#blizzard fix the name and bring back this interaction and my life. is yours.

[eulogium-red]

i like to think during blackwatch, gabe's costume-making (& prolly by extension, fashion sense) rubbed off on cassidy even if he doesn't show it. a latent learning type deal

he gives everyone the impression he don't care too much about fashion but he rlly does a little bit (he'll look at someone who's dressed professionally but then they're wearing 2 diff shades of brown for their belt & shoes & internally cringes a bit) but never shows it unless necessary

interactions like this he gets to release his inner diva just a bit ykn

[slygirl666]

it’s warm inside Fred Weasley X malfoy!reader

summery: the eldest Malfoy had always been curious about the Weasley twins shop but never dared entered. on a particularly snowy day she found her self not only entering but spending time with one of the shop owners. 

A/N: I was listening to Christmas songs with the girl I nanny and ‘ baby it’s warm inside’ by toderick hall palyed and I thought this up. it takes place during half food prince. I might make it a small one shot series.

warnings: None, just fluff, unedited

words:1,158

Y/N Malfoy walked through Diagon Alley on the snowiest day of winter. It was only a week before christmas and she was doing some last minute shopping for gifts. She pulled her coat tighter to her chest cursing the fact that she only had a thin sweater under it.

The snow began to pick up, witches and wizards began apperating home. She couldn’t she saw all the close signs turning and walked into the only open shop.

Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, she was forbidden from entering but with no other choice she walked in.

“Sorry we're closing up with the storm coming in.” she heard a voice coming from up the stairs.

“I’m sorry with the blizzard coming I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she called out to the voice.

The man came into view and sure enough it was Fred Weasley, Y/N looked down rather shyly; she knew he had every right to kick her out. During their time at Hogwarts they never interacted. She was rather quite not even uttering a curse when she fell victim to the twins' pranks.

He looked at her and a flash of something she couldn’t read crossed his eyes. “Apparate home, Malfoy.”

He spit out her last name, she was ashamed, She blushed looking down, “I can’t. Father won't let me take the test.”

“Sorry you can take cover in here,” he watched as she looked around awestruck. “Want a tour of the place?”

He watched as her face turned into one of childlike excitement as she nodded. The two of them walked through the store. Fred cracked jokes slowly chipping away at the shell she always seemed to have. The time flew by and the snow continued falling heavily.

“Do you want a warm drink or something, tea?”

She nodded as he motioned for her to follow him. She walked up three flights of stairs to a rather large flat above the shop. “Coat?”

She shrugged it off handing it to him. He hung it up and she stood awkwardly as Fred made his way to the kitchen.

“Where’s your brother?” she decided to start the conversation.

“Witch one?” his eyes gleamed as he smirked at her.

“George, at least I assume he’s the one that also lives here,” she smiled at him. He was surprised, he didn’t give her his name earlier. “When you spend your whole life being told to observe and not speak, you get good at noticing the similarities and differences of people.”

Fred laughed, “George is at Alicias tonight, when i told him we should shut down he thought it would be a good opportunity to spend some time with her. Tea or coffee?”

She scrunched her nose, not able to decide between the two, “what do you want?”

“I was thinking coffee,” he smiled. She smiled back at him crossing her arms under her chest looking at all the magic photos of the twins and their family around the flat. Fred watched her from the kitchen leaned up against the counter.

She was timid and soft spoken, but downright gorgeous. He looked at the way her sweater hugged her soft curves and the matching green ribbon that kept her hair in a ponytail. Her pants only showed off her shapely figure. Her face was perfectly painted with greys and blood colored lips. He swore for a moment that she was the picture definition of perfection in the most imperfect way, she was still a Malfoy.

When the coffee finished he asked her what she wanted in it. She smiled sweetly and he swore his heart stopped for a moment “Cream and sugar.”

He gulped, fixing her cup before going into the sitting room. He handed her a cup taking a seat on the well worn couch they had. She joined him hesitantly sitting with her legs tucked under her.

“So why come into my shop? Malfoy?” her name seemed like an afterthought, that warmed her.

“I came to the alley alone and everywhere was closing due to the snow. And I saw the open sign still turned…” she laughed brushing it off. “It was also some form of rebellious curiosity too, Daddy would use the killing curse on me if he realized I had been here.”

He studied her though she laughed there was fear in her eyes, maybe Lucious Malfoy really would. “I think he would kill me first.”

She smiled at him getting more comfortable, she never in her wildest dreams thought she would be spending time with the most infamous trouble maker at hogwarts, if it was some kind of sick twisted dream she didn’t want it to end.

Maybe she should ask if they were connected to the flue network, she should have been home well into this last hour but can't seem to find it in her to care.

She sipped at the coffee with the warm liquid filling her stomach. They sat on the couch talking more, through the time they had ended up closer to each other than they had been before.

His elbow rested on the couch just next to her face, their knee touching from how they were curled up on the couch. Their cups drained and forgotten on the table as they laughed and talked.

It was as if in that moment someone didn't see her as Y/N Malfoy, just as Y/N. she must have been lost in thought because she didn’t notice how intensely Fred was looking at her. She met his eyes her new playfulness hid, not knowing what to do while looking into those hazel eyes, staring at her as if she had just opened the door into a new world.

“Is something the matter?” she whispered, though she could feel one of them gravitating towards the other. She doesn't know who closed the space but his lips met hers. She felt butterflies in her stomach as he pulled away.

“Im sorry I ju-” he started only to be cut off by a delicate finger pressing to his lips.

He was confused for a second until she moved to bring her lips upon his again. This time she moved closer so there was no space between their bodies. Her hands found their way into his hair as his hands moved to her waist, easily moving her atop of him.

She ignored the tingling in her leg, it must have fallen asleep while they were talking. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, she sighed allowing him to deepen the kiss.

A fire grew inside of her one she never knew she had, one she never knew she couldn’t imagine. One that craved the mad infront of her.

One that was absolutely dangerous to the both of them. But the feeling of his lips on hers was blurring her thoughts.

He moved his lips to her neck before mumbling, “I’m glad you got curious about the shop.”

[magnoliapip]

The Storm Inside

Title : The Storm Inside

Book : Open Heart series (Choices - Pixelberry)

Description : Casey has been pushing everyone away and spiraling since the attack on the hospital and her loved ones are concerned.

Pairing : none established  / ambiguous

Characters : Open Heart FMC (Casey Valentine), Sienna Trinh, Bryce Lahela, Jackie Varma, Rafael Aviero, Elijah Greene, Aurora Emery, Kyra Santana, Danny (mentioned), Bobby (mentioned)

Warnings : mention of death, mental health

Prompt : “What’s the weather outside your window doing right now?...”

Casey stared vacantly out the floor length windows into the night sky above Boston from her seat against them on the living room floor. The sky was as clear as could be, a rarity for the area, but in a city as populous as Boston seeing the stars was a gift they were never granted. She stretched out her cramping legs to a different position as she leaned her head and left shoulder against the cool glass.

She looked out of windows with alarming frequency now. She had never really done so before, preferring to always be doing other things. She���d always thought of herself as a social person who enjoyed others company, though she could be either out dancing in a packed club or relaxing away a quiet night in with the same level of enjoyment. Friends and loved ones was all she really needed.

The attack on Edenbrook had changed everything, down to her very bones.

Some days her mood was somber but calm, like a cloudy day. Those were her best days and the ones she liked best. The cloudy days could be darker with threat of rain or lighter with the sun just missing the opportunity to come out. It was the closest to her old self she could feel. Unfortunately for her, those days were not only fleeting and the least common, they were becoming a rarity.

More often, her moods were a range of levels of sadness. All the way from a misting drizzle, enough to coat everything in water and make the air humid, to a torrentially pouring rain. Buckets from heavens and flash floods. The only thing those floods never seemed to leave clean was herself.

Other times she was cold. So, so cold. The best of those days were accompanied with a blizzard. Cold, but manageable with a shovel. On the days  where she left her heart covered in an inch thick layer of ice and brandished her words like weaponized icicles, frigid and sharp, the people around her knew to steer clear. She was getting a little too good and stabbing them where it hurt.

Her worst moods felt like she should alert the National Weather Service. Tornado warnings and hurricane evacuations were a courtesy she never felt up to extending, adding to her already astronomical guilt. Like a twister, she could feel so angry and out of control she would tear through everyone in her path with no regard for who or what was in it. She had hurt people, especially the ones she loved, deeply but couldn’t bring herself to stop. It was like watching her body act with someone else at the controls.

It was just one more thing about herself to hate lately, and it had a long line to stand in.

The weather in reality never matched what she felt inside. It fascinated and disgusted her in equal measure. It had been sunny (mostly) since the funeral. It was repulsive.

Bobby was dead. Danny was dead. Raf had almost died and would have god knew how many long term problems ahead because of the illness. She had nearly died. And the world just kept spinning.

Couldn’t they see? Couldn’t any of them see that she was stuck there in that room. That she had never recovered. That she couldn’t recover.

At first, when her friends had noticed her strange new affinity for gazing outside for hours every night, they tried to pull her away. Distract her with things like herbal teas, chocolate ice cream and support. They tried to shower her with her favorite pastimes from before. They tried dancing around the apartment to silly pop songs and playing video games with her. But they didn’t understand. And they didn’t stop.

So she bit them. Hard.

Now they left her alone.

She was an awful person. She shouldn’t have been allowed to live. Someone should have realized it at the hospital and just let her die.

She could feel the tears well up again, stinging her eyes as her inner clouds started to rain again. The night sky outside stayed perfectly cloudy.

It was going to be a long night.

Sienna stood around the corner, watching her best friend shatter silently, as she had done every night for over a month. She whispered to those behind her, “Don’t you all see? Nothing is helping and she’s getting worse. After the last time she panicked when I reached out, I thought I’d give her space. We all did. But it’s not working. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

The gathered assembly of those in the cramped penthouse hallway who loved a young doctor named Casey watched her crumble, weeping without making a sound...and no one said anything. Some of the smartest doctors in the nation, and no one had an answer.

Not Bryce, who stood off to the side watching the pain on the face of the first true friend he’d made while at Edenbrook. Someone who had looked past the brash, self-confidence he used as a shield. The first person he hadn’t been afraid of discovering his past.

Not Rafael, who stood at the back of the crowd, down the hall, not able to stand to look at the person who made him believe he was worth as much to her as these intelligent, talented and more well off friends of hers. Not as she could no longer see how much she was worth.

Not Jackie, who was used to facing her problems by cackling at them until they scurried off with tails between legs or tearing them out with her teeth. But this was a problem that required delicacy, the type she had been shown by the very woman who now needed it.

Not Ethan, who leaned against the wall as he saw his protégé, the first person he’d ever believed in this much, destroy herself. She had forced herself, her goodness, into his life and helped fix his hurt self. Now it was his turn and he, for the first time, found himself at a loss.

Not Aurora, her rival turned friend who showed her at her loneliest that having friend was worth something after all. Not Elijah, a beacon of positivity who felt entirely inadequate with this situation that left her emotionally impaired. Not Kyra, desperate to find some way to give Casey the support she had given. Not Sienna, whose heart broke as she watched her very best friend, her dolphin, her rock in many ways fall further and further into herself.

Each one of them loved her. Each one of them cared for her. Each of them had a purpose and a reason to be at Edenbrook, but Casey was the glue that had held them all together. That glue, their foundation, was compromised. This time, they needed to find a way to save her. This time, she couldn’t waltz her way into a miracle seemingly handed down by the divines themselves to fix the situation.

Giving voice to their silent thoughts, Bryce whispered softer than before, “She needs us. She has to know it. She has to know we’re here somewhere inside, but can’t ask. Won’t ask.”

“We’ve already lost so much because of the attack,” Sienna said quietly. “We can’t lose her now. I can’t.”

“None of us can,” Rafael replied softly.

There was practically a flashing beacon over Casey’s head, screaming help me please. It was long overdue for them to stop ignoring it. For a few pregnant minutes, they all looked around at each other and back to her. This mismatched band of misfits and nerds, bound this night by their affection for one single woman. They stared at each other, desperate for answers…

Until the one who loved her most went rigid. Then stepped toward the rest, speaking slowly.

“I...may have an idea.”

[BREAK]

Notes : I left the ending open for interpretation on purpose. This story is not intended to be expanded on or have a second part. Y’all can decide who the person who loves her most is (and if that person isn’t presently named in my story, you can put them there yourself :D)

Also, I want to extend a heartfelt thank you to the amazing writers I’ve talking to lately. Due to some truly awful comments and the way they were affecting me mentally, I recently purged all of my works but a few from fanfiction.net, AO3, and here on tumblr. Talking to, interacting with, and just seeing you lovelies in action has led me to believe I should start to do this again. 

Huge shout out to @jerzwriter​ and @lovealexhunt​ for being the lovely souls they are. You may have no idea who I am, especially on this blog rather than my main, but I will never stop being grateful for the positivity you put into the world. Thank you.

[lesbianmonsterlover]

Beauty and the Beast, Part 2

She isn’t quite sure what she expected from you, but a sweet if nervous smile flitting across your face was not it.  “I’m not going to run from you.”  She wants to scoff, but she just fixes you with a confused look and stays silent for you to continue.  “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”  Now she does scoff, but something about how softly you’re looking at her prompts her to give a resigned rumble of a growl from her chest and turn on her heel.  

She begins stalking out of the room, mulling you over in her mind.  She had never had much interest in the princes that would come calling for her hand, and the power of their kingdom gave her the luxury to remain unmarried.  Her tastes had always leaned toward the fairer sex, often instead of the princes that had come to court her she would instead find herself in a dalliance with their sisters or even mothers in a few cases.  You were precisely her taste, as far as physical attributes went, but what intrigued her most was the sharpness about you that was tempered by a feminine kindness she found almost intoxicating.  So soft, so gentle, she wanted to be pinned by your gaze forever.

She’s a few steps out the door when the notices that you aren’t following, and she turns to look at you from over her shoulder.  Her emerald eyes shine from the darkness like a beacon.  “Are you coming to dinner?  Or are you just going to stand there gawking?”  She doesn’t mean to be so rough, truly, but when you go several decades without meaningful human interaction it’s going to take a toll on your social ability.  Especially when presented with someone so alluring.  She growls to herself as she turns again, continuing to stride powerfully down the hallway but slowing her gait to give you a chance to catch up.

As you’re walking beside her she gives a nod to a steward who gives the order to begin lighting the torches.  She’s delighted by the gasp of wonder you let out as the palace is lit from within.  She watches your face as you take everything in with wide eyes, and seeing as you’re distracted enough she takes a moment to appreciate your form.  The dress you have on is a beautiful cornflower blue, and topped with a rather cute white apron.  It’s simple but it suits you, although she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t imagining draping you in every bit of finery she could scrounge up in this place.  You’d look wonderful in yellow, she’s sure, dripping with gold and gems from her mother’s jewelry box, looking like the sun had been pulled down from the sky just for her.  

Dinner is an affair, her chef-stove taking the opportunity to create a culinary masterpiece the likes of which the castle hadn’t seen for decades.  Pulling out all the stops, she’s delighted to watch you eat dish after dish as she plies you with questions, tongue loosened by wine.  “I just needed to get away for the day.  My father, he’s rather ill and the doctor isn’t sure if he’ll ever wake.  I’ve left him in a care clinic, but that leaves just me in the home and, well, there aren’t any jobs for unmarried young women in my village that I’d be willing to do, if you understand me.”  Her heart breaks for you.  She understands you perfectly, even if she doesn’t have the firsthand knowledge of what it’s like to be put in that kind of situation.  Her rumble of assent seems to be enough for you to continue.  “On top of that, there’s this...this man…” the way you spit out that word makes her huff out a laugh “this horrible monster of a man who doesn’t seem to understand what the word no means.  He’s asked for my hand a dozen times, in increasingly desperate ways, and every time I rebuff him his reactions get worse.  After my father collapsed...well I didn’t want to be in the house today for when he inevitably came by to ask to marry me again.  I’m not sure I’d have made it out entirely intact.”  

The snarl on her face makes you squeak a little in fear, eyes widening.  She takes a deep breath in to school her expression.  “What a horrid pissant.”  Your rather unladylike snort of laughter makes her smirk.  “I do not miss my interactions with men.  Dreadful, entitled beings with rare exception.”  Your giggle is what she was after, and the two of you trade stories back and forth about your experiences with men.  When you collapse into a heap of laughter at her telling of the time she managed to convince a rather stupid prince that the castle was haunted by simply kicking the post of the table they sat at for tea, she knows it’s time to bring you to your room.  You’re definitely drunk, but bubbly and lively.  When you stand and wobble she offers you her arm, like a gentleman should, and escorts you to a rather lavishly furnished guest room.  

When she returns to her own chambers, dark and decrepit from years of her pent up aggression being taken out on the furnishings, she collapses into her pile of pillows and down comforters with a sigh.  You could it be, could be the one to break the curse and the one she would spend hopefully the rest of her life with.  But you’ll be going back to that shitty little village tomorrow, you’d forget all about her as those who leave these lands always do, and she’ll be left here to rot along with all of the poor staff who she’d brought down with her.  If only she could convince you to stay longer, to give her a chance to show you how she could provide for you.  But she would not keep you prisoner.  She knows too well what it means to be trapped by these four walls with no real freedom, longing for connection and intimacy.  No, you were not a bird to be kept in a gilded cage.  With a heavy heart she sinks into sleep, resigned to her fate and whispering apologies out into the void for the lives of those in her employ who would fall victim with her to her own weaknesses.

~~~

When you wake the next morning you’re rather hungover but still remember last night with decent clarity.  The mysterious beast who lived in the castle was a woman, seemingly a noblewoman of high standing who before whatever happened here used to cavort around with the princes and diplomats from foreign nations.  She was sharp and witty, her dry sense of humor magnifying the absolute stupidity of some of her former compatriots.  Even in this form she was attractive, in a dangerous way that made your heart thrum in your chest and nerves feel on fire.  Her fur was so soft, and your cheeks heat when you vaguely remember burying your face against the fur of her neck when she caught you from stumbling.

Part of you is loathe to leave today, but you know that you must get back to the cottage and sort things out.  You’ll need to count your coins and talk to the owner of the book shop about perhaps taking on a position there in some capacity dusting, cleaning, anything he needed.  So long as you could get some coin in your purse to scrounge up a living on so you wouldn’t have to seriously consider the advances of Gerard.  If you got to that point you don’t know what you’d do, so it’s best not to dwell on it.  

When you finally muster the energy a few minutes after waking, you stand from the bed and stretch.  The pop and crack of your back and shoulders makes you sigh in relief, and you take a moment to limber up before washing your face in a basin and slipping your dress back on over your shift.  Peeling back the curtains your face goes worried at the blizzard raging outside, the happy pop and crackle of the roaring fire in your fireplace was enough to drown out the wind whipping outside of the castle walls.  

The knock on the door of your guest chambers surprises you, but when your hostess opens the door after you call for her to enter you fix her with a large, if sheepish, smile.  “I see you’ve noticed our predicament, sweetheart.”  The pet name makes your cheeks flush and she smirks, hitting the mark.  “I’m afraid you may be here for the foreseeable future, I know you needed to get back to town but I don’t believe you’d make it there in these conditions.  I’d offer you the use of a horse if I had one, darling, but I do not.”  She looks at you sadly, although hopeful, and her eyes brighten when you giggle and smile at her sweetly.

“Well, I can think of worse places to get stuck, and with worse company.”  When you wink you can tell she’s flustered by the way her jaw tightens and she looks away from you.  “I appreciate the effort, but seriously, I’m happy to be here.  Thank you for not leaving me out there last night.”  You place your hand on her arm, your fingers sinking into warm auburn fur and finding hard corded muscle beneath.  She grumbles at you, gaze unreadable, and you can tell she’s gone somewhere in her mind that isn’t exactly pleasant.

“I learned long ago not to turn away those in need.  Come then, let’s find us something to do today.  Tell me, sweet, what do you enjoy?  Chess?  Painting?  Needlepoint?”

“Books.”  Your answer is immediate, and your cheeks are still flushed as she gazes at you with warm eyes.  She doesn’t answer you though, merely nods and turns to walk down the hall at a slow enough pace that you can follow alongside.  When she walks slowly she can manage on just her hindquarters, those hugely muscular thighs and hips too much to be contained by regular breeches.  She had been wearing them last night when she took you to dinner, but you could see how they strained at the seams.  She’s in a pair of riding pants today, the fabric seems to have more give to it and is cut on the bias to allow for even more stretch.  Her white blouse is tucked into the pants, although her collar is open to leave room for her neck and scruff.  The swell of her breasts is prominent but not overly so, and you find yourself wondering what she looked like before whatever happened.  Has she always been like this?  Is this a new predicament?  

Before you can ask anything she stops you in front of a set of huge, wooden doors.  “Close your eyes.”  Under normal circumstances this would be an odd request, you find it especially odd coming from your kind-if-rough-around-the-edges host, but you do so anyway, not only closing your eyes but covering them with your hands.  When the door before you opens you’re hit with a blast of cool air that smells like old paper, worn leather, and firesmoke.  It smells like the book shop back in town, a scent you’ve come to love.  You feel a large clawed paw on your lower back that gently guides you in.  You’re still left in the dark for a bit as you hear someone stoking a fire in the fireplace, but once you can hear the cheery crackling of split wood and the gentle roar of the flames you hear your host’s voice again.  “Alright, sweet, open them.”

The windows are too dark with snow to let in much natural light, but the fireplace does a good job of illuminating most of the first level.  Looking up into the hugely vaulted ceiling you see at least two more levels above with small walkways and huge moving ladders.  You can’t help the gasp you give and the awestruck wonder with which you take in the sight of so many books.  “I didn’t know there were even this many books in the world.”  You miss the gentle look the queen gives you as you speak in hushed and reverent tones.  

“I want you to be comfortable here, especially with how long it looks like you may be stuck here between the blizzard and the havoc it will undoubtedly wreak on the forest paths.  So long as you’re here with me, sweet, you may come here at any time.  Nothing but my private quarters are closed off to you, but I implore you to ask for guidance from myself or my staff if you wish to wander, I would hate for you to get lost in our maze of halls just to perish while I search for you.”  She’s rambling a little, but you find it endearing and just laugh and nod along.  

“You know, I don’t think I’ve met your staff, are they...like you?”  Her face is steel after your question, eyes hard and angry.  She shakes her head a gruff no.

“No, I am the only one cursed to look like such a beast.  They were all victims of my hubris and selfishness.”  Okay, so she hasn’t always looked like this and she’s bitter about it.  While you’re mulling over the fact that you’re, well, pretty attracted to her, and you’re trying to figure out how to tell her you think she’s beautiful without coming across as patronizing, she calls out someone’s name.

You hear what sounds like wooden legs scurrying across marble when you’re bowled into by the ottoman who saved your butt from hitting the marble last night.  It lets out a low, rumbling bark that makes you laugh at the absurdity of the situation.  You do your very best to pet the ottoman, running your palms along its broad back and taking the time to scratch at the seam where the cushion met the frame.  Your host is smiling fondly down at you as you play with the “dog,” who has chosen to settle on your lap with a satisfied sigh.  

“Okay, so your staff are...furniture?”  She sighs, kneeling down beside you to scratch under what you’re hoping is the chin side of this ottoman.  

“Many years ago, I was spoiled and selfish and vain.  I allowed my bitterness and anger to turn me into a monster, and I justified all of it by the fact that I was queen and none could defy me.  I was cursed, and rightfully so, for denying an old woman shelter on a night much like last night.  I denied her because she was ugly, and I thought such creatures didn’t deserve a place in my beautiful palace.  It wasn’t her that was ugly though, it was me.  She proved it simply by making the outside match the inside.”  She way she gazes, almost unseeingly, down at her paws makes your heart hurt for her.  

“How do we break the curse?”  She’s startled out of her reverie by your hand on hers, and when she glances at your face she’s struck by the sincerity and openness on it.  “I want to help, you’ve been so kind to me, I think you’ve...I hope at least you’ve learned the lesson you were meant to.  Let me help you, it’s the least I can do.”  

She gives you a sad smile, more of a grimace or a sneer than a smile really but you understand the sentiment behind her bared teeth.  Her huge paw comes up to touch your cheek gently, not daring to cup your face in her hand lest you realize what you’re sitting across from.  “Oh you sweet, gentle girl.  Thank you, but I am resigned to my fate.  If you’re happy to keep me company though while you’re here, that is more than I could ever ask.”  You agree readily, eyes bright as you instruct her to get settled on the chaise by the fireplace.

“We’re going to read together!  Or, well, one of us will read to the other.  Now...let’s see…”  You let her instruct you to her most beloved collection of books, all of them well worn with weak spines and creased leather.  She loved her books, you can tell, and you’ll do right by them.  You swear.  Picking the most loved and creased volume of all you wander back over to the chaise and settle yourself closest to the fire, between the warm wall of muscle and fur of your host and the hard arm of the chaise.

She plucks the book from your hands, looking down at it longingly.  Her huge paws dwarf the small, leather-bound tome.  She flips it open to a particular page, the book falls open there easily so you guess that she studied this page a thousand times.  Her long tongue licks nervously over the corner of her muzzle and she skims the page with one claw, eyes full of unexpressed emotion.

“That man to me seems equal to the gods,

The man who sits opposite you

And close by listens

To your sweet voice/

And your enticing laughter--

That indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.

For whenever I look at you even briefly

I can no longer say a single thing,/

But my tongue is frozen in silence;

Instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;

With my eyes I see nothing;

My ears make a whirring noise./

A cold sweat covers me,

Trembling seizes my body,

And I am greener than grass.

Lacking but little of death do I seem.”

Her voice is low and longing, each word dripping unbidden with hidden meaning.  “Did you write that?”  You voice is wondering and it makes her laugh loud and clear.  It doesn’t sound like that’s a noise she’s made in a long, long while if the rasp from its disuse is anything to go by.  

“No, sweet, but thank you for thinking that something so beautiful could come from someone as ugly inside as I was.”  She pushes a long lock of hair behind your ear as she stares down at you softly.  “It was written by Sappho, a woman from Ancient Greece who wrote poetry about loving other women, the way men love them.”  

Your cheeks are hot but you can’t look away from her face.  Loving other women?  You’d never given much thought to the fact that you hadn’t found a man attractive in, well, ever.  You figured it had more to do with the lack of options in your little village than anything about men as a whole.  Thinking on it though, whenever you imagined your life going forward you never really imagined a husband.  Sure, you imagined a partner with you, someone to share your days and your burdens, but as you dwell on it for a moment you come to a rather sudden realization that you never much liked men in the first place.  “Will you read me more?”

Your host chuckles, thumbing your chin.  “Of course, sweet.  Here, let me read you some of my favorite fragments…”  She trails off, flipping through the thin pages looking for something in particular.  That’s how the two of you spend the whole of the morning and most of the afternoon.  A rather sweet teapot brings a rolling cart with lunch and tea on it, chattering happily with her companions as they leave when you thank each of them individually with a sweet smile.  

When you collapse back into your bed that night, the storm still raging outside the castle leaving the sky nothing but a sheet of gray, you do so with a smile on your face.

At the same moment you collapse into bed, your horse has been found still saddled but without you on it, shivering in the barn and eating the last of the hay that had been set out.  The stablehand from the inn takes charge, and Gerard has plans to use this to his advantage.  He pays, quite happily, for the inn to board and care for your mare.  Once the snow lets up he is going to go into the woods in search of you.  Either he will bring you back agreeing to be his wife, or he will leave you there to rot and claim to have found nothing but some tattered remains of your dress.  Yes, he will get what he wants, or you will just have to die, because if he cannot have you then, well, what’s the use of you existing?

You fall asleep, blissfully unaware of the plans of that toad back at your village.  You’re simply looking forward to tomorrow, wondering what else your host can introduce into your life.

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Barren: Chapter 4

Words: 1,902

Warnings: Various blood mentions, alcohol is mentioned but not consumed.

Tags:@fandermom @astral-eclipse @patheticlilkiddo @a-pastel-pan @honeysucklingz @dr-gloom @cloudedskies29 @quietwords-loudthoughts @merlybird500

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Patton kept his head down and his sleeves rolled up. He had to stay calm. It was one trip to the city. He’d be fine. He thumbed over the letters on his wrist to calm himself down “Roman,” he read out loud with a smile.

He entered the dreary convenience store and smiled at the clerk. The clerk did not smile back. His attention was on the old television in the corner. “...execution canceled after break in....suspect last seen with getaway driver....fugitive named Virgil Bianchi wanted dead or alive....” Patton hid his smile behind a list of groceries. Logan did it. Another Barren was safe.

He brought a handful of cereal boxes and granola bars to the counter, still smiling at the stoic clerk. “Lovely day, isn’t it, sir?” Patton asked, glancing out to the rain and fog.

“How ‘lovely’ can it be?” the man asked with a seething scowl. He nodded towards the television and brought his gaze back to Patton. “A killer is out on the streets.”

“I don’t think that boy was a killer,” Patton said. “His only crime was being Barren.”

“We kill them before they kill us,” the man said, his eyes falling on Patton’s wrist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you pity the damn monster.”

Patton gulped, tracing his thumb over Roman’s name. He wished Roman was with him now, knowing he’d need the charisma to escape this with more than his life. “No sir,” he said meekly. The clerk seemed less than pleased with his answer, studying his mark once more for any hint of it being fraudulent. Finally, a chance to change the conversation into something less dangerous. “Roman,” he said, “that’s my soulmate’s name. He’s a really sweet guy. Strong too.” The man continued his glare but handed over the bag of groceries.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be getting these home to him.”  

“Yes, sir!” Patton yelped, taking the bag and rushing out of the store as quickly as possible. He walked a block further before examining his wrist once again. The black ink was just darker than the natural pigmentation of a real soul Mark. Otherwise, it was a perfect copy. A decoy. A survival tactic.

Patton rolled down the sleeves of his cardigan as he continued walking through the city. It was only a few blocks away, and judging by all the texts from Roman, he’d need to get home in one piece. He took a deep breath in. Deep breath out. He pulled out his phone and called Roman.

Ring...

Ring...

Ring...

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Get the equipment ready.”

He put the phone in his pocket and quickened his speed. With every step, he was adding another thing to his to-do list. He went off track and stepped into an old corner store, letting his focus take over his manners. He grabbed a cheap beach towel, some teething rings, and a king-sized chocolate bar. He paid and left just as quietly as he had arrived.

He wasted no time when he got to the shelter. “Did Roman actually listen to me this time?” Patton asked playfully.

“Did you ask him to get out all the band-aids and liquor that we own?” Remy asked, with a laugh.

Patton rolled his eyes. “It’s a start.” He squirted hand sanitizer into his palms and rubbed his hands together as they continued to walk. “Where’s Logan?”

“Roman has him all but held prisoner in the medical room. Real overdramatic, if you ask me. I was like ‘Girl, he ain’t going nowhere’ but does Roman listen to me? Nope!” he said, popping the last syllable like bubble gum. “Em’s got the new kid around here somewhere, probably trying to keep him calm.”

“Poor kiddo,” Patton said quietly. “I’ll be sure to introduce myself to him after I fix up our little loganberry. Oh! But of course, I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“He was driving with Roman.”

“Fair point.”

Roman was waiting, frantically shaking his leg, as he sat outside of the charcoal grey doors of the medical room. He rushed to his feet as Patton approached, running up to him and pulling him into a hug. Patton knew he had to keep his hands sterile but- screw it he could just wash his hands again before interacting with the wound. Roman needed contact.

Roman pressed his lips against Patton’s cheek and both of them were very aware of the heavy beating of Roman’s pulse. “I was so worried,” Roman said, his voice was the quiet whisper he reserved only for Patton. “I... I couldn’t let them know that, but I was terrified. I was worried that Logan was doing worse than he was letting on- oh you know how he hates to tell us when he’s in pain. He told me it wasn’t lethal but- ugh- he’s such a liar sometimes and you just can’t be sure!” He held Patton even closer, his breath leaving water vapor on Patton’s neck. “God, and I was so worried about you!” he whispered, sounding as if he could cry. “I know you can take care of yourself, I just wish you didn’t have to. I wish... I wish I could spend every moment protecting you.” He was constricting against Patton like a snake, but the other didn’t mind. “And I wish Logan had been more careful.”

Patton pulled away from the hug to hold Roman’s face in his hands. He was a few inches taller than Roman, conveniently leaving Roman at the perfect height for forehead kisses. Patton pressed his lips to Roman’s head and smoothed his hair. “I’m gonna make sure Logan stays safe, okay? I’m sure you can stay safe with Remy, after all, you are my brave little knight.”

Roman nodded softly. “I should go check in on Virgil. Oh, but Patton, please tell me as soon as Logan is doing okay, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Patton said, delivering one last kiss to Roman’s forehead. “Now go keep Remy company.” Roman nodded, following Remy as Patton approached the medical fools. “Patton, wait!” he called.

Patton turned on his heels, leaving his fingers to just brush the cold metal. “Yes, Roman?”

“I- listen- I know you don’t need it, I have all my faith in you but,” he took a deep breath, “good luck Patton.”

“I love you too, Roman,” Patton said before disappearing into the cold, grey room.

“Took you long enough,” Logan teased, laying flat against the metal table. “I didn’t think you two would ever stop flirting. I was about to do the operation myself!”

Patton rolled his eyes, dumping the contents of his shopping bag onto the counter. He rolled a pump worth of hand sanitizer around his palms until it was nearly gone from sight. He snapped a pair of rubber gloves on and instructed Logan to take off his shirt.

“What’s this?” Logan asked, staring dubiously at the item Patton held in front of him. He tossed the blood-soaked polo shirt aside.

“It’s a teething ring. Take it.”

“A teething ring?” Logan asked. “My dear Patton, how infantile do you think me to be?”

“Just be glad I don’t make you bite the bullet that’s in you,” Patton retorted. “Where did Roman stash the liquor?”

“Far left cabinet, top shelf,” Logan said. “It should all be there,” he continued, “I told Roman that if he took any before you used it I’d slash the tires of his precious Jeep and make him fix it himself.”

“Ah so I see the bullet hasn’t changed your personality at all,” Patton said, “that’s lovely to know.”

“You couldn’t live without me,” Logan with a chuckle.

“Ah. Blood loss,” Patton noted. He held the teething ring above Logan’s mouth. “Open up and bite down.”

“Never.”

“Have it your way then,” Patton said, opening up the liquor and pouring it over the wound. “Don’t grind your teeth, that’s bad for your jaw,” he said, forcing Logan to take the teething ring. He took a pair of sterilized tweezers and carefully analyzed every gory detail of the wound. He determined that it would be safe to remove the bullet as long as he worked as carefully as possible. He felt horrible knowing that he was hurting Logan, but as the bullet came out, he knew he was doing this for a greater good. He snapped off the gloves, tossing them into a trash can and putting fresh ones on. He folded the towel perfectly to be just larger than the wound and held it down as much as he could as he studied Logan’s face. Color began to return as he released the tension from his jaw. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

“Don’t be,” Logan said between deep breaths. “You were just doing your job to correct an error that happened during mine. I was as careful as I could be, truly, but I am- well- I’m becoming rather concerned that my best isn’t good enough.” He closed his eyes and continued to focus on his breathing. “I couldn’t even save her, Patton. I couldn’t even get close to her.”

Patton sighed as he reached for the gauze. “You can’t save everyone, Logan. As much as I wish we could, that just... it’s not realistic. Sit up please, and hold that rag down, we want to keep the blood inside your body.”

“If the best of my abilities aren’t adequate enough, then what use am I to the cause? What use am I to you? To Roman, Remy, and Emile?” Logan asked.

Patton looked to him sadly as he wrapped the material around Logan’s hips and stomach. “You don’t have to have a ‘use’ or some task to fill,” Patton said. “You don’t need to be risking your life to be ‘adequate’ enough for us.” He ripped the final bit of gauze from the spool and secured it to the rest of what mummified the wound. “I care about you, Logan. Roman cares about you, Logan.”

“Roman cares about me?” Logan scoffed. “Yeah, and I saw pigs flying through the forest earlier. There’s also a blizzard in hell right now!”

Patton sighed. “I’ll just blame that on the bloodloss,” he murmured. He picked up Logan, who tiredly lay his head on Patton’s shoulder, and carried him out of the medical room. “I don’t want you getting out of bed until that wound is healed, okay? I’ll have Emile bring dinner around for you later.” He carefully opened the door to Logan’s living quarters and placed him sitting up on the bed. Logan, who had grown very tired, accepted this treatment like a rag doll as Patton carefully removed his shoes and socks. “I’m afraid I can’t let you under the covers quite yet- don’t want to make Emile clean blood off of your bedding- but I do hope that you get some rest.” He smoothed out Logan’s hair the way a mother might soothe her sick child and watched as Logan fell into a deep sleep. His rose and fell steadily and Patton held a horrible fear that the movement may stop if he were to walk away. He knew that meeting with Virgil was the next step he should take. The next step he had to take. Yet, deep down, he had to be with Logan, and no harm could come from postponing the meeting just a little bit more.

[bestmovies0]

America’s heroes of 2017: the people who inspired us

Sally Yates stood up to Donald Trump, while Colin Kaepernick knelt; Ashley Judd named epithets and Jonathan Smith saved lives. Here are a dozen to salute

Sally Yates

source > source > source >

Donald Trump’s presidency was a week old. Hillary Clinton was in the woods( literally ). Women marched on Washington. Then Trump fell a bombshell executive order immediately banning entry to America from seven majority-Muslim countries, and blocking refugees. Airfields erupted in chaos and loved ones were torn apart, before judges intervened. Sally Yates, acting attorney general, instructed justice department lawyers not to defend the order, doubting it was legal or matched her” obligation to seek justice and stand for what’s right “. Trump fired her. It afterwards emerged she had warned the White House about national security consultant Michael Flynn, who was soon fired for lying about contacts with the then-Russian ambassador Sergey Kislyak.

Ashley Judd

source > source > source >

The actress was the first publicly to name movie mogul Harvey Weinstein as a sex predator, after years of his alleged crimes being obliterated. Others then accused him of sexual harassment, misconduct and rape, professional sabotage and intimidation. His downfall, police investigations and lawsuits followed. He apologized, vaguely, but denies non-consensual sex. The floodgates opened as female and male victims accused humankinds across high-profile industries of entrenched power abuse. Heads rolled and the spotlight is back on other famous accused- including Donald Trump. The #metoo rallying cry went global and” silence breakers” collectively were named Time’s person of the year.

Colin Kaepernick

source > source > source >

The NFL football star began kneeling instead of standing during the national anthem before plays in 2016, in protest at racial injustice, specially police barbarism and killings involving young black humankinds. But the effects peaked again in 2017 when Donald Trump chose to stoke the row, rather than address underlying issues. The protests continued to spread, bringing things to a new head. Kaepernick, a supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement, procured himself in the sports wilderness after leaving the San Francisco 49 -ers, despite his talent. He was named GQ magazine’s citizen of the year.

Kathy Switzer

source > source > source >

Running a marathon is tough. Operating one at 70 is tougher. But toughest? A girl barging into a race that’s only is accessible to men and successfully preventing an official from manhandling her off the road. All those achievements belong to the same person. Kathy Switzer ran the Boston marathon in 2017, 50 years after she became the first girl to operate the race, after registering merely her initials then sneaking into the field. She became a hero of the women’s rights motion.” I knew if I fell out no one would believe women could run distances ,” she said.

Bill Peduto

source > source > source >

Who? The mayor of Pittsburgh. These words may ring a bell:” I was elected to represent the citizens of Pittsburgh , not Paris .” That was Donald Trump taking the US out of the Paris accord to combat climate change. The Pennsylvania city is, indeed, best known as an industrial powerhouse (” hell with the eyelid off” was a 19 th-century name ). But Peduto hit back.” We will follow the employment guidelines of the Paris Agreement for our people, our economy& future ,” he tweeted. He stands out amid a surge of local leaders defying Trump in favor of the environment.

April Ryan

source > source > source >

Interactions that American Urban Radio Networks and CNN journalist April Ryan had with Trump and his first press secretary, Sean Spicer, are epic, she as gracious and wry as they were boorish and dishonorable. Trump responded to Ryan asking if he had consulted the Congressional Black Caucus about inner metropolis by telling her to arrange a meet.” Are they the group of friends of yours ?” he asked her, a rare African American in the White House press corps, instants after proclaiming himself the” least racist person in the chamber “.( The CBC had already written to Trump and been discounted .) She pushes back fearlessly and incisively.” Please stop shaking your brain ,” Spicer demanded during one of his notorious briefings.

Heather Heyer

source > source > source >

Her Facebook photo said:” If you’re not outraged, you’re not attaches great importance .” The 32 -year-old legal aide from Virginia was demonstrating peacefully against white supremacists in Charlottesville when she was mown down by one of their alleged sympathizers driving at high speed. The civil right activist had long protested against bigotry and discrimination.” They tried to kill my child to shut her up. But guess what? You simply magnified her ,” her mom Susan Bro said. Heyer was to protest a huge rally of neo-Nazis, Ku Klux Klansmen and their ilk that recognized a low in 2017, deepened by Trump’s equivocal response.

Carmen Yulin Cruz

source > source > source >

If Donald Trump tosses you newspaper towels when your city’s decimated by blizzards, it was necessary to gush gratitude, apparently. But Carmen Yulin Cruz forgot the rules when hurricanes Jose and Maria reached Puerto Rico. After Trump said help for the US territory was slow because” this is an island, surrounded by sea “, Cruz, mayor of San Juan, snapped.” We’re dying here … if we don’t get the meat and sea into people’s hands, we’re going to see something close to genocide ,” she said. The estimated death toll is many times higher than the official 64.

Jonathan Smith

source > source > source >

A very ordinary name. An extraordinary human. Jonathan Smith, 30, is a photocopy machine fixing guy and father from California. When a gunman opened fire from above a country music concert in Las Vegas, killing 59, Smith operated towards danger and helped about 20 panicked strangers to security. He carried one “whos been” fallen, then took a bullet in the neck, which may be lodged for life. Among virtually 500 injured who crowding into hospitals where heroic acts were witnessed, Smith said:” No one deserves to be in that situation and left open like that .”

Fayrouz Saad

source > source >

Part of” the wave” of women running for office in reaction to Trump, Saad announced she will stand for Congress in 2018. She aims to represent her Michigan district , north-west of Detroit, and if she wins she’ll be the first Muslim American female member of Congress. The upsurge of new candidates nationwide are mostly Democrats and political novices, many are young and people of color. With four-fifths of congressional seats occupied by men and 90% of lawmakers recognizing as Christian, Saad has pledged to be a catalyst for change in Washington.

Taylor Mac

source > source > source >

In the worlds of drag and gay theater, Taylor Mac has long been an icon. But in 2017 he burst into the national and international consciousness by touring his astonishing new show, A 24 -Decade History of Popular music genre. It’s not just singing and prancing in glitter while talking politics, fairies, and smacking about racists- Mac’s fringe fare. The display tells an alternative, underdog’s history of America via an extravaganza of costumes by outlandish decorator Machine Dazzle. Mac won a MacArthur” genius grant” and a Kennedy prize.

Juli Briskman

source > source > source >

It may have been spontaneous, and rude, but it was still gutsy, and it had outcomes. As Juli Briskman was riding her bicycle she was overtaken by Donald Trump’s motorcade leaving his golf club near Washington, and she created her middle finger high. The Guardian, whose reporter was on White House ” pond ” obligation, captured the story and the pic moved viral. Briskman’s sensible helmet and plain garb encapsulated her everywoman defiance.” Some people have compared that video to Tiananmen Square and that might be a bit of a reaching ,” she deadpanned. Briskman was fired, but had not yet been regrets.

Read more: https :// www.theguardian.com/ us-news/ 2017/ dec/ 30/ us-heroes-2 017 -people-who-inspired-us

from https://bestmovies.fun/2018/01/01/americas-heroes-of-2017-the-people-who-inspired-us/