karolina to see. “Seems like she’s still in touch with people,” he said.

They leaned forward to view the screen while he swiped at it, then Karolina laughed.  “Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!”  

While they watched, Eilo moved through a hastily thrown together slideshow of the princess with various people Karolina knew well. Some looked like event photos. Others were captured with long lenses—paparazzi shots that made money but didn’t always generate enough interest if the other person was a comparative nobody. Not everyone had evolved in the last thirty years. Plenty of people who visited the bar during the decade of Renzo’s ownership continued to have flourishing careers. They were, at the time, young and beautiful and painfully unprepared for the lifetime of celebrity ahead of them. That’s what they brought to this place more than anything: their pain, which, being creative types, they eagerly spun into something beautiful and private. 

That’s what The Den gave them. These impossibly talented, dedicated stars created fleeting things for each other and no one else. Bands and dance troupes formed. An endless stream of songs and poetry and performance art kept the bar’s little stage occupied nightly for years. Offstage, people with no reason to meet in the real world bonded in this space of both contrived and undeniable intimacy. For some, the reprieve helped them endure the difficulty of becoming that invariably attended a rise in fame. It was detrimental to others. These were the ones who didn’t evolve—people who gave up their relevance to live forever in this meaningless, generative privacy or people who couldn’t make the choice and lost everything in the process. 

Karolina hadn’t evolved, but she hadn’t died or wanted to die either. From her perspective, what people like the princess and even Renzo himself had done wasn’t evolution. It was more like a revelation. People don’t change, she would tell Eilo and Ildaria later, over dinner, when the conversation had moved far away from the royal footnote. She believed people just uncover deeper truths about themselves, knowingly or unknowingly, and those became harder to conceal once they were exposed.

Have you felt that way before? she asked them. Exposed, like when you break your leg so hard the bone snaps right through your skin? They had. The conversation detoured to childhood misadventures, but Karolina had a point to make. She pulled them back. Some people get comfortable with that feeling and learn how to live in it. Other people, you know, they deny and lie and call it growth. That’s my opinion. I’ve seen it—artists are the worst for it, I swear. Artists who don’t want to be artists anymore? Worse than that. 

Can I say you sound bitter? Ildaria laughed. 

Now, Karolina threw her hands up. She exclaimed, joyful, That’s my truth, baby! I took too many bites of the world, and I’ve been disgusted by it ever since. Some people come out of their mamas malcontent.

Later that night, Eilo was exhausted, but Ildaria’s hand hovered over the light switch with uncertainty. She heaved a big, put-upon sigh, then asked, “Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?”

“Give her a call?” Eilo snorted. “Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.” He sat up straighter, then added, “No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.”

“Not a bear,” Ildaria retorted. “A jaguar. Roar!”

TRANSCRIPT:

KAROLINA | Have a look. I'm ready when you are.

RENZO (O.S.) | Get that thing out of here, Karolina!

ILDARIA | Can you tell us about her?

KAROLINA | Sure. What's she going to do, sue me? CAMERAMAN | Maybe.

KAROLINA | I'll take the risk.

KAROLINA | Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993

EILO | What's the story here?

KAROLINA | It wasn't anything formal.

KAROLINA | Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like. That was Renzo.

ILDARIA | And Leonor?

KAROLINA | Like I said, I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—

ILDARIA | Did she do that?

KAROLINA | No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.

KAROLINA | She's a different person now, clearly. But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.

KAROLINA | She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was always a snob, but I my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.

ILDARIA | You haven't talked to her since '92?

KAROLINA | So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her. Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.

ILDARIA | We'd like to see them sometime.

KAROLINA | Which—my tapes or the email?

EILO | Both.

EILO | Seems like she's still in touch with people. KAROLINA | Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!

ILDARIA | Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?

EILO | Give her a call?

EILO | Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.

EILO | No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.

ILDARIA | Not a bear. A jaguar. Roar!

[sqarletsworldlesswandering]

Your original starfolk species (Inkwells and Libellits) are so cool... would it be okay if we get some more lore on them? Especially the Libellits please?

Eeeeee absolutely! I shall happily infodump about them (half of this I'm making up as I go, but it's fun).

Inkwells and Libellits are a symbiotic pair - Inkwells observe and record, Libellits keep the records.

Libellits consist of a few supporting shapes and a large scroll - this scroll is part of them, though they look deceptively like they simply carry it. The scroll cannot be removed from the Libellit, but they have a built in means of transferring its contents to an inanimate scroll. The process looks like a small seal sigil that "enchants" the scroll briefly - long enough to transfer the desired info. The only caveat to this is that it's a transfer, not a copy. Once the information has been shifted to a regular scroll, the Libellit can no longer access that information. They are usually rather stingy about transferring material, as they will collect it like a crow collects shiny things. It's their version of a horde, and unless specifically trained to be chill about it, they don't like losing information. They can be somewhat satiated if you let them read through the scroll when they're done transferring, since they can remember at least the gist of it, even if they don't have the exact access they had previously.

(I am contemplating another Starfolk concept a step up from Libellits, who are able to access multiple scrolls, or at least retain information after copying. These would be librarian-esque Starfolk. Perhaps these are a combination of an Inkwell and Libellit? ...Inklits? Librarians?)

Libellits also don't "run out of scroll" - or at least not writing space. Their scrolls are a finite length, but can store theoretically infinite amounts of text. You see, the writing looks like it's stored on their scroll, but that's just where the Inkwells can input information. The information itself is stored in the Libellit's essence. The Inkwell writes on the scroll, and that information is "written" into the Libellit itself. The Libellit can then access that information at will, displaying it on their scroll for perusal.

While Inkwells can function and record without a Libellit, a Libellit without an Inkwell is less lucky - Ink made from Starfolk essence is the only ink they can actually store information from. Inkwells provide that naturally, but for anyone else to record on a Libellit, they would need to get the ink some other way. This... can be done, but it's tricky and somewhat taboo. The non-taboo method is to gather it off of a previously fallen Inkwell (this is actually considered respectful, in a way - it makes use of something they no longer can). Alternatively, sometimes Inkwells will give you a bit of their ink in exchange for either a writing surface (if sans Libellit), or information (if capable of asking). The taboo way involves the unpleasant process of draining essence and converting it, which is...highly frowned upon both as cruel and incredibly disrespectful.

Libellits without an Inkwell will typically wander around looking for one, often searching for the caches of writing that Inkwells without Libellits will accumulate. In folk tradition, it's both polite and thought to be good luck to direct Libellits to any such caches you know about, if they are looking.

When paired, Inkwells and Libellits will share the same level of sentience, whoever's is higher when they pair. When sentient, they will roam around recording whatever intrigues them, unless employed by someone (they accept payment in either information and secrets or fruit. Fruit because Inkwells can glean and refresh their essence from it and Libellits simply because they enjoy it).

Non-sentient pairs will seek out someone to imprint on, and in the Old World typically succeeded - they were considered very useful, especially for Starfolk lacking the right limbs for writing.

They will also sometimes congregate in larger groups, either of their own will when they run across each other, or at the nudge of another Starfolk or two. These groups are called Libraries. (Maybe the Librarian concept I mentioned earlier constitutes a leader/shepherd for these guys?)

Inkwells hate water, but Libellits are - very conveniently - waterproof! This is part of why they're so valuable to archivists - their records are safe from most hazards to books.

Both Inkwells and Libellits are generally quite intelligent, and almost always passive. The exception is when you threaten one of the pair, the other will become aggressive. Both are also very friendly, and aside from being very useful critters, are also affectionate pets (the Libellits are usually a little more friendly than the Inkwells). Libellits will sit in your lap and chirp, and some can even "recite" bits of their records by stitching together mimicked pings. Either way they'll sit and "talk" to you (incoherent chirp-babbling) very animatedly, and will love you forever if you sit and listen to them. Inkwells are a little quieter and in some ways more cagey, and of the two are really the only one with any defensive capabilities (pen go stab).

Sadly, after the fall of the Old World, these guys don't have as much purpose. The sentient ones will keep documents, but the non-sentient pairs can end up wandering for the rest of their lives simply because no one has time to keep them, or any use for them. In the Old World, you simply did not attack or absorb Inkwells or Libellits, but now, some Starfolk will absorb them out of necessity or simply out of pity.

When a Libellit is absorbed or otherwise killed, they will drop a small crystal containing any information they had. This can be interpreted by other Libellits and Inkwells. In a pinch, in can be transferred to scrolls, although it's a tedious process given that you don't know how much information there is, and getting enough paper space can be a trick. It's more efficient to either have another Libellit store or methodically transfer the info, if possible.

[beardedmrbean]

In an Instagram story posted on Sunday, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a New York Democrat, blasted Green Party presidential candidate Jill Stein as "predatory" due to her multiple runs for the White House while struggling to grow the third party at the grassroots level.

In 2016, Stein played kingmaker in several key battleground states. Her vote total was higher than Donald Trump's margin of victory in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and Michigan—prompting intense backlash from Democrats and political pundits. Not only was Stein widely condemned as a spoiler, but former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, who was the Democratic nominee during the 2016 election, later accused her of being a "Russian asset."

Ocasio-Cortez accused Stein and the Green Party, which reached its current party status in 2001, for only putting its emphasis on presidential elections. To date, no Green Party candidate has ever held a federal office and only a handful have been elected as state legislators.

Ocasio-Cortez, responding to a question from an Instagram follower about Jill Stein's candidacy, said that "this is a little spicy, but I have thoughts."

"If you run for years in a row, and your party has not grown, has not added city council seats, down ballot seats and state electives, that's bad leadership. And that to me is what's upsetting," the congresswoman said about Stein.

Stein will be on the ballot in Arizona, California, Florida, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, New Jersey, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Texas, Washington and West Virginia, according to Ballotpedia's most-recent update.

She will also be on the ballot in Montana, Utah, Nevada, Alaska, Arkansas, Wisconsin, Tennessee, Maine, Maryland and Missouri, Stein's campaign manager Jason Call previously told Newsweek.

Meanwhile, the Green Party is on the ballot in Mississippi, South Carolina and Hawaii.

The reason for why Stein is on the ballot in some states and the Green Party is on in others is because of ballot access procedures.

On its website, the Green Party states that "at least 144 [party members] hold elected office in 20 states across the United States as of February 15, 2024." The list includes Green Party members of local school, zoning and tax boards, as well as several city council members.

The New York Democrat said that Stein had been the Green Party's candidate for 12 years in a row. However, Howie Hawkins ran as the party's nominee in 2020.

"If you have been your party's nominee for 12 years in a row, and you cannot grow your movement, pretty much at all, and can't peruse any successful strategy...and all you do is show up every four years to speak to people who are justifiably pissed off, you're not serious. To me, it does not read as authentic, it reads as predatory. I'm sorry, I'm just saying it," Ocasio-Cortez said in her Instagram story.

She also asserted that she's not against third parties, overall, and that she has and will continue to endorse some third-party candidates, even against Democrats.

"What I have a problem with is, if you're running for president, you are the DeFacto leader of your party. I've been on record with criticisms of the two-party system. This is not about that," the congresswoman added.

A spokesperson for Stein referred Newsweek to the Green Party candidate's posts on X, formerly Twitter, in response to Ocasio-Cortez.

The Massachusetts native wrote in one post, "What's seriously predatory is pretending your candidate is 'working tirelessly for a ceasefire' [in Gaza] when in reality they're actively arming and funding genocide."

She wrote in a second post, "Democrats sue to kick us off ballots, hire operatives to infiltrate and sabotage us, lock us out of debates, fight ranked-choice voting, then act concerned that Greens have only won 1400 elections. So which party is authentic, and which is predatory?"

Newsweek emailed Ocasio-Cortez's office Sunday afternoon for comment.

The Democratic Party has gone through considerable legal efforts to challenge third parties from appearing on ballots.

Before independent candidate Robert F. Kennedy Jr. suspended his campaign and endorsed Trump, Democratic-funded lawsuits had successfully removed him from the ballot in New York and had tried and failed to remove him in North Carolina and New Jersey.

On Monday, the Wisconsin Supreme Court rejected an attempt by Democratic National Committee (DNC) official David Strange to knock Stein off the state's ballot this year.

Strange said that the Green Party should not be allowed to nominate presidential electors in Wisconsin because it does not have any state officeholders or legislative candidates to nominate these presidential electors. However, the court ruled that "the petitioner is not entitled to the relief he seeks."

Michael White, co-chair of the Wisconsin Green Party, said the complaint was a "mark of fear by the Democratic Party."

In her 2017 book, What Happened, Clinton wrote: "So in each state, there were more than enough Stein voters to swing the result."

Nationally, Stein received 1 percent of the vote in 2016, just under 1.5 million votes. In the 2020 election between Trump and Joe Biden, the Green Party's candidate, Hawkins, only received 0.2 percent of the popular vote.

When asked recently by Newsweek if she feared a similar backlash after Trump's 2016 victory when Clinton and many in the Democratic Party blamed her for taking crucial votes in several battleground states, Stein said those "smear or fear campaigns by the parties of Wall Street have never stopped."

"The exit polls showed the vast majority of our votes in 2016 were non-voters," Stein said, stating it is nonsense to claim her party took votes away from Clinton. "That campaign has never stopped and doesn't influence my thinking. My thinking is on the climate catastrophe, economic hardships and stopping endless wars."

In addition to Stein, Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris could also lose votes in key states to Cornel West, the "Justice for All Party" presidential candidate.

According to the Associated Press, a cohort of Republican strategists, attorneys, and supporters nationwide are striving to influence the upcoming November elections in a manner that potentially benefits Trump. Their objective is to bolster third-party candidates like West who present liberal voters with a different option that might divert support from Harris.

The funding source for this initiative remains ambiguous, but it holds substantial potential to alter outcomes in states that saw extremely narrow margins in the 2020 election won by Biden.

West's campaign has encouraged the effort. Last month, the academic told the AP that "American politics is highly gangster-like activity" and he "just wanted to get on that ballot."

Trump has offered praise for West, calling him "one of my favorite candidates." Of Stein, the former president favors her for the same reason.

"I like her very much. You know why? She takes 100 percent from them. He takes 100 percent," Trump has said.

[khadgarfield]

This year I set myself a goal to complete FIFTY books, and keep a record of what I read including what I thought about/learned from each book in terms of writing techniques, story structure, or just wrt developing a better idea of my own writing goals and tastes. I demolished this goal before June, which I am extremely pleased about, and I am still in the process of demolishing this goal, having completed another three books since I last updated this list a week or two ago!

The aim of this exercise was the following:

Re-establish reading habit, and improve attention span.

Re-Learn how to write down my thoughts about books, even if they are uncritical observations, opinions, or ideas inspired by what I'm reading.

Cover as much ground as possible as fast as possible, over a wide range of topics and genres (audiobooks and written books both count!)

Book quality was not a factor I considered when picking what to read - if it fell into my lap I read it and wrote down my thoughts, and let me tell you I definitely read some sub-par books in 2023. I read some really great ones too! But when one is not picky you kinda get what you get, and I think next year I might be a bit more discerning/tactical in my approach. I also did NOT go to tik tok for book recs because I don't believe in tik tok the same way some people don't believe in the spherical earth. I picked books based on word of mouth, recommendations spoon fed to me by via the audible algorithm (still evil, but the devil one knows and all that), and via on-the-ground perusal of book shops and stacks and the 'recently returned' feed on the libby app. Despite this, I know some booktok faves managed to find their way onto my list. I am working very hard not to acknowledge this, please don't draw undue attention to it 😂

Speaking of libby, my hold list also grew astronomically this year. My poor local library is limited, and I have been waiting for a few books I really want for MONTHS (riyria revelations v1, the colour of magic, the king in yellow...). I was able to borrow as many cosy murder mysteries as I wanted, though, because small town libraries seem to have 10000000 of those available per patron per anum. Unfortunately, I have discovered I am neutral at best about this genre. 😔

The best books I read this year across all genres and in no particular order were as follows:

The southern book clubs guide to slaying vampires - Grady Hendrix: this appealed deeply to my love of and familiarity with horror movies of the 80s-2010s. It had an innovative and articulate approach to themes like powerlessness, rage, desperation, boredom, inequity, and guilt - at least compared to everything else i read this year. I noted paralells between this and Ira levins stepford wives, much of Stephen kings horrific americana, plus some other books and movies which I alluded to in my notes but for some reason I didn't write down (foolish 😓). Some big TWs would apply for this one, however.

The day of the triffids - John Wyndham: genuinely I do not know how I enjoyed this so much. I had no business enjoying this so much. Despite being from 1951, parts of this felt very contemporary in style and concept, tho sometimes dubious ideas about humanity or society would appear in the text as if they were a natural fact. Nevertheless, I went out and read another Wyndham book straight after, because there was also some beautiful prose in this, and it's always interesting to personally experience the origin of so many tropes which are like. Ubiquitous now.

Uglies series - Scott Westerfield: another unexpected winner. I never read these books as a teen and I consider that a good thing because they would have made my little adolescent brain crazy. These books are crammed with paraphernalia which would have been the coolest shit to a 13 year old me, all masterfully concealing themes about beauty and social hierarchy and state surveillance in a way that seems exponentially more relevant now than it did nearly 20 years ago. I was so impressed with these books honestly, and the way this author used language was something else. I didn't even notice what was going on until it was pointed out by the story, having simply resigned myself to reading an averagely written book full of weird dialect quirks just because it was pitched at a teen reader. I was way wrong, and ive never seen such an elegant example of style justified by the narrative itself. I really wish I could do something that skillfull in my own work!

Braiding sweetgrass - Robin wall Kimmerer: gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. a sensory joy. Seriously beautiful, and surprisingly emotionally intense. I had to read this in short bursts because it made me feel too much about trees.

Boy Parts - Eliza Clark: this one made me feel things I haven't figured out yet. Unlike everything else ive ever read, I could have believed that I wrote this, and that recognition of the self was horrifying because there wasn't a moment in the story i didnt struggle to reconcile revulsion with the exquisite beauty of it all. Easily the scariest book of the year, Easily the one i have thought about the most, Easily the biggest TW of my 2023 recommendations. I'm gonna be defining my own work against this for at least the next six months, or until I have matched it in calibre/distanced myself from it so completely that I am forced to recreate myself and my art anew.

In 2024, I plan to narrow my scope more and focus back on horror, fantasy, and non-fiction. Based on how good I was in 23, I'm going to aim for 65 books in 2024!!!

[beantothemax]

some accumulated stars thoughts over time for your perusal

a. hoooly shit they said nya

b. hoooly shit dile did too

c. WOK

d. cannot wait for either when there's 5 stools conviniently in one very close location or when sif just doesnt give a shit anymore

e. just realised their attack animations are the relevant hand sign i think thats very cool (except for sif i get hes trying to be cool but boss your pose is incomprehensible within the confines of square(my guess is he holdin a knife tho))

f. odile's dying face is awesome and she is very swagful for it

g. the "sif is literally me" file grows larger in evidence every passing line of dialogue, most notably the "you like bein near then and not contribuing to conversation, having friends is nice :)" bit

h. sometimes i just like to walk back and forth down hallways and looka those very crisp 2 frames of walking animation. isabeau is top tier, and boni is a close second with their naruto running

i. i dont quite understand the recording of levels in regards to the looping but im sure ill get it in time, it has been introduced for approx five seconds after all

j. games with many save slots always worry me as i then think that its gonna have some major choices that can result in different endings or perhaps a completely different route which is especially confusing for this as it seems like a linear ass game so far. also when i attempt to use them my brain hurts with remembering where and what i was doing in which save.

a: moment so important i took a video of it so it could be immortalized for all time

b: see above

c: WOK

d: sif is in dire need of a sit… pls provide stool

e: i can provide (1) image for this one!!!!!

it’s a lil hard to make out, but sif’s brandishing their dagger in one hand and making a scissors sign with their other!

f: odile is SO cool i love her dearly…

g: I THOUGHT THE EXACT SAME THING WHEN I READ THAT DIALOGUE……. they’re just like me for real….

h: the walking sprites are very good!!!!!!!! all the sprites in general are!!!! they’re so little!!!!!!

I: i THINK it works like this: the experience and craft skills your party has is recorded every time you interact with a save point. Whenever you loop to ANY save point, they’ll keep the highest recorded stats. so if you grind your party to level 52, save at a house save point, loop back to dormont, save again at a house save point with your party at level 46, die again, then loop forward to any castle save point, your party will be level 52. I think. it’s confusing.

j. i really hope there isn’t anything like that, or if there is, they at least warn you if you’re going to make a major voice so you can make extra saves accordingly…

[rfsak2]

Easy Target, Pt 1.

So we'll see if anyone even reads this but Ima post it anyways. This has been brewing for decades at this point and it is somewhat of a rewrite of something I posted on Sycophant Hex (~I’m aging myself~) years ago.

For the record I acknowledge that Snape is OOC. He’s taller (by a lot), capable of healing and kindness, and has a sense of humor and hella PTSD.

His characterization is due partly to having started reading these books as a kiddo well before the end of the series (which ended when I was in college ~I’m old~). I have been collecting and revising headcanons since I was a child and now, as an adult and a therapist, I have a very specific idea of Snape that may not be canon, but I might like better.

I also have un-unalived some characters. Lupin and Tonks and maybe more as we go. We’ll see. Again it may not be canon, but I like it and my Snape better. (Fuck JKR).

If you like my Snape, let me know. If ya don’t… also let me know. I’d love to discuss and compare our thoughts

Easy Target

They thought wrong. Severus/OC

Warnings: nothing right now, some bad language words. There will be warnings if continued including mentions of past abuse/assault, violence, smut.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. 

“Little Lottie Beauregard.” The woman grinned maliciously. “How the hell are you doin’?” 

Charlotte sighed and set down the book she had been perusing. She glanced over her shoulder and made sure her son was out of earshot. “My last name is de Vilieré, Annabelle, or are your drinking habits finally impairing your memory?”

Annabelle grit her teeth. “No, ‘course not. Say, did you hear about who was at Antoine’s last night?” 

Charlotte made a face. “Can’t say I care about gossip.”

“Beau was seen with the Dreaux girl.” 

“Good for her.”

Annabelle fidgeted with her hair, disconcerted that she wasn’t getting a reaction. “I mean, I would think you’d be interested as that’s why y’all got divorce ‘n all.”

“I didn’t get divorce because Beau was fuckin’ other women. Sorry that I can't validate your petty jealousy.”

“My petty jealousy?” Annabelle shook herself free of following that line of thought. “Why did you get divorced then?”

Charlotte caught her eyes and held them, dispassionate and disinterested, sliding a book back onto the shelf.

Annabelle shied away from her. “I just know that the Beauregards aren’t the kinda family you leave. So you had to have reason to try.” 

“I didn’t try, Annabelle, I succeeded.” Charlotte began flipping through another book. “Maybe, they aren’t as bulletproof as all y’all thought.”

“Rumor has it, your mother has already started undoing all your success.” Annabelle managed to make faux sympathy look as vicious as direct assault. “I reckon you’ll be back at home in no time.” 

Charlotte chuckled, eyes fixed on a spell in the book she was reading. “Well, my mother is hot on the heels of her own divorce, so maybe she should mind her business.” Charlotte turned towards Annabelle and shut the book with a snap. “Ironically, that’s advice you’d find helpful too.” 

Annabelle batted her eyelashes. “Oh, didn’t y’know: my business is anything I make my business.”

“That’s why your family business is failing, ain’t it?” Charlotte nodded. “Makes sense, too many fingers in too many pies.”

Annabelle blanched.

“Though, gotta say, don’t know why’d you want me to remarry Beau.” Charlotte mimicked her simpering tone. “After all, now you can fuck him all you want and you’ll be the only one committing adultery. I mean, he may need to hire a secretary to manage his…  social calendar but I’d imagined this would be good news for you… and the others too, ‘course.”

Annabelle ignored her, pushing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be silly. Your father isn’t going to divorce your mother. Seriously, it’s a bluff.”

Charlotte smiled. “Would you look at that? There’s at least one thing you don’t know anything about.”

Annabelle hummed, trying very hard to remain calm and disinterested. She failed.

Charlotte bared her teeth. “You don’t know my dad.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “No one knows your father.”

Charlotte nodded, eyes on Hadrien, lest he hear more than he should. “That’s not one hundred percent true. I mean he is the eldest son of one of the founding families of this city, a descendant of the first Creole governor of Louisiana. He’s a philanthropist, an expert in his field, he’s active in all the right circles. Everyone knows my father. My father just doesn’t cast pearls before pigs.” 

“Pigs?” Annabelle sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands, trying to school her emotions. “And yet, even the illustrious de Vilierés needed the Beauregards-“

Charlotte laughed. “We didn’t need the Beauregards. My mother made what she thought was a calculated bet. She put her money on the wrong horse, hence the divorce.”

“What horse should she have betted on?”

Charlotte grinned. “Me.”

Annabelle swallowed. “Seems to me that the de Vilierés aren't as prominent as they used to be. Seems to me that she bet on the only horse she had.” She simpered. “After all, the shame was only narrowly avoided. If she had not acted so soon… well, one shudders to think.”

“Must not shudder often, huh?”

Annabelle shot her a nasty glance. Charlotte returned it.

“I just think y’all are awfully big in your britches, considering…”

“Considering, what?” Charlotte challenged. “Quit pussyfooting and say it.”

Annabelle demurred.

Charlotte nodded, sighing. “See now… That’s how I know just how prominent my family is. You wanna drop hints and flirt with what you think is true, but you are too coward to say it. You lack conviction. I doubt you really believe the shit in your mouth. It’s just fodder for your imagined superiority.” Charlotte shrugged and returned Annabelle’s earlier malicious grin. “But then, maybe you just don’t know. Just like you don’t know my dad. You don’t run in the right circles. You want to, for sure. Badly. Desperately. You spend too much money -more than the rumor mill says you have- on dresses for balls and cotillions hosted by social circles you’ll never be welcomed in, to climb a ladder you can only get so high on.”

Annabelle shrunk back.

Charlotte didn’t press forward. Her posture remained loose and unbothered. “Just remember, Annie, my family built the ladder you’re trying to climb. I firmly believe everyone deserves a chance to try to climb the ladder, but knocking us off won’t get you any closer to the top any faster.”

“How egalitarian of you.” She sneered

Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not equality per say, but desire for quality competition. Can’t know how good I am if I don’t know how good my competition is. As it is, I’m not sure I have competition.”

Annabelle flushed. “See, the problem with y’all is-“

Charlotte hummed, cutting her off and set the book in her hand back on the shelf. “The problem is you decided to make my life momentarily difficult instead of minding your damn business. The problem is you’re boxin’ outta your weight class. Shoulda kept your mouth shut and you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself. But then, the problem is that you got that inferiority complex gnawing at your brain. Makes it difficult to think, I reckon.”

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned over her shoulder, away from Annabelle’s slack-jawed stare, and smiled at her brother-in-law’s mother, her godmother.

“Bonjou, Mama Oya! Koman sa va?”

“Mo bon, babygirl.” Tall and ebony-skinned, Oya Dillioles glared down her nose at Annabelle with more regal dignity than any monarch the world over had ever possessed. “Mrs. Brennan.”

Annabelle just managed to not sneer. “Mrs-“

Charlotte tsked. “Madame.” She tilted her head, blonde ringlets tumbling over her shoulder. “I mean, you gotta know I ain’t about to let you address her recklessly.”

Annabelle locked her jaw. “Madame Dillioles.”

Charlotte smiled. “That’s better.”

Oya hummed and turned sharply away from the fuming brunette. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on each of Charlotte’s cheeks. Charlotte stretched up to return the gesture.

Oya shifted so she was standing full in front of Annabelle. “Charlie, cher, I was on my way to the Shop and felt faint. I was hoping you and my strapping, young grand-baby could walk me over, if y’all were done here?”

Charlotte fought back a smile, knowing full well that Oya Dillioles had never felt faint a day in her life. Charlotte would unhesitatingly put money on her living forever. 

“Of course, Mama. We’re meandering that way.” Charlotte called over to Hadrien, who stood from where he had been inspecting a low shelf of books. “Baby, is there anything you wanted to buy? We’re gonna walk over to the Shop with Mama Oya.”

“No, I’m good. I didn’t see anything that we don’t already have at the house.” Hadrien approached with a bright smile, giving Annabelle Brennan a wide berth. “Hey, Mimi!”

Oya’s smile was beaming as she reached up for Hadrien’s peach-fuzzed cheek. “I see you everyday, baby, and I swear you get taller every time. Just the spittin’ image of your Grandpa and Uncle.”

Hadrien beamed and stopped ever so slightly to press a kiss to his de facto grandmother’s cheek.

They left without glancing at Annabelle Brennan. Meandering idly, Hadrien regaled Mama Oya and Charlotte with a complicated potion he had been helping his uncles with all summer.

“Nonc Ogun said that my-“ he stopped short in front of a beignet shop. “Do you think they’ve eaten?” 

“Your uncles?” Charlotte glanced at her watch. “I doubt it. It’s only 10:30, baby.”

“I’ll get them coffee and some pastries then. Be back in a second.” 

Charlotte smiled. “Get me a coffee too, H. Mama Oya?”

Mama Oya pinched Hadrien’s cheek. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

When Hadrien was clear of the door, Mama Oya glanced down at Charlotte. “You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

Charlotte smiled. “She doesn’t. I’ve known her all my life and the worst she can do is try to taunt me about my divorce? A divorce I wanted and instigated?” Charlotte grinned. “Pathetic. I ain’t worried about her.”

Oya hooked her hand in Charlotte’s elbow. “Who then? Who are you worried about?”

“My son, me, all of my family including the Dillioles..” Charlotte shrugged. “I love NOLA, it’s in my blood-“

“But?”

Charlotte sighed. “But I’m not sure how much longer I can be here without hexing someone into the next century.”

Oya frowned. “Are people harassing you? If so, I can get Amadioha or Eshu to walk around with you.”

“No… that’s not necessary. They both have more important things to be doin’ than babysitting me.”

Oya clicked her tongue. “They would happy -proud- to keep their Auntie Charlie safe, you know that, especially if you’re being harassed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Charlotte sighed. “People mostly just stare or make little snide comments. I kinda wish someone would try something. Give me a reason.” Charlotte caught her eyes. “I just- I’m done. I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore. To show people only what they want. To allow them to spew shit about situations they know nothing about without retaliation. It’s killin’ me.”

Oya nodded. “You’ve never been good at politicking, playing nice. Straight to the point. It’s one of the reasons we should’ve known that you didn’t want to be with him. That there was more going on.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I worked real hard for a long time to keep y’all out of it. I just wish I had said something sooner.”

Oya nodded. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I just don't know if I can be me here. Everyone already has an opinion here. About me, about the family, about the divorce. I feel like I’m suffocating.” She sighed. “I'm trying to make it to January but I don’t know if I can.”

“When Hadrien turns eighteen.” 

Charlotte nodded. “I have an interview. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“For a job?” 

“Yeah, with a school out in the UK.”

“Hogwarts?” Oya whistled. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

Charlotte swallowed. “They’ve finished fixing up the school after the- after and the Headmistress was their transfiguration professor so they need a new one.”

Oya smiled and pinched at her cheek. “Well, I’ll miss you for sure, but I can’t think of a better person to take over a transfiguration professorship.”

Charlotte turned wide, vulnerable eyes on Oya. “Are you sure?”

Oya pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. “Never been surer about anythin’, cher. You are the best transfiguration master I’ve ever met.”

Charlotte breathed deep and nodded. “One thing that would make it easier, tell you what. Once Dad’s divorce is final…”

Oya sucked on her tongue. “Hush you.”

Charlotte grinned. “Gotta get rid of your boy toys though.”

Oya pursed her lips to tamp down her smile.

**

Charlotte yawned and glanced at her watch. 

6:00 am. Goddamn.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she dropped her portkey into the waiting basket, set down the bird cage in her hands and stepped off the platform. 

This is bullshit. People don’t actually exist at this hour.

She looked around quietly, hoping to catch sight of not only the customs office, but also a coffee shop? Or at least someone who could tell her where to find one?

She sighed upon seeing the customs office, sans coffee, and made her way towards the line she could already see forming, catching a brief glimpse of herself in a large decorative mirror. 

She winced, taking in her bedraggled appearance.  

As per normal, her blonde hair was a mess of frizzy ringlets, her blue eyes tired and clouded over the bags that normally haunted the sleepless. To top it off, she hadn't really even bothered to get dressed beyond a faded t-shirt and a pair of cuffed, faded blue jeans that had once been dark. It just seemed too much effort to get all dressed up for traveling and the inevitable errands she had to run.

She shivered. It was full-summer sweltering, bordering on hellish in NOLA. She had worked up a sweat walking from the car to the porkey office in NOLA not thirty minutes ago. She would have to dig a sweater out of one of her bags at first opportunity.

She swallowed dryly and set her shoulders. She was a de Vilierè. She could do this.

She felt her posture collapse, the energy required to keep upright almost too taxing on her frayed nervous system. 

I’m not sure I’m human currently, much less me.

She pinched the bridge of her nose feeling the caffeine headache starting up.

There was so much to do after she finished fighting her way through the red tape. There were new clothes to buy, books to peruse, money to exchange and bank vaults to set up. She then had to portkey to some remote town in Scotland and become acquainted with the school that she would be living in for the foreseeable future.

She sighed and shook off a raging headache and a distinct sense of melancholy. Best get to work.

**

After an hour waiting in the line at the customs desk in the British Ministry's International Portkey Office, she imagined she had seriously considered casting nearly dozen unforgivables, a great majority of them directed at either the execrably slow customs officer or the man in front of her that sported excruciatingly severe body odor.

It took a further fifteen minutes of abject torture before the man in front of her moved away from the counter and cleared the way.

To be fair, she tried valiantly to put on a smile and remember the manners society expected of her, but upon reaching the front of the line, the portly woman found there launched into a laundry list of items that the Ministry had deemed 'restricted.' 

No hello. No good morning. Just a list of vegetables and restricted potions ingredients.

It took another ten minutes and all of her easily exhausted patience, after pulling nearly all of her worldly possessions out of her bespelled satchel, to convince the officer that she was carrying none of the restricted items  in her luggage.

Finally, after checking the last item off her list, the witch turned back to her and held out one chubby hand. “Hand me your wand, Ms. de Vilieré.”

Charlotte raised a blonde eyebrow in response, both at the butchering of her name (de Vil-ear) and the idea of placing what amounted to a part of her soul into the hand of a customs officer who she doubted would treat it with the respect it deserved. Knowing it would get her nowhere, she relented and handed her the wand.

The woman examined the wand carefully and then measured it, calling back to one of her cronies, “Yew, ten inches, with...” She paused and cast a spell on the wand, “A snake's scale.” She shot Charlotte a skeptical look. “You yanks believe that snake scales hold magical properties?”

Charlotte smiled frostily, her deep south accent deepening further (if that was even possible) in irritation. “It's not just any snake, it's Li Grand Zombi and it does hold magical properties or it wouldn't be in my wand.”

“It's a zombie snake?” The woman guffawed. “I'll believe it when I see it.” 

“I can demonstrate if y’want.”

The woman froze, staring at her from under her lashes. “No, mum, it’s not necessary.” 

Charlotte simpered. “If you’re sure.”

She cleared her throat and gave the wand an experimental flick, turning her back on Charlotte. “Yew, ten inches, springy and with a zombie snake's scale at the heart.”

A red-headed man sat behind her and stared at Charlotte from behind a set of clerical file drawers. “Got it, Matilda.”

Matilda cast an appraising look at Charlotte and whispered, a bad parody of sotte voce. “Though, I reckon she’s not the type we’d be wantin’ ‘ere after You Know Who.”

The man nodded. “Yew wood and a snake core. Bad omens, they are.”

Charlotte grit her teeth. “Can I please have my wand back, Matilda?”

Matilda looked uncomfortable and handed back her wand. “Here y’go, mum.” She nodded, awkward anxiety written in her posture. “You’re done ‘ere, mum. Passport control and visas are two floors up.”

Charlotte thanked her quietly as she accepted her wand. She made to leave and paused. “For the record, Voldemort didn’t have nothin’  on some of our racist madmen.” Charlotte delighted in their shivers, fighting down her conscience. “And I’m an absolute pussycat compared to them. Adieu.”

She didn’t get far before regretting her ill temper. She’d be lucky to make it to Hogwarts at this rate. Matilda was probably calling the passport office right now.

Tossed out because I couldn’t watch my mouth. Who’da thunk?

Charlotte glanced up at the clock and cussed under her breath. She made her way towards where she assumed the elevators were. She had at least another hour of bureaucracy and red tape before she could do something fun.

Three hours later, she was sitting on a bench in the middle of the now-bustling Portkey Authority, trying valiantly to fight of the wave of sleepiness that had latched onto her mind with a vengeance as soon as she stopped moving.

As it were, she was quickly falling into a light doze when an indignant squawk broke its way through the fog of sleepiness.

“Hermés, shh.”

The squawking did not stop and the bird-cage sitting next to her on the bench shook violently. Charlotte sighed a little and, with a small indulgent smile, twisted around to find her steadily over-filled satchel on the other side of the bench next to her. She pulled out a bird treat and moved the leather cover out of the way looking at the falcon within.

She offered the treat as one would offer a peace treaty and got a hearty nip to her forefinger for her trouble.

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too, bitch. You never stay angry for long, and you know it.” She reached into the cage and smoothed the ruffled feathers on the falcon’s head, before retrieving another bird treat.

“I don't mean to intrude, mum, but are you Charlotte de Vilierè?”

Vil-i-ear. She shrugged. It was better.

Charlotte started and turned toward the representative of the Authority she somehow missed approaching. “Um yeah, that’s me.”

The short man cleared his throat. “Well, we are ready when you are, ma’am.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She took a deep breath and grabbed Hermés’ cage. “Let's go.”

**

Charlotte took another deep breath of clean, cool air, trying really hard to not jostle Hermés in his cage. She looked around Hogsmeade slowly, taking in what amounted to a tiny sleepy village in its full summer splendor. The sun was bright, the foliage green and the air cool and clean, a startling difference to the muggy, sweltering heat of New Orleanian summers. 

She took another deep breath to savor the beauty around her and stepped further onto the street.

“Oh and yeh must be the new professor!”

Charlotte started and turned towards the large man standing next to a carriage. She nodded slowly watching as the man began to walk towards her. He shot her a broad grin, then stuck a hand out.

“Th' name is Hagrid, I teach Care of Magical Creatures. Nice ta meet yeh, Professor.”

Charlotte felt her body relax, smiling easily and slipping her hand into his. “Charlotte de Vilieré. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Smiling, he reached for the bird cage in her hand and relieved her of her satchel as well. He bowed slightly and opened the door for her. “Go ahead, then. Get in the carriage. I'll be taking yeh up to the grounds.”

She nodded again and made for the carriage quickly. “Um thank you.”

He smiled and nodded then followed her into the carriage, setting Hermés on the ground between them. “You're welcome.” He settled back and shifted around her until he was comfortable. “So where are you from, Professor? The headmistress said you were from across the pond, but was mum as to where exactly.” A small self-deprecating smile flitted across his face. “Probably guessed we wouldn't have no clue what she was talking about anyways.”

Charlotte smiled softly.  “I'm from New Orleans, Louisiana.” At his look of confusion, she clarified. “It's in the South, along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.”

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. “Mardi Gras, right? I don’t rightly know where that is but I've heard about Mardi Gras. I probably coulda guessed that you were from the South from your accent.”

She chuckled lightly. “It is rather distinct. Maybe when I am settled in I can show you New Orleans on a map.”

“I would like that, professor.” Hagrid smiled broadly again. “So you're gonna be takin' over teachin' Transfiguration?”

“Um, yes. I'll be teaching Transfiguration and taking over a couple of the Arithmancy classes so that Professor Vector, I believe, can do more research.”

The sound of gates swinging open cut off the rest of the conversation.

“We're here.”

**

“This here is Professor Snape, our Deputy Headmaster. He'll be showin' yeh around Hogwarts.” Hagrid smiled brightly and motioned to the dour-looking man in all black standing on the steps of the school. As if sensing her anxiety, he whispered from somewhere over her head, and took Hermés’ birdcage from her hand. “I know he looks a fright, but he's a war-hero. Never met someone as brave ‘n trustworthy as the professor. Man deserves to be a little grumpy after what all happened. I’ll take your owl and your bags to your quarters.”

She nodded absently, choosing not to mention that he didn’t look a ‘fright’. He wasn’t smiling, sure, looked to be pretty ticked to be standing there, but that wasn’t the problem. 

She had done her research and knew who Severus Snape was. She knew to expect some curmudgeon-esque behavior. His personality had been extensively reported on, but so had his deeds, his skill, his intelligence. 

Severus Snape was capable and, while she knew she was intelligent and the Headmistress had been impressed with her, seventeen years trapped in a marriage had done little for her professional confidence. The imposter syndrome was kicking her ass. 

That and he was attractive. Sure, he wasn’t Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio, but she’d never been really interested in conventional. He was tall and intense and wore intelligence and ambition like armor. 

It had been a long while since she’d felt any type of attraction for anyone. It was enough to set her nerves on edge.

And honestly, she probably looked like she had been dragged backwards through a swamp. Bedraggled and disheveled.

Her mother’s voice came to her unbidden. Really Lottie. Put more effort into how you look. That’s your job as a wife, to be ornamental. He didn’t marry you for your brain.

Maybe if you took being Beau’s wife more seriously he wouldn’t-

She shook herself free of that memory and started up the stairs toward the tall man. She wiped her hands on her jeans, hoping he didn’t see, knowing by his sneer that he did. “Hello, Professor Snape. I am Charlotte de Vilieré.”

One black eyebrow rose as a pair of black eyes looked down in disgust at her hand. His eyes flickered back up to hers and he intoned a brief: “I'm aware.”

She breathed deep. So it begins. “‘Course.”

He hummed. 

Her jaw clenched slightly, before she forced herself to relax. “Nice to meet you.”

“I'm sure.” He sighed negligently and waved her into the castle. “Shall we? The Headmistress thinks it a good idea that I show you around the school.” His tone left no room for imagination as to his feelings on the matter. 

She sighed and followed after him, noting with more than a little resignation, that he seemed determined to lose her. At maybe six-three or six-four and towering a foot-plus over her not particularly impressive five-two, he had a much longer stride and used it to his advantage. He was in the building before she even had time to clear the first level of stairs.

Breathing deeply, she scampered behind him. Once in the building - the castle, good god, where am I?- she became easily distracted by the architecture, the smell, the feel of the place. Nothing in NOLA, as opulent and storied as it was, could compare to this.

He stopped abruptly, she almost ran full-tilt into his back, and turned towards her, watching in sarcastic amusement as she put a hand to her chest and huffed a shaky, “Shit.”

“Having problems keeping up, Ms. de Vilieré?”

What a dick. She glared at him and stood up straight. “Please continue, Professor.”

The smirk fell from his face, indicating that she had likely said that out loud. She flushed and felt a brief stab of something more than anxiety as he appraised her with dark eyes. 

He seemed to come to some decision and turned away, drawling a quiet: “Indeed.”

Turning toward the giant doors in front of them, one large hand came out from the depths of his pockets with a wand. A negligent flick of his wrist later and the doors opened.

She followed him into the room and looked up at the enchanted ceiling silently, awestruck by the sheer complexity of the charms needed to pull something like that off.

“Do close your mouth, Ms. de Vilieré. It is rude to gape.” He shot her a smug look and continued to walk further into the room. “This is the Great Hall...”

After that she found it rather hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Somewhere in between imagining a dozen or so wordless, wandless jinxes she could throw at him, she completely zoned out.

She was just considering the mathematics behind a wandless color change spell, when the subject of these musings cleared his throat.

“Ms. de Vilieré, if you would kindly listen when I speak to you.” 

With a swift shake of the head, the woman rejoined the world of the living and stared up at the very tall man in black with tired eyes, realizing yet again just how tired she was. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, chastising herself. She seriously considered attempting to throw a jinx at the man just because he was being a little ornery.

“Professor Snape?” A sour look passed over his face briefly as he waited for her to continue. Her accent was thick with exhaustion and she was sure she looked a mess, but she struggled to focus on his disapproving black eyes for more than a few seconds. “I know that it's pretty late in the afternoon here, and that by all rights I should be as cheerful as you, but,” she paused to yawn, peeking with one eye over the hand shielding her mouth at the glowering man, “But I have not stopped goin' since midnight and I need to sleep desperately.”

He looked down his long nose at her, black eyebrow raised in disdain. “I see. In that case, I will show you to your quarters. Will that suffice?”

She nodded mid-yawn before adjusting her tote on her shoulder. “By all means, lead the way.”

He nodded curtly and turned sharply on his heel. “This way, Professor.”

**

When next he saw her, this time hours later at staff dinner, she looked if possible, even more ridiculous. She seemed to be wearing the same trousers as she had been wearing this afternoon, wrinkled as if she had fallen asleep in them, accompanied by an over-large gray sweatshirt, with the word ‘Saints’ emblazoned across the front in garish gold lettering. Her curly blonde hair was free of the ponytail it had been in earlier and had formed a cloud around her head that made her look like an overgrown mushroom.

A beautiful mushroom, to be honest, with an alluring, impressively glowing recommendation from Minerva and a surname that tickled at his memory for some god forsaken reason. 

But a mushroom, nonetheless. 

She approached the table timidly, with the near imperceptible scuff of trainers on stone, and made for the only open seat, the one directly across from him.

The table fell silent, even Rolanda and Lupin choosing to forgo their rather obnoxiously loud discussion of quidditch in lieu of watching the tiny, blushing woman take her seat.

Minerva cringed slightly at the woman's less-than-professional appearance, before forcing a thin, polite smile on her face. She cast a look at Severus and he knew immediately that she was warning him to play nice. “And how did your travels go, Professor de Vilieré?”

“Charlotte’s fine.” The woman smiled, her hair arranging itself into a neat bun of its own accord. 

Wandless and wordless. Severus shrugged it off, it was likely a spell she had been using most of her life. Proficiency was a given. 

“It went alright, I guess, Headmistress. Thanks for askin’. I'm exhausted but I reckon I'll be right as rain in the morning.” She shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “And more put together too.”

Minerva responded with a pleasantry he didn't care to catch and the woman responded in kind with a soft smile and soft admonition he couldn’t make out. 

As she spoke recounting some particular or another about her journey, he allowed himself to listen to the odd cadence of her voice. Her voice was soft and her accent thick and drawling, lacking the staccato rhythm of the Minerva’s brogue and brusque quality of his own voice, but there was something annoyingly pleasant about it.

Like almost everything else about her, he decided it was irritating. She was a lesson in extremes. She was too short, her hair too wild, her jumper too garish and her accent too American. She couldn't just be average.

That thought led into another rather interesting thought. Why was it that this blasted school couldn't hire anyone normal? 

“Severus!” A long fingered hand landed on his sleeve heavily. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

Severus snapped to attention and focused on Minerva. “Yes.”

“What has you so distracted?” She retracted her hand.

He sighed, frustrated that he had been caught lost in his thoughts. “It is of no importance.” He caught de Vilieré’s eyes and grunted, looking down at his food.

**

“That jumper, Ms. de Vilieré, may I assume that it is in...support, shall we say, of a sports team?” Despite his polite, maybe even pleasant, phrasing, the deep baritone of his voice dripped with sarcasm. He didn’t like her or her sweater and desired that she knew it.

The asshole.

She looked up from the mush she had made on her plate and caught his arched eyebrow with one of her own, and spoke in a deliberately cheerful voice, nodding. “The New Orleans Saints. They are my hometown’s professional football- American Football- team.” She deliberately ignored his contemptuous look.

“Ahh,” he drawled, smirking slightly. “Muggle football, I’d suspect.”

She breathed deep, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, it’s a no-maj sport.”

“Not Quidditch?” Professor Hooch frowned. “Do Americans play quidditch?”

“Some people are into it. There’s a club league in NOLA that my brother-in-law tried out once. Quidditch is more popular up north, I think. The South has been obsessed with Football as long as people have been playing it.” Charlotte smiled. “To be honest, I don't think I've ever watched Quidditch. I’m not really a sports girl."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Then why the jumper, I wonder?"

Charlotte shrugged, watching as the Headmistress shot Snape a look. "I think my brother gave me this sweater, to be honest, or my dad.”

Professor Hooch looked scandalized. “Did you play quidditch at Ilvermorny?”

Charlotte smiled. “I didn’t go to Ilvermorny. The US is a very large country. Most states have their own school or schools. I went to the Convent - the Lafreniere School of Magic in New Orleans. The no-majs believe the school buildings are an old Ursuline Convent. Most still call it the Convent rather than by the school’s official name. Everyone in my family went there and it’s, like, right around the corner from our house. My dad wouldn’t have felt too secure sending his children that far from home.”

“It’s not a boarding school?” Professor Lupin leaned forward.

Charlotte rubbed at her face. Their questions were to be expected but this level of social engagement was exhausting her already rock bottom stores of energy. “No. Most schools in the States don’t board their students. Ilvermorny does and I think there’s a boarding school out in California.”

“I’ve heard that Americans often pursue higher education. Did you attend university?”

Charlotte winced imperceptibly, having dreaded this question. “I had planned to. Life got complicated around the end of my time at the Convent.”

“Complicated?” Snape drummed the pad of his middle finger against the table, dark eyes on her.

Charlotte nodded. “Complicated. I decided it would be more feasible to pursue apprenticeship in my chosen fields.”

“Complicated how?” 

She turned back to Snape and considered him quietly. “Complicated enough that it derailed many of my personal plans.”

He caught her eyes and held them for a long moment.

“How interesting.” The Headmistress smiled, sensing the rising tension. “The differences in culture are astounding.”

She blinked and he looked down.

Sprout leaned forward, ignoring her. “I’ve heard about something called Mardi Gras?”

Mar-tee Grass. Jesus Christ. 

Charlotte chuckled but didn’t correct her. “It’s one of the things New Orleans is famous for. It means Fat Tuesday. It’s the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.” 

“Ash Wednesday?”

Professor Snape sighed. “The Wednesday before the start of Lent.”

He was met with blank stares. He caught Charlotte’s eyes. “The forty days before Easter. Meant as a time of repentance. Catholics observe it.”

Professor Sprout turned back to her. “Are you Catholic?” 

The look on her face must have been unedited because Professor Lupin chuckled. 

She marshaled herself and made a so-so motion with her hands. “Culturally, I guess. I did all the sh- rites that were expected of me. But I haven’t willingly stepped inside a church in years.” She shrugged. 

“Why did you do all the rites if you don’t think you believe it?”

“Pomona!”

Charlotte nodded at the Headmistress. “It’s okay. It was expected of me, given my cultural heritage and family. I don’t know of any member of a Creole family that would risk social censure by rejecting Catholicism. You just do it, take Communion, light the candle, get it over with. Grease the wheels and all that.”

“How do you know about Lent, Severus?” Pomona turned to Snape with curious eyes. 

“I was raised Catholic.” Snape nodded to Charlotte. “Similarly to Ms. de Vilierè, I did all the shite that was expected of me and no longer practice.”

“I didn’t know that about you, Severus.” Flitwick hummed, kind smile on his face. “What did you mean by Creole, Charlotte?”

“Being of French heritage from the city of New Orleans.” 

“And being Catholic is part of being Creole?”

“I think it’s widely assumed to be essential to being Creole.” 

“You would disagree?” Severus watched her quietly.

“I don’t think it matters if I agree.” She sighed. “New Orleanian magical communities are very… culture-bound and committed to maintaining tradition. As a result, these communities retain a lot of the historical prejudices that the no-maj communities have lost to some extent. My family is Creole and, outside of school, I didn’t really socialize with people who weren’t. Creoles live in the Quarter and go to Mass at St. Louis, Americans live across Canal Street and attend church at First Magical Baptist, the Irish live in the Channel and go to their local Catholic church, and so on. If I had wanted to change that, make a different decision, -hell, if I had wanted to move out of the Quarter- the social pressure would’ve been intense.”

“Americans? Aren’t you all American?” Lupin smiled.

“Now, yes, but again, the Creole magical community holds to a lot of older, traditional prejudices. There’s a pecking order- a superiority complex. We were the original colonists. I’ve always been taught to identify as Creole first, American second.” 

“What’s Cajun?”

Charlotte blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What does the word Cajun refer to?” 

Charlotte’s smile felt tight. “Of French heritage from outside of the city.”

Professor Binns nodded. “I thought it was food.”

Charlotte breathed deep. “It means that too.”

The Headmistress sighed loudly and set her hands on the table with some amount of finality. “I think we’ve all asked too much of our new colleague already. She’ll be here past today so you can ask more questions at a later date.”

Professor Sinistra smiled. “New Orleans sounds fascinating.”

Charlotte ducked her head. “NOLA is unlike anywhere else in the US. It’s truly unique.”

“Why are you in Scotland then, I wonder?”

The air left the room with a whimper. The Headmistress rubbed at her face.

Charlotte nodded, biting at her lip, glancing over at Snape. There was a part of her that wanted to be honest and another, larger part that wanted to meet his sarcasm head-on. 

The latter part won. 

“The weather.”

Professor Sprout snorted.

He hummed, eyes on hers. “You’ll be disappointed then.”

She chuckled. “I already am. It was summer when I left NOLA this morning. I should’ve kept a jacket out when I packed. ‘Bout near froze.”

“Disappointed and of delicate constitution.” Snape sighed dramatically. “You’re not likely to last long here.”

The Headmistress's jaw clenched. “Severus.”

“I’m cold-natured, sure.” She shrugged, smiling the edgy little smile that used to irritate Beau. Despite the obvious being exactly what she meant, she clarified for the sake of professionalism. “I do get cold easily, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m delicate.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I wouldn’t worry about my longevity, I have survived much more frigid climes. I’m tougher than I look.”

Severus made a face that communicated clearly that he didn’t believe her. “I’m sure.”

She hummed. She wasn’t going to let him goad her into revealing more about herself than she was ready to share.

Professor Lupin glanced between the two of them. “At the risk of being nosy, why did you decide to move to Scotland?”

She considered Professor Lupin and saw Snape watch her out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she shrugged. “The magical community of NOLA isn’t small, per say, but it is insulated and very interconnected.“ She paused and looked at Snape again. “I felt a little stifled at home, I guess. Needed a new environment.”

“A new environment for what?” Snape traced the wood grain of the table with a single long finger.

She bit back the urge to shock him with an absurd lie. “To grow, develop. A bit like a houseplant, I needed a new pot.”

Professor Sprout made a pleased sound.

“You felt stifled in a city with the culture and history you’ve spent the last hour describing?” He demurred sarcastically. “Your new pot may be a mite small.”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright. After all, it seems big enough for the current residents.” She lowered her chin, eyeing him from under her lashes. “If such illustrious company can grow to fit such a space, I’m sure I will do alright.”

Professor Lupin choked on his wine. Professor Flitwick dropped his silverware with a clatter. Hagrid froze as if he was in the presence of a predator.

“Touché, Ms. de Vilierè.” Snape nodded. 

Part 2

[gamenu]

         “Ah, there you are.” He wanders up to where she is busied with her work, a stack of books floating next to him. “The last few days I have been attempting to familiarize myself with some of the particulars of Fleur City as I have never had an invitation to visit before, and I thought you might also profit from sharing in at least some of the information I have discovered.”

          If Malleus had been isolated in his own way, then she had been nearly as much so even if it was a far different sort of isolation. She would likely not be any more familiar with the city or its customs than he.

         “From what I have found thus far, the city has quite the interesting history even from the preliminary reading I have been able to do.”  The pile of books float to a rest on the bench nearby except for the one at the top of the stack which flutters open in front of where he stands, its pages rustling about until they lay flat at the spot he seeks.

         “Ah and see here. I have discovered a record of the city-wide festivals and holidays which have been celebrated since its founding. Though none may apply precisely to our situation, I thought they might prove informative to peruse nonetheless.”

         "Of course if there is any topic in particular you are most curious about, I would be happy to make note of my findings."

                                                  -- @fireandfae

          To say Naira was anxious would be an understatement. The little fae was still getting used to Night Raven, and now she had accompanied everyone to this new place. While it's not bad in the slightest, quite lovely, in fact...she's found her glow was more soft pink than it's bright yellow the more embarrassed she got when she couldn't keep up with the others. With how quickly they figured things out, or stuff they knew beforehand...it just served to remind Naira how truly out of place and how isolated she had been.

          So what does she do when her nerves get the better of her?

          She tinkers, of course.

          Naira had a few emergency projects, and Epel and Deuce had been more than generous in breaking small, non-consequential things for her to fix. Nothing that would hinder their trip or cause any real monetary value. Just something for her to fiddle with so she didn't have to think about other things, and so if anyone asked her something, she could easily claim she didn't hear them over the sound of her hammer.

          She had been in the middle of these when Malleus approached her. Immediately, he has her attention. He's been someone she's been able to trust consistently, and he's clearly come to share something with her as well.

          Placing her stuff down, she flutters up to sit on his shoulder and read along with him.

         "--I guess jus' learnin' abou' tha culture in general would help a lot." A soft scratch at her head before she looks up at Malleus. "They're really differen' from everyone a' Night Raven. An' I guess I'm afraid o' lookin' stupider than I already did. So I dunno where ta start...bu' whatever ya got, I'm willin' ta learn it."

[memoriofagoldfish]

On this day, one year ago...

Today I started off heading to the Stardom popup shop. I'd changed so many of my travel plans just to have a chance to visit this store, because it was a Stardom store. However, it was a mistake 😂 All the merch was just as shit as the last time they did a Tower Records popup store 😭 I had an inkling it would be going in, but I went for it anyway. I'd committed. The Gee Store was way better in comparison 😂

Anywhos! After that it was the start of my tour of Japan as a Stardom groupie 😂 The first show I was following them to was in Nagoya. I hopped on the Shinkansen and made my way there!

First off I hilariously went to the wrong hotel - the one next door to the one I'd booked, cos obviously I'd left my brain cells back on the train.

I honestly wasn't too enamoured with Nagoya when I was there. Perhaps I was in not the best district, or I was just tired and it was clouding my judgement, but it had a much seedier vibe than anywhere else I'd been. Not as clean too. Now, we're talking seedy and unclean by Japan standards - it was still far nicer to be in than most places in London 😂 But some of the establishments, especially walking around at night, yeah it defo didn't have the same vibe. But it was still good to see other cities in Japan outside of the tourist loop.

Wanting to see the sites, I first travelled to Osu Kannon, a Buddhist temple. It was a really nice place.

However, these two drunk foreigners snuck up on me and grabbed me by the back of the neck... like, what the fuck? This was in the afternoon, on temple grounds... have some respect. Not to mention, naturally I was kinda freaked out. They tried to talk to me, but I was civil and made my excuses as soon as I could. Kinda shook me up. :/

I went to Osu Shopping Street afterwards, and dag nammit if that place didn't have my EXACT fashion sense for sale, but my suitcase was too full for me to buy any of it 😭

Since I was so disappointed by the Stardom store in Tokyo that morning, I walked up to the Nagoya branch of Gee Store. Again, they had so much. Steins Gate, Black Lagoon... even this niche lil anime my friend was obsessed with at the time. And of course, Stardom merch. They didn't have what I wanted in my size, unfortunately, but at least I got to have a peruse :)

I tried to get to Nagoya Castle, see if there was a way to get some photos without visiting the castle grounds as I know it'd be tight time-wise the next day to visit before the Stardom show. Unfortunately I couldn't see it well, but I did see a guy feeding some cute stray cats :)

I struggled to find places to eat at night. From memory, there was an Italian place I tried that was too full, then a yakiniku place which was literally empty at peak times (which is kinda concerning). Eventually I found this little french place. I had this thinly sliced cold salmon. I thought it was cooked and cold, but turns out it was raw... I was trying to avoid eating raw fish, cos I heard it can upset your stomach if you're not used to it, and Sod's Law I was worried I'd end up feeling unwell again, like I did at the start of the holiday. Thankfully, I was fine, and it was actually really tasty.

Took some nice night time photos too :)

2023/04/28

[myfairstarlight]

For Every Question Why - Chapter 2

AO3 Link. / Previous. / Next.

Rated: T

Chapter length: 7.6k (THIS IS DOUBLE CHAPTER ONE IM SORRY)

Chapter summary:

A Seraphim takes a decision beneath their rank, an angel and a demon see a land turn into sea and a divine bet makes the angel ponder over his true purpose on Earth.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

After Judgement.

Janiel scoured the Human Department frantically, seeing Principalities and Cherubims pass them by without even a glance towards them, everyone still recovering from both the War and the Judgement. The halls of Heaven were now hollower than ever before, footsteps echoing through the Ether, it definitely felt like more angels Fell than Stayed.

It makes one wonder…

Eventually, Janiel found a fellow Seraphim at her desk, sorting through a quite — pardon the adjective, especially considering how recently it had been invented — hellish amount of paperwork.

“Seraphim Cassiel—” Janiel called but she raised a hand, engrossed in her work. So Janiel smacked their lips shut and waited, while still looking around in the hope of finding a familiar head of blond curls somewhere among the morose and tired soldiers walking aimlessly around Heaven.

“Seraphim Janiel,” she answered at last, now giving them her full attention. “Are you lost? This is not your department.”

“No, it isn’t, I’m searching for someone… what is all this?”

“Mm?” Cassiel looked down at the piles of parchments crowding her desk. “I was asked to update our records and find the files of all the Fallen Angels. Gabriel wanted to know how many were from this department so he and the Archangels could erase their memories if there were too many. Something about making it fair when each side will influence humanity.”

“I… see.” Fair, Janiel wanted to scoff but wisely stopped themself. Cassiel seemed apathetic at best at the notion but they better not risk it. “Do you need help?”

Cassiel squinted her eyes. “I thought you were searching for someone.”

“I’ll find them eventually. Do you really think you can finish sorting all this alone?”

The other Seraphim made a face and then silently miracled the desk longer so Janiel could have their own space to help.

As they sat in silence, Janiel perused through the numerous files presented before them with an apathetic eye, up until they found the angel they were looking for and their heart dropped.

Aziraphale. Cherubim. Human Department. Subsequent Division: Emotions Creation. Fallen.

Sparing a glance at Cassiel, still buried deep in her own pile of parchments, Janiel discreetly tucked that particular file away, sending it safely towards their own office. After that, they made quick work of the rest of the files — they had never liked the administrative work required of them as a Seraphim, but they were efficient at it, at least.

“Alright!” They exclaimed as they stood up, sliding a neatly stacked pile of parchment on Cassiel’s side of the table. “Here you go, Cass.”

Cassiel only hummed in response and Janiel promptly left the department to go back to their own office.

Aziraphale’s file lay there, inconspicuous, an anomaly. The sweet Cherubim had Fallen, and the concept did not ring real to Janiel’s ear. The Seraphim could not help the nagging thought that it was somehow their fault. The guilt gnawed at their heart as they recalled the encounter.

“How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?”

“You… genuinely have no idea, do you?”

They had dismissed the whispered response in favour of admiring their beloved stars at work, determined to do anything to protect them so they may last longer than a few thousand years. Then Aziraphale had gone and when Janiel had finally decided to tear their eyes away from their nebula — they had no idea how much time had passed, by then — to go ask Her about the fate of their hard work, as soon as they stepped foot in Heaven, Gabriel had grabbed them and announced a War was on its way.

The timing felt… too coincidental to truly be that. Something was wrong.

(The Almighty must have made a mist—)

All at once, the angel felt all their protectiveness and anger for their stars shift to the one angel— demon they had failed. Janiel grabbed the file and watched it crumble into ethereal dust as if it never existed.

“Erasing memories to make it fair, what a joke,” they scoffed under their breath. “I won’t let them do that to you.”

They needed to fix this, they decided then, and for that, they first needed to have a chance to see Aziraphale again, so, as the preparations for Earth were nearly complete, the Seraphim made a decision that was below their status.

“Allow me to be assigned on Earth,” Janiel requested— no, demanded. Michael regarded them with a frown, ready to deny the demand but she suddenly stiffened, eyes flashing purple. Janiel tilted their head.

Michael groaned then sighed. “The Almighty approves. You shall guard the Eastern Gate, Janiel.”

Janiel smiled. “I will do my best.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Mesopotamia. 3004 BC.

Janiel is thanking the girls who kindly braided her hair when she feels another angelic presence approaching her.

“Janiel, good, you’re already here,” Metatron’s solemn voice exclaims and Janiel immediately plasters her most pleasant smile as she turns around to greet him.

(It looks like a grimace, children looking from afar think.)

“I am,” Janiel confirms, although she was hoping for more time left alone. In this century she still hasn’t seen—

“Then you will be honoured to know you will assist in this special request from the Almighty Herself.”

The smile on Janiel’s face just keeps fading as Metatron explains the fate waiting for this land and its inhabitants. And so, when Metatron leaves, Janiel sighs and purposely avoids looking into any of the humans’ eyes as she makes her way through the confused crowd and towards Noah’s Ark.

“Can't believe we take orders from him now… Well, work is work,” she tells herself as she proudly lets her wings out as she was instructed to do so people would understand this is God’s plan and flies onto the boat to assess the work yet to be done.

A couple of hours later, after helping Noah push the unicorns into the ark, Janiel makes her way back to the ground where she sees the crowds gathering in front of the ark, curious and agitated, having multiplied since the last time she dared to look their way. She bites her lips as she looks up at the sky — still clear, there is still time left. Perhaps she should at least warn them… although that would only cause useless panic. Perhaps ignorance is the merciful option? She’s not so sure mercy is the right word either…

That’s when she senses a familiar demonic presence. With her thoughts momentarily distracted, she lets herself be guided until she spots… her.

“Oh, that’s new,” Janiel thinks idly, a warm feeling bubbling up inside. She’s caught glimpses of the demon over the years, and they’ve crossed paths even if just briefly, but they’ve never properly interacted since the Cain and Abel incident.

(And Janiel had tried, even botching some missions in the process, hoping to catch the attention of the demon but Astrophel would always dismiss her. Almost fled from her, it felt like, at times, although oddly politely. It made the angel wonder if she said something wrong during their last meeting.)

She had noticed, then, that Astrophel tended to keep a rather male-leaning corporation to blend in more easily with the powerful men he was sent to tempt and tip towards Hell. So this is the first time Janiel sees her taking the traits of a woman instead. And Heaven, what a sight.

Astrophel is sitting down, long platinum curls being played with by a bunch of girls surrounding her. The same girls, Janiel reckons, who did her hair earlier, right before she got words from Above of what the Almighty was planning to do. Janiel slows her pace, watching how happy and serene the girls look as they carefully thread through Astrophel’s messy curls, adding flowers to them. She’s a sight to behold, almost angelic-like despite the dark fabric on her body that only highlights her pale complexion and almost completely white hair, temptation and innocence all wrapped in one. Only, Janiel can see that aura that screams demon despite the gentleness of her movements and the softness of her voice.

The angel waits and watches as Astrophel thanks them and offers them each a hug before they scatter off. Janiel’s heart squeezes uncomfortably.

These kids… they will…

“I can sense you,” Astrophel says suddenly, now directly looking in her direction as she bends down to grab a wooden baton that was lying by her feet. She leans on it as she waits for Janiel to approach instead. “Downstairs heard rumours that the Almighty planned some sort of… reset, here specifically, doubt She's upset with the Chinese right now. Or Australian. Hell wanted me to… make sure the intel was correct, let's say.”

“Hello, Azir— Astrophel!” Janiel greets, trying to sound cheerful. “Well. It is. Quite uh, the thing you'd expect your lot to do, huh? Although the Almighty promised to give them a rainbow, as a promise never to do this again. Whatever a rainbow will turn out to be.”

“How generous,” Astrophel says. She pauses as her fingers idly play with her braid. “Lord Beelzebub thought it was useless to send me here. They were convinced Noah had just gone crazy on his own and scared everyone else in the process.”

“No… he was chosen by Her.” With a little incentive from Metatron…

“Sounds quite familiar.”

An uncomfortable shiver takes over Janiel's body. The reminder of Abel's fate still weighs heavily in her mind.

(Especially since she knows he’s Up There now, but alone, with no family, and surrounded by endless goats and sheep who resent him. Sometimes she wonders if that isn’t its own form of torture.)

“I just—” the angel fusses. “The kids! What about them, what did they do to be lumped into this!? We can't kill kids!”

Astrophel hums approvingly. The angel feels satisfied by that, which is an odd thought once more, why is she even seeking the demon’s approval?

“So what will you do about it?”

Janiel falters then. “Um. I—”

Silence follows her failed attempt to answer. Astrophel takes pity on her.

“When it is all done, we’ll have to deal with all their souls since She clearly doesn’t want them in Heaven,” the demon sighs. “That I will have to warn the guys Down There about.”

“... Not the kids,” Janiel protests in a whisper.

Astrophel smiles then, all pitying gentleness. “Never the kids, do not worry about that. If there’s a comfort to be had, at least they will always be spared. Well, the excuse is that they haven’t lived long enough to make poor decisions and they’re easy targets. Far be it for me to assume Someone down there also has a soft spot for children.”

Although that new piece of information is appreciated, it is no comfort, really, their lives should not be cut short like this in the first place but what can she do? Janiel looks around once more at the rapidly growing crowd, still clueless about what is about to fall on them but marvelling at the huge boat just sitting there, in the middle of the desert. Such simple creatures, yet full of surprises, hope and joy. Janiel never expected to grow attached to them, especially the small, lively children. After Cain and Abel— after inserting herself in their lives for so long, she grew a fondness for them when they were merely a mission at first when she heard the first children of Adam and Eve had started making sacrifices, of all things, Janiel rushed to them with the hope a certain demon would be near. Coming to Earth was never about humanity for her, she never cared for creations she had no part in before, she muses as her eyes fall back on Astrophel. It still isn’t her main reason to be on Earth but…

“Astrophel… you’re supposed to thwart Heaven’s plans, right?”

The demon lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re asking me to do exactly just that? How? I’m just a low demon, Janiel, I can’t undo a storm the Almighty Herself is causing. I was only asked to verify our intel.”

“I— of course not, sorry.” A pause. “So… are we just going to do… nothing?”

“We?”

“I mean… with Cain and Abel we…” She trails off.

Astrophel looks away. “And we know how that ended.” Her blue eyes harden for a moment. “If Cain and Abel are anything to go by, Janiel, I don’t think we make an efficient pair and we should just stay out of each other’s way.”

And ah. Why did that hurt?

Janiel is about to argue when she feels the first drops of rain fall upon her carefully braided hair. “The storm is coming and no one shall be safe outside the Ark,” she announces, a bit of her celestial voice slipping out against her will, echoing through the land. She gasps, immediately covering her mouth as all humans around them stiffen and look at her with wide eyes.

So much for sparing them the knowledge of their impending doom.

When she looks in Astrophel’s direction again, all she sees is a lone white feather where the demon once stood. Janiel grabs it without really thinking and almost curses as the rain starts pouring more heavily. So, like a coward, she flies up to avoid the humans’ terrified gazes and finds refuge on Noah’s Ark.

A simple miracle allows her to have water slides off her as she stands on top of the Ark and watches the storm unfold. Screams get drowned and Janiel simply closes her eyes.

“I surmise it must be quite a spectacle,” a familiar voice says and Janiel startles, noticing a dark wing now over her head, however useless that act is to keep her dry. Absent-mindedly, she retrieves her miracle on herself. “Quite noisy, too. I really despise storms.”

“Astrophel,” Janiel breathes out. “You're back… What—”

Didn't the demon just say they should stay out of each other's way?

“Did I ever tell you, or did you notice perhaps?” the demon continues. She has a small, sad smile on her lips as she taps her baton against the wood in rhythm with the droplets of water dripping from her forehead.

“I’m confused.”

“I lost my sight. When I Fell, I mean. An accident really. Everything around me is just light and shadows now. Sometimes, ever since Cain and Abel, I do wonder if it was a small blessing in disguise in the end, so I cannot see the horrors She or Hell, well, we, put the humans through.”

“... Oh.”

“But you know... one of the last things I could see were your stars as I Fell, they surrounded me before darkness took complete hold. It could have been worse, like Gabriel’s face, now that would have been a proper punishment.”

That gets a laugh out of Janiel. A blasphemous act, perhaps. “Astrophel.” Before she can think about it, Janiel reaches out, fingertips brushing over the demon’s free hand. Astrophel startles but doesn’t completely pull away either. “Is this… can I?”

As the rain gently lets out, Astrophel slowly turns her hand and their palms slide together as if they were always meant to. Janiel frowns at the rough calluses she feels on the demon’s hand. Carefully, she brings it to her lips. Astrophel squeaks, hand twitching in her hold.

“What are you doing?” the demon asks and she doesn’t sound disgusted or angry, more confused than anything else.

“I’m… not sure,” Janiel confesses against pale skin. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Astrophel huffs, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You would have noticed eventually and asked, I wanted to spare myself that. A purely selfish act.”

The sun now shines brightly, its reflection brilliant and blinding against the endless sea now surrounding the Ark. Janiel smiles and squeezes Astrophel’s hand. “You distracted me while the worst of the storm passed.”

“Your guilt reeked, I just could not bear it,” the demon replies.

Janiel rolls her eyes. “I must now make sure Noah, his family and the animals are alright. Are you…?” Staying.

Astrophel doesn’t reply, instead, she simply snaps her fingers so the baton blinks out of existence at the same time as she turns back into her owl form. Janiel instinctively pulls her hair to one side so Astrophel may find her rightful place on her right shoulder. The angel smiles and has to restrain from petting the fluffy demon now cooped up against her neck.

And so, Janiel goes back to her mission. She first blesses Noah and his family so they may provide and not fall sick by the time the waters dissolve and then she walks idly around the Ark, watching the animals blend and cause chaos on board. And that is when she notices something peculiar. In a corner of the stables where two horses and one unicorn have claimed territory, a huge nest full of a mix of crows and owls sit there, asleep peacefully. Birds were not included in the list of animals to shelter into the Ark, for the very obvious reason that they can fly and easily migrate to a much proper environment, and yet. Demonic energy emanates from the nest and Janiel looks down at Astrophel, whose feathers have puffed up.

“Care to explain, Astrophel?”

Just doing my duty as a demon, dear, thwarting Heaven’s plans, as you put it, comes Astrophel’s voice directly projected into her mind.

“I don’t understand.”

Concentrate on them.

And so she does, waving a hand above the flying creatures and barely holding back a gasp.

They’re not regular crows or owls, of course, they aren’t— they’re humans, whole families all curled up and blissfully out to the world, hidden away as mere birds through a powerful demonic miracle.

“You saved them… the kids and the parents. Oh, Astrophel!”

The demon fusses, feathers even more puffed up, making her look rather… round. And fluffy. Well, just saving the kids would have been idiotic, who would take care of them afterwards? However, you must know that I did not have time to find all of them either. The land was too vast and I do not have the amount of power you possess.

“A few is better than none,” Janiel whispers. “Thank you.”

I would have done so whether it was you or another angel here, do not thank me.

“I don't doubt that, but thank you anyway.”

Astrophel just hides within Janiel’s curls once more as the angel continues her rounds.

A new routine is created, reminiscent of the life they had built with Cain and Abel. Astrophel stays in her owl form during the day, perched on Janiel’s shoulder, and at night they both sit on top of the Ark, Janiel contemplates the fraction of her stars that can be seen from Earth’s sky while Astrophel closes her eyes and listens to the gentle sound of the waves.

Sometimes, Janiel loses herself watching the demon instead, who is none the wiser to the blatant admiration sent her way. Stardust still clings to the demon’s eyelashes and hair, subtle but there, a piece of Janiel’s creations, clinging to the one being she had failed.

And she wonders if Astrophel knows that even her eyes hold literal stars in their pupils. An unconscious choice, perhaps.

Months pass and eventually, the water dries down. Janiel and Astrophel remain on top of the Ark as animals and humans alike descend on the newly deserted land to start over.

“So, what now?” Janiel wonders out loud.

Astrophel doesn’t reply right away, waving a hand and undoing her miracle around the families she had hidden away on the Ark. Janiel joins in, making it so Noah and his family do not question the sudden appearance of surviving humans beside them.

“We carry on,” Astrophel says eventually. “Take care, dear.”

And once more, the demon vanishes before Janiel could respond.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Land Of Uz. 2500 BC.

For the years to come, Janiel does not get further specific assignments despite the congratulations extended to him after the flood. He takes it as a sort of vacation and decides to blend in with the locals. Shoemaker, he becomes officially, although he helps clothe whoever needs it. That’s how he comes to know one of God’s new favourites. Job is a jolly good man, eager and devoted to Her in ways Janiel has only seen a few humans and even angels, be.

And he’s more than aware of how dangerous that actually is. So the angel is not surprised when Gabriel tells him about the bet the Almighty made with Satan about Job’s loyalty and the rewards awaiting him if he succeeds. He is, however, surprised when he finds that the demon chosen to enact Job’s misery is Astrophel.

He’s even more surprised to see she is still wearing a woman’s traits as well although her hair looks slightly longer than during the Flood.

“Janiel?” Astrophel calls from where she is holding one of Job’s goats like a child as soon as Janiel walks close enough.

“It’s me,” he answers, trying to stifle his pride at the fact she recognised his presence before he even made himself known. “You have a permit, I suppose.”

“Mm.” The demon gently caresses the head of the goat who gloats happily. With her free hand, she miracles the permit into her hand for Janiel to take. “Her Ineffable Plan confuses me, but I suppose that is why it's ineffable.”

Perhaps there isn’t one, Janiel wants to say but doesn’t. Perhaps She is just bored. She requested humans to be created in Her image and he knew how creative and dangerous humans can be when bored, now.

“You’re not going to actually kill them.”

“And you’re encouraging me to deceive, although it’s explicitly Her and Satan's instructions to kill the blameless goats of blameless Job.”

So they have an understanding.

In the blink of an eye, the goats turn into crows who gather all around Astrophel like she is their mother. Janiel bends down and takes one in his arms, although it fusses, trying to get to the demon instead.

“I— It’s been a while, Astrophel.”

“Oh you know, been busy.”

“On Earth?”

“Of course, where else?”

“You’re lying.” He’s searched. He’s paid attention, trying to locate the demon’s essence anywhere on Earth for these past hundreds of years with no success and when Janiel did spot a mischievous energy in the air, he always found another demon he’d smite on sight without really thinking about it.

(It got him several commendations from Heaven although he was never asked to fight the demons. He was encouraged, though, and when pressed about why he wasn't able to get rid of Astrophel that easily, he lied and said the demon was an unexpectedly tough enemy.)

(Although it is only half a lie. She is a tough enemy if only because of their shared past and the sense of duty Janiel feels towards her when he looks into her star-filled eyes.)

Astrophel smiles at the accusation. “Am I that bad at it that you notice this easily? First my name and now this.”

Janiel approaches, relenting and letting the crow find refuge in Astrophel’s arms among all the others. “I searched for you. I… was really worried.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it? Each time we meet, death is involved in some way,” she replies, in lieu of acknowledging Janiel’s concerns. “This time, however, I’m the one with a mission.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Astrophel frowns. “This is— a special occasion wherein Heaven and Hell are collaborating. The other times I was just…” she trails off with a sigh.

“... Did Hell find out?”

“No, but I can’t risk yo— it, so I requested to be posted Downstairs to help register the humans after the Flood. It took a bit longer than expected…” She gestures to her eyes and Janiel makes a face. Right, paperwork must be quite the work without sight… “Then suddenly Lord Beelzebub handed me a permit to go kill some goats and kids, a request from God Herself. They also said the other demons they sent in my place never lasted long in front of you and it just gave them more paperwork to do to issue new bodies.”

“Ah. Well. Um. My bad.” He doesn’t feel bad at all. He supposes this also explains why Astrophel is still presenting as a woman; she had no time nor energy to change her corporation. “So what now?”

“You really love that question. I must go “kill” Job's children now, are you just going to follow me?”

Janiel shrugs. “I might as well. May I help you up?”

Astrophel gives him a bemused smile. “Odd request,” she mumbles, but she lets go of the crows who immediately start gathering together as if they were still goats huddling for warmth. “But yes.” She extends a hand and Janiel finds himself taking a deep breath before he reaches for it and then helps her to her feet. He then carefully rests her hand on his arm. Astrophel blinks.

“Job’s house is not far, I thought I could escort you… if that is alright with you?” Janiel says, suddenly feeling nervous. “I know we could just miracle our way there but… um…”

“You need to keep an eye on me, I get it,” Astrophel replies with a wink as she links their arms. “Well then, dear, lead the way.”

Janiel planned to talk and ask more questions about Astrophel’s sudden disappearance from Earth all these years, but they fell into comfortable silence instead. The demon keeps her eyes closed as she lets Janiel guide her in a complete, pure show of trust the angel himself is not sure he deserves.

As they step foot into the house, Janiel leads them to the living room where Job’s three children are already waiting.

Ennon perks up, looks disappointed upon seeing Janiel, then back to intrigued when his eyes fall on Astrophel. Keziah mutters something close to “the angels are late with the wine” while Jemimah is too busy moulding a tiny pot to pay attention.

Until Janiel clears his throat.

“Children, is that how you greet a guest?” the angel says.

“Bildad!” little Jemimah exclaims with glee as she finally lifts her eyes off her little creation. Janiel smiles nervously as he feels Astrophel’s judgement with the way she barely holds back a laugh. “Is that your wife?”

“I—” he flushes, at a sudden loss for words.

“Mm, he wishes he were that lucky,” Astrophel playfully says, making the girl giggle and Ennon snort in agreement. Janiel cannot help but glare at Job’s oldest child, only for the boy to notice him and stick his tongue out. Spoiled brat.

“Be not afraid, dears, I’m just here to complete a job but you will be fine,” the demon continues, unaware of the sudden glaring contest between the angel and the human.

“Oh! Are you an angel? You look like one! But we’ve never seen you before,” Jemimah asks innocently.

At that, Astrophel’s smile drops even for just a split second.

“She is,” Janiel cuts in. “There's a bad demon after you right now sent to kill you to test your father's faith in God but Astrophel is here to protect you. You'll just have to trust us.”

“I knew you weren't human,” Keziah says, squinting her eyes at Janiel, and completely unfazed by the reveal of her life being in danger, it seems. “Is Bildad even your real name, then?”

“Alright, but so you’re an angel too? I would have bet on a demon,” Ennon sniffs, looking Janiel up and down with a grimace.

The angel's pride takes quite a hit. “Oh, you listen here you little—”

“Janiel,” Astrophel interrupts. “I may have forgotten to tell you something. The house will still need to be destroyed to make it look like they’re gone.”

“Wha— not our house where will we live then?” Ennon protests. “Can’t you do something?”

“Can’t you do something?” Astrophel repeats, nudging Janiel.

Janiel clears his throat. “You’ll have a bigger house. If God wins the bet that is.”

“The what—” Ennon’s question gets abruptly cut off when the angel snaps his fingers, turning the petulant teenager into a tiny newt.

Keziah gasps. “Hey!”

“No time to waste, I fear,” Janiel tuts.

“But your wife just said to not be afraid!” the girl argues, now glaring. Janiel sighs and with another snap, she, too, turns into a newt, a tad shade darker than her brother.

“That wasn’t necessary dear,” Astrophel says with a pout. “Tell me you turned them into something nice at least.”

Janiel gives a bemused smile. What kind of demon asks for such things? “They’re just small salamanders.”

“Ah. That’s cute.”

Janiel bites his cheek so he doesn’t smile proudly at the compliment that is only partially directed at him anyhow.

“Oh! Can I be a blue one?” Jemimah chimes in.

“You haven’t annoyed me yet, little one,” the angel replies.

“But can I be though?”

Astrophel nudges him again and he relents. “Alright.” And he snaps his fingers for a third time.

Janiel gathers the newts in Jemimah’s pot and then miracles them secured within his robe. Then, he turns to Astrophel who’s massaging her wrists, as though it would impact the coming miracle.

Then the house is lit aflame.

“It’s so bright,” Astrophel says, in a voice filled with wonder. “But so loud.”

“... Should I even be here? Is it Hellfire?”

“Mm?” the demon seems quite distracted suddenly, a frown creasing her forehead. “Oh! No, no I don’t have that kind of power… well, yet. You’re in no danger and I wouldn’t have— I wouldn't have put you in that situation… Hellfire is… well…” she shudders and it is all Janiel needs to know. “The poor dears though, Job and his wife will need to spend the storm without a roof on their heads.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, they’ll find refuge in one of their friends’ home for the night,” Janiel assures, reaching to hold Astrophel’s hand once more. “As for us, let’s wait in the cellar, shall we?”

Astrophel hums and with her agreement, Janiel miracles them in the cellar. It’s dark, damp and quite cramped. Janiel grabs a bottle of wine and conjures up two cups.

“Fancy some wine?” he asks.

The demon doesn’t answer right away, she’s still frowning and fidgeting with her robe. She turns, suddenly facing Janiel — although if he had to hazard a guess, she probably does so because of the small candle on the table next to him. The angel looks down, noticing a tiny insect flying around the flame.

Except… except he can feel a demonic energy coming from the small creature. Janiel captures it in between his palms and blesses it. When he opens his hands again, celestial dust falls from his fingers.

“Astrophel, wine?” he asks again just as the demon’s features relax, even if a hint of worry remains in her eyes.

“Oh— you’ve…?” she asks.

“Indulged in some human delicacies? Sure, one had to adapt while blending in. I mostly like the wine though,” He pours two glasses. “So?”

“You do realise I’m supposed to be the one who tempts,” Astrophel says.

“I’m not tempting you!” the angel gasps, much too loudly to be genuine. “Simply… celebrating a work well done.”

“It isn’t, though. Well done, I mean.”

It is Janiel’s turn to frown as the storm outside rages on. Why the sudden insecurity? He flexes his left hand, where dust clings to the lines of his palm.

“They won’t find out, leave the rest to me, Astrophel,” he assures, and something in his tone must have been right because the demon sighs and slowly makes her way towards him. “I promise,” he continues as he searches Astrophel’s starry eyes. They seem… far away, still, the demon’s thoughts keeping her away from the present situation.

“Perhaps I do need a drink,” Astrophel admits so Janiel presses a cup to her hand, except her grip is lax so the angel doesn’t let go and waits.

They stand there, in silence only interrupted by the storm outside getting louder by the second and so reminiscent of another event in which an angel and a demon also indulged in a forbidden moment of amiable intimacy. Astrophel tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips in a silent command. Janiel finds himself taking a deep breath he doesn’t need as he presses forward, guiding the chalice towards her mouth while her fingers graze his palm rather than properly hold the chalice. Then, carefully, gently, he tilts it as she parts her lips, letting the wine glide into her mouth. Astrophel’s hand wraps around his wrist, prompting him to pull away after a moment and so he does, heart hammering in his chest to the rhythm of the thunder outside.

Janiel gulps, grateful his flaming red face doesn’t have any witness. What in the Heavens Above just happened?!

Astrophel licks her lips, the haze in her eyes gone, and completely unaware of the effect she just inflicted on the angel. “Mm, that was a really good wine. May I have another one, dear?”

“I— uh yeah.”

He ends up giving her his own cup, his thirst suddenly and inexplicably quenched. You’ll be the end of me, starlight, is the thought that occupies his mind as he spends the rest of the night watching Astrophel drink and babble about stories and rumours she’s heard through the village as the wine lowers her inhibitions. Janiel’s lips never even taste any of Job’s wine in favour of just admiring the being indulging herself before him instead.

(Little did he know it would be the start of quite an obsession of his own.)

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Although her work is done, Astrophel stays for the following days, as they both keep an eye on Job whose faith doesn’t relent, even growing stronger by the second — which ends up as a surprise for both angel and demon.

After losing so much, everything he owns and holds dear, save for his dear wife, Job keeps praying. In his misery and despair, the man falls to his knees on top of a cliff and relies entirely on his faith and love for God Above. And then, She replies, shining Her light on him.

She won.

Janiel observes the exchange with discomfort and stays silent even when he hears Astrophel quietly gasp to his side.

“She’s not answering any of his questions, is She?” the demon comments softly.

“He gets to ask them, at least,” Janiel says, then looks at the oblivious demon and thinks, “Without consequences, that is.”

“Lucky man. Or not, I suppose.” With that, Astrophel turns her back on God and starts walking away. Janiel stares at her back, then looks back at Job bathed in divine light, and decides to leave as well.

Astrophel is there, a subtle presence in the burned house, perched near a hole on the roof, when the Archangels descend upon Job and Sitis to give them their blessings following those tough trials. Janiel puts on his best act as he brings Ennon, Keziah and Jemimah back to their parents, tricking Gabriel, Michael and the lots into thinking they are brand-new children. It does make Janiel truly realise how little angels know about humans if they are so gullible to such a blatant lie, but he’s not about to complain now.

Once the Archangels leave and Janiel escorts the family to their new palace of a house, the goats are already there in the court, Astrophel standing in the middle of them as she tries to evade them despite the animals following her at every step and Janiel—

Janiel stares once more, a fond smile overtaking his lips before he could realise it.

“Bildad, if that is even your name,” Sitis says, with the scepticism of a human who’s lost faith but not willing to completely accept it. He doesn't startle and just looks at her. “This is thanks to you, isn’t it? You defied G—”

“I wouldn’t say Her name if I were you,” Janiel interrupts.

Sitis pursues her lips, nodding towards Astrophel, now surrounded by goats, kids and Job who seems quite curious to see his goats safe and sound, recognising them. “Is she… An angel?”

It’s a simple question, one he’s already answered much earlier, and yet Janiel hesitates. “She should be.”

“Odd answer.”

“It is the only one you’ll be getting,” he answers. Then, he claps his hands once with a sigh. “Take care, Sitis.”

“Wait— we won’t be seeing any of you again?”

Janiel gives a sad smile. “Better not, if my lot understands I’ve tricked them rather than let your children be killed… well.”

“They… don’t sound really good.” Sitis sends a forlorn look her husband’s way. “From what I understand, you and that woman over there are the reason we even have all this… our children still alive… if it weren’t for you… is having Her good graces really worth all the turmoil?”

Janiel crosses his arms and thinks of Abel who he held against his chest in a pool of his own blood. He thinks of Noah on whom the burden of repopulating Mesopotamia drove him to countless sleepless nights. He looks at Job…

God's darlings. God's sacrifices.

“Better not ponder too long on that,” he advises. “Otherwise the outcome may be worse.”

“Right. Tell your wife thank you for me.”

“She’s not—”

Sitis rolls her eyes and nudges him forward. “I will spare Job the knowledge but know I will forever be grateful to you rather than… you know who. Take care as well, Bildad,” she says.

Janiel smiles at her and nods. It is probably for the best that he stays away from humans for a bit, until his next proper mission. Astrophel was right, everywhere they go, death follows, except this time. This time, everyone, animal and children alike, could be saved, because an agent of Hell decided it.

What did it say about him, the agent of Heaven? If it hadn’t been Astrophel in front of him, someone he knew would cooperate… would he have bothered to act? He had grown numb to God’s whims of cruelty. He spares both Sitis and Job the knowledge of his own doubts for if he voiced them out loud, he was not so sure what would happen.

When he turns around to call for Astrophel, however, she’s already vanished without so much of a goodbye, and Janiel tries not to take it personally.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

As the sun is about to set, Janiel senses Astrophel’s essence nearby again — but another demonic energy lurks around as well and against his inner desire, the angel focuses on the latter.

That is how he finds himself back on the cliff where God had talked to Job, a demon standing right in the middle of the circle burned into the ground.

“Holy ground, and yet, guess the dirt cancels it out,” the demon says, kicking her feet into the ground. “I was wondering how long until you came to find me. My poor moth did not deserve what you did to him, by the way.”

Janiel clicks his tongue, his celestial power already manifesting and shining around him. “Tell me what’s stopping me from smiting you.”

“Astrophel.”

The angel almost curses because that is, indeed, the right answer.

“She’s still one of ours, you haven’t forgotten, I hope,” the demon continues. “You know She will not take her back. Angels Fall but demons don’t Ascend.”

“No one has tried before.”

She snorts. “She would rather take a human and make them an angel than give forgiveness to any of us. So many have Fallen, She’s now taking humans to make up for it? How’s Enoch— or shall I say Metatron, by the way?”

“How do you know—”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she grins, making a vague gesture with her hands and Janiel is ashamed to admit he startles as a swarm of moths surrounds him, some coming out from within his robes.

He realises, with a start, that the only reason he never sensed her before was because the moths were too small for him to notice unless he paid closer attention to them.

“I got everything I and Lord Beelzebub needed to know but see, I got curious. Terrible thing we are, demons,” she continues as she cradles the insects close to her face. “Angels have soft spots, they’re made of love, but for a demon?”

“Is that all you needed to say?” Janiel deadpans, neither confirming nor denying the statement.

“I can see it, the hope you have that you can save her, as if we were pitying, as if, given the choice, Astrophel wouldn’t stay with us. So tell me, Seraphim Janiel, what differentiates her from the rest of us? Why do you smite all the other demons without so much of a thought but not her?”

Her deep black eyes stare right into his soul and Janiel fights everything to not fidget in place. “I do not have to answer your questions, demon.”

The demon blinks but does not seem surprised. Instead, she huffs out a smile. “Of course. What a good angel you are.”

Janiel acts before he can really think, snapping his fingers and smiting the demon. As it strikes her like a bolt of lightning, she laughs, before discorporating and only leaving behind a pile of dust and perhaps a hundred moths just aimlessly flying around.

The angel rushes away, towards another demonic presence, trying not to ponder too deeply on why that demon comparing him to God made him feel sick rather than glow with pride.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

The sun is properly setting by the time he finds Astrophel again and Janiel barely has time to find his breath and reign in his emotions before the demon speaks up.

“So you’ve met Mara.”

Ah.

“How…”

“I've known, for a while, that she was watching. Hence why I asked to stay in Hell for a while after The Flood. I was getting… too reckless. I just did not realise she wasn't following me but rather…”

“Me,” Janiel completes with a sigh as he sits down on the other end of the stony bench. “I'm in no danger, I’m a Seraphim, you don't need to try to protect me.”

Astrophel huffs, scrunching up her nose. It looks more cute than indignant, in Janiel’s opinion. “Who said it was to protect you? I was protecting myself. Purely a selfish act.”

She’s really a very bad liar for a demon. This time, Janiel indulges her and doesn’t call her out. “All of this… made me think.”

At that, Astrophel frowns. “About?”

“What does it mean to be good? Is it indistinguishable from doing good?” Janiel wonders, finally voicing a question that’s been stuck on his tongue since Eden. “Because Astrophel, between you and I—”

“Don’t finish that thought Janiel.”

“... You’re the one who should be an angel.”

Deafening silence, uncomfortable the way no other silence between them has ever been, falls.

“Don’t call me that.”

Janiel flinches at the tone, snappy, dark, a touch of demonic accent slipping through.

“Alright, I’m sorry.”

Astrophel shakes her head, unruly and long curls falling on her face with the force of it. “You’re wrong. You’re so good, Janiel. I’ve only been following your lead every time we’ve met.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense,” Janiel huffs.

“You’re a good angel, dear.”

And the words warp around his heart, soothing and gentle, when the exact same words spoken from Mara’s mouth had acted like a scythe ready to bring in his end. A foreign sensation prickles at his eyes.

“I wish…” he starts, voice strangled in a way it never has been before. “I wish… I could bring you back to Heaven with me.”

Astrophel tilts her head. Janiel can’t read her expression. “Are you that lonely?”

Lonely. He lets the word sit in his mind and thinks of all the years he’s just spent, roaming the Earth, dismissing his fellow angels and seeking out only a specific demonic presence. He thinks of Job, and how none of the other angels truly understood the severity of the bet or the fragility of a human’s life and mental state when put to the whims of powerful beings. He thinks about God and how as the assignments progressed, he started doubting Her and yet his wings remain a pure white, as if questioning was the right thing to do, as long as it is not expressed out loud. He thinks of the fact that if Astrophel hadn’t been there, Janiel would have been helpless to help, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to reason with any other demon and Gabriel and the lots would have understood immediately he had interfered in God's Divine Bet. He thinks of the word lonely, and it feels right. But he also thinks of Astrophel standing there when everything seems hopeless, with a dark wing over his head and gentle words reassuring, and it feels... “Perhaps,” he admits, no more than a whisper.

“Pity. And here I thought angels at least had it better.”

“So what now, starlight?”

The new nickname slips out without either of them noticing or addressing it. Janiel stares into Astrophel’s bright, starry eyes as the demon continues staring at the horizon and the sunset turns, inexplicably slowly, into the night. Then, Astrophel scoots closer and leans against his side.

“You and that damn question…” she chuckles. “We carry on, of course.”

Janiel breathes out, bringing a hand to her hair, picking a few, small feathers stuck between the curls.

“Right. Of course.”

Another question burns Janiel’s tongue but he keeps it to himself. Yet, it echoes in his mind, relentless, impatient, full of hope between a not-so-obedient angel and a not-so-cruel demon.

He keeps it safely guarded.

[whatiwillsay]

I know we don't care about the boys here, but I think it could be beneficial to have a glance at the taylor/joe timeline in the pod when you get to the parts of 2016 where taylor starts writing reputation. there's a lot of misconceptions around when certain songs were written and recorded (like king of my heart and so it goes) that kaylors have pushed over the years that have all been debunked in the toe timeline. at the very least it'd be cool to have your thoughts on both sides

well some of the stuff in the toe timeline is pure silly speculation like they met in LA at sunset and vine just because the song gorgeous says “sunset and vine”. the toe timeline is just as biased as any other ship timeline and you need to take it all with a grain of salt the same way you would with any ship. that said it is decently rooted in reality because toe is rooted in reality so it is a useful resource. i may peruse it and use it we’ll see.

[13beachesxx]

i love Kendall Roy so much i don't have enough words for it. was walking through the park yesterday and thinking that while listening to modest mouse float on and honestly i love all the roy children so much, they feel like family to me. i don't know if that was the point of the show but they accomplished that and more. the park detour took me into a little amusement park that sits inside it i used to go to as a child and i hadn't been there in many many years or at least not directly having walked through it. not much has changed and it still smells like nostalgia. not much has changed in the park itself either, except it looks a little more tidy and cared for, and now there's CCTV every 10 feet which i definitely do not like. i hate feeling watched and okay it's not like i'm going to be wandering around drunk off my tits puking in the bushes there again anytime soon (though never say never lmao) but it still isn't nice to know those antics can now be recorded by city hall and perused at their pleasure. the fountain was drained and i wonder if it's been that way since that girl got electrocuted and died inside it, what a horrible way to die when you think about it probably one of the worst, she was maybe 10 or 11 i forget. i dipped into a store on the way out to get a bottle of water and some 12 or 13 year old boys were huddled around the alcopop mixers and giggling over the orange one called Sex on the Beach, it made me feel something warm inside but simultaneously sad, like we've come full circle and now i'm the adult amused at the children doing their amusing things, the exact same things i used to do with my own friends. oh, to be 12 again, i thought, bought my water and left to go back outside. i detoured into no less than two shops asking for thc edibles, one of the sellers was nicer than the other but i do wonder what not one but two whole smoke shops are doing on one of our main streets. regrettably i give them 8 months. rollercoastered through a whole lot of emotions in one day that ranged from ecstatically high to suicidally low, which is also kind of funny and wild when you think about it, but reminded myself at the low to remind myself of how the ecstatic high felt.

a lot of my emotions are still about how it feels to be in my body and directly related to the things i eat, i need to learn when i have a "bad" eating day not to get down on myself for it, simply observe the sensations inside my body, and start over the next day 'better'. i was going to say act like yesterday didn't happen but then i wouldn't be able to build on my mistakes. my body itself seemed to punish me for my gluttonous eating by giving me the shits (not diarrhea, but close), which in earlier times i would've dismissed and carried on eating like this for the rest of my weeks, but nowadays i see the correlation, not only do i see it but i feel it and it makes me want to be better, to do better. it's such a hard balance feeding your body both what it wants and needs, but trying to make sure you're not overdoing it. or maybe i'm fucking PMS-ing again and the cravings have increased. oh, the joys of being a woman.