#chase macavoy

[chrisitsraining]

hmm...

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 6

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness. If I missed a warning, I’m so sorry–please let me know and I will add it ASAP!

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At first, Belle wasn’t sure what had awakened her. Then, Nosty clenched his fist by her abdomen, squeezing her to him like a lifeline, and keened softly in her ear. 

“Nosty?” she whispered. Was he asleep? 

He whimpered, clutching her tighter, and just as she was about to put her hand over his and try to soothe him awake, he screamed and flung himself off of her, landing next to the bed in a crouch.

“Nosty!” She wriggled, untangling herself from the blankets as he shouted nonsense at her in his quick brogue. Once free, she clambered to him and touched his arm.

Some of the fever was leaving his eyes already and he sucked in breaths like a drowning man. She stepped closer to him, resting her other hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”

He grabbed her hand, squeezing tight, and she could see when his eyes changed from seeing his demons to seeing her bedroom. He loosened his grip, looking down at her, and she rubbed his shoulder.

“It’s just me,” she said. “Belle. You’re in my flat.” 

“Belle,” he repeated, then pressed into her. Surprised, she wrapped her arms around him, tucking him under her chin. 

“Come on, let’s get back in bed.” She guided him backwards and he climbed in after her, curling into her like a child when she sat against the headboard.

“You’re okay?” he asked so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him.

“I’m okay.” What had he dreamt? He still shook, but the tremors calmed with every passing second as Belle rubbed his back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Nothing to talk about.” 

She kissed the top of his locks and he finally looked up at her. He ran his fingers along her cheek, her lip, her neck, then closed his eyes and tucked his head back under her chin.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked. 

He nodded, hair tickling her, and when he did it again at her wheeze of laughter, she knew he was at least a little bit telling the truth.

“I haven’t had a nightmare in ages,” he said to her collar. “Never sleep well enough to bother.”

She tucked that statement away to process later. Her sleep-fogged brain couldn’t unpack the implications just then. 

“I have nightmares sometimes,” she said. As she’d hoped, he perked up a little, tilting to look at her.

“Yeah? What about?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes I have dreams about being locked away forever or chased in a maze that I can’t get out of.” 

“You ever been locked away?”

She shook her head and he lifted himself off of her, though not enough that he broke her grip on him.

“Good.” He kissed her on the jaw, then ducked out from her arms, coaxing her to lie down before following. She tucked them both back under the comforter, and Nosty spooned up behind her, wrapping her up in him this time. 

They settled back in to sleep, but Belle couldn’t yet. “Have you?” she asked softly.

For a moment, she thought he might not answer, which was answer enough. But then, lips by her ear, he whispered, “‘Course. Don’t you know the biggest crime in London is having no address?”

She swallowed, tightening her grip on his arm around her. Did he dream about being locked up too? Is that why he fled, why he screamed? Or was it something far worse? 

Uneasy, Belle didn’t drift off again until she felt Nosty’s breathing even out in sleep.

****

MacAvoy forced his overcooked egg down, wishing he had thought to add beans to it before it was almost done. Despite being basically sober in the morning, his egg-cooking skills were getting somehow worse. He blamed the devil.

At least there had been no more masturbatory incidents. He couldn’t stop the visions of Belle’s violation—Belle, naked, hair fanned out behind her, a halo of angelic light around her as she knelt down or lay splayed—but at least he didn’t sully her memory further. 

And he wouldn’t, because today was Sunday. The Lord’s day. Even Satan wouldn’t fuck with him today. Besides, this meant that he only had to make it through one more bleak, miserable day before he could get on a bus and make his way to the library and Belle in the flesh.

He almost choked on his dry eggs, face suddenly on fire. Belle in the flesh. How would he look her in the eye now, after having visions of her from every angle, every facet, every position? 

She would know. How could she not? Then again, he would be surprised if anyone attracted to women could come to the library and confidently say they’d never pictured Belle naked once. 

Not that he had pictured her naked himself, but whether he or the devil was the real culprit, the fact was it was in his mind. He knew the visceral feel of her throaty, passioned screams. 

He threw the last few bites of egg in the sink, then poured himself a glass of water and downed it. Today, he would be productive. He would find the best bus route to get to his library tomorrow.

The oven clock reminded him that he could be holding mass today. It would have started in fifteen minutes.

Crossing himself, he shuffled downstairs, unsteady on his feet. Maybe he wasn’t quite as sober as he thought. 

He considered entering the sanctuary, sitting at the pulpit and at least reading a few passages from the bible even if no one was there for him to preach to, but he continued on his course to the abandoned office, where he knew existed a bus schedule somewhere.

When he couldn’t find it, he turned to the ancient computer. He certainly hadn’t paid the internet bill in God knew how long, so the machine was no more than an expensive paper weight. What he really needed was a library, but he didn’t feel up to walking anywhere. 

Maybe—maybe he should call Belle? She’d told him to. Even though his visions told him she was still with Nosty, she had said herself that he should call any time.

It was barely ten though. It would be rude to call then.

With time to kill, he searched the office once more, but all he found was a membership directory, a few takeaway menus, and a five pound note that he pocketed to put in Belle’s collection jar tomorrow. It was the least he could do.

Noon would be a reasonable time to call. It wasn’t so early that she might still be sleeping, but early enough that she might not yet have started her day. Or she’d be right in the middle, but he couldn’t worry about that. She could be in the middle of something no matter what. She could be getting fucked at any point, and he’d just have to trust that she wouldn’t answer if she was.

He gripped the wall, lurching forward. When had he decided she was getting fucked instead of violated? Pinching the bridge of his nose, he crossed himself. It was still violating no matter what word his mind supplied.

The confessional welcomed him as it had yesterday, and now he had so much more to confess. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” He crossed himself again. “It’s been less than a day since my last confession and I’ve got some complaints.”

A little guilt creeped in at the idea of using the confessional as his therapy session, but everyone was meant to have their own personal relationship with God, and this was his. If the Lord wasn’t going to protect him against the devil, then he was going to have to get used to receiving a little lip now and then.

He confessed, drank, checked his phone clock, and Hailed Mary on repeat until noon, at which point he fumbled his phone so hard with excitement, he nearly shattered it.

Soon, it was ringing, and his cheeks and toes tingled pleasantly. It hadn’t even rung last time.

“Hello?”

He was so happy to hear her voice on the other end, a little formal but not the voice of a dying woman, he forgot to speak until she repeated it.

“Hi.”

“Who—Joseph?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s me.” He dropped his forehead into his free hand. He was too drunk for this. He should have removed the vodka bottle from his confession ritual—but it was such a good way to make time move faster.

“What’s up?” She sounded a little preoccupied, but chipper nonetheless. 

“Ah—” He had a reason for calling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.

“Joseph?”

“Bus schedule! I don’t know which bus to take tomorrow. Internet’s down here.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.” He wondered that she hadn’t seen through that excuse—the internet had been down for months, at least. “I can’t look right now, but if you give me awhile, I’ll look it up and text you the best route?”

“Sure,” he said, heart sinking. She was too busy to talk and he couldn’t even look up his own bus schedule. Useless as a priest and as a friend.

“Okay, great. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He licked his chapped lips. Was there anything he could say to keep her on the phone? Nothing that wasn’t a lie. “See you, Belle.”

She hung up, and he sank further into the booth, staring at the little machine that had so recently contained Belle’s voice. After another pathetic minute, he sighed and swigged his vodka.

****

Belle didn’t want to feel anxious about the oncoming Monday. She always saw Nosty at work; that wouldn’t change just because he’d come over. And even if it did, he could just come over again. This idyll wasn’t ending.

Joseph MacAvoy, however, was going to destroy it. She hung up the phone, hating that she could even think to blame him for the hard set of Nosty’s jaw, the way his shoulders moved like he was squaring up. 

Well, let him. She could square up too. 

“That was Father MacAvoy,” she said.

“Not Joseph?” he sneered. 

She watched him, and the longer she did, she saw the way his jaw twitched, his eyes darted around, his hands fidgeted at his side. Instead of answering, she took his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

“Why are you jealous of a priest?” she asked. 

He yanked his hand free to storm away, but all he did was make it to the end of the living room before pacing down the other side of the couch. “I’m not jealous.”

She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong then?”

“I just think it’s fucking weird that you call a Father by his given name and he’s phoning you, that’s all.”

“So maybe he’s a bad priest. Are you from the diocese, then?”

She knew he meant the look he gave her to be scathing, but all she could do was laugh because she knew he would see his blustering as ridiculous if he thought about it for even a second.

“What’s he want with you? Why’s he need a bus schedule?”

“I don’t know, and because he’s coming to volunteer at the library tomorrow.” Volunteer might have been stretching the truth, but then, she was going to have to insist he volunteer anyway if he spent enough time there, so not much of a stretch.

“He wants you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “So? You have me.”

He stopped, all the way on the other side of the couch from her. Instead of closing the distance, he plopped down on his corner of the couch, throwing his arm over the back. She took this as an invitation and sat next to him.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” he asked. “A priest? They commit all kinds of fucking depraved sex crimes.”

“He’s quite small, I think I can handle myself,” she said. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, so she tapped him on the nose, and he finally snorted, relaxing into the couch. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Well, you made him eat hot sauce, so I don’t blame him.”

“Oi, that works sometimes. I wasn’t putting him on.”

She snuggled up to him, pleased when he wrapped both arms around her like she liked. She hoped Joseph didn’t try anything creepy with her—he would not survive Nosty protecting her, she was sure of that.

“Don’t you trust my judgment?” she asked.

“Not at all, you fucking madwoman, look at the men you let into your flat.” 

She struggled to her knees, then fell back into his lap so she could take his face in her hands and pull him down for a kiss. 

“From where I’m sitting, I’ve made the best choices.”

“Worked out for me at least.” He pulled the blanket over, tucking them both into it, then kissed her again. 

****

MacAvoy’s phone didn’t buzz with a text until dinner time, while he was spilling beans over toast and some poorly-scrambled eggs. Belle had sent him several options, and the thought of keeping all the travel straight made his stomach lurch. How had he done all this drunk? If he checked his credit card statements, would he find hundreds of pounds in taxi fare?

It was almost over, though. The endless void of weekend was endless no longer, and whenever he crawled miserably out of bed tomorrow, he could walk straight to the nearest bus stop and be that much closer to having a purpose again. 

****

When shopping for pajamas, Belle never gave much thought to other people seeing them. Sometimes she favored cozy pants and a t-shirt and other times, a cool silk negligee. With Nosty there to keep her warm at night, she was glad she already had a selection of what one might consider to be sexy nightclothes. 

She studied her blurry reflection in the fogged mirror after her shower, admiring as best she could the way the navy blue silk hugged her form. Nosty hadn’t said anything—she didn’t think he would—but he seemed to like running his fingers along the lace edging, and she didn’t want to discourage that by wearing a regular nightgown. 

It was a little too chilly to just wander around in a negligee, so she slipped her robe on and tried not to skip happily out of the bathroom. Being too bouncy was bound to scare Nosty away.

Then, she saw him at her bookshelf, fully dressed in boots and his leather jacket, examining the titles, and her legs could no longer skip if she wanted them to, laden now with the terror that he was about to leave.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to accuse. Maybe he was just cold—but that didn’t explain the boots.

He turned slowly, and she knew he’d been ignoring her when she came out of the bathroom, not so absorbed in looking that he hadn’t heard her.

“Getting late.” He gestured to the clock above the TV. It was close to nine. “Best be off.”

Her lungs couldn’t remember how to take in and release air. She felt trapped somewhere in the cycle, somewhere before the oxygen went to her brain, and she wished that Nosty did not have this power over her, that she was not so beholden to his mood swings that she stopped breathing at the thought of him leaving.

“Why?”

She wanted to walk to him, to grab him by the lapels and make him look her in the eye so he’d see everything within her, but her heavy feet rooted her to the spot. 

“You’ve got a fucking job, Belle.” 

“So?” She tried to tell herself that she had to let him go if he wanted to. “What does that mean?”

He stomped toward the kitchen—thank god not the door—and paused in the doorway, gathering his locks into a thick bundle and then releasing them.

“So—so you’ve got a fucking real life. Starts on Mondays like all the other fucking sellouts.”

“What, so this was just a fake life? This weekend didn’t exist?”

He stuffed both hands in his pockets, and she heard a clicking noise from one of them. A knife, maybe? A lighter? 

“Belle, come on.” He took a step toward the door, but her legs unfroze and she all but teleported in front of it. He backed into the kitchen doorway.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked. If he wanted to go, she wouldn’t stop him, but if he was panicking, she wasn’t going to just let him disappear into the night.

“I have to.” 

She tried to listen, tried to make out his tone, but it was so hard with adrenaline pumping so fast, it nauseated her.

“Why?”

“I’ve got stuff to do. You’ve got stuff to do.”

“What stuff?” If their roles were reversed, this would look dangerous. Nosty, blocking her only exit from the apartment? Someone would lock him up. But Belle didn’t feel dangerous at all; she was just a tiny speck of a person, someone Nosty could sweep aside with one wave of his muscular arm. 

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

Despair coiled in her gut, the familiar loneliness taking root where it always lived. Had she been a fool to think this could be anything? Was this just a fantasy?

“I want you to tell me why you’d rather sleep under a newspaper than in my bed.”

Finally, finally, he took a step toward her, then another and another until he was close enough to cup her face in his hands. She clenched her teeth against the moisture that threatened to spill over. She wouldn’t cry. 

Apparently, she would, because seconds later, Nosty was swiping away tears with his thumb. She hadn’t thought he would do that—she’d always thought he’d run if she cried. 

“A newspaper?” he asked. “What, you think I’m a fucking hobo in Oliver Twist?”

She laughed, wet with tears, and he kissed them away. 

“I don’t know how you sleep. You won’t tell me anything about you,” she said. 

He pulled back, letting his hands slide until they cupped her neck, watching her. 

“Under a bridge, usually. Get a fire going, bottle of gin, not too shabby.” 

She closed her eyes. “Stop. Don’t sugarcoat for me. I hate the thought of you out there, but you don’t have to lie if you really want to go.”

“I have to go, sweetheart.” He kissed each of her eyelids, then stepped back as she opened her eyes. “This is just a fucking holiday from your real life. Trust me, you’ll be happier this way.”

“Don’t tell me what makes me happy.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, and he looked down in surprise. “You don’t get to decide for me. If you want to go because you’re scared, that’s your choice, but don’t put it on me.”

“I’m not fucking scared!” 

“You are.” She jabbed him one more time, then folded her arms. “Coward.”

“Oi!” He reared back, pressing a hand to his heart. “I’m no fucking coward. You want me to stay? I’ll fucking stay.” 

“Don’t stay just to prove a point.” The tears welled up again, but this time, she didn’t try to stop them. “If you’d rather be alone on a sidewalk with your gin, then go.” 

He licked his lips, and his movements were like he was squaring up again, but he was too scared to commit to it. Good. He should be afraid of her if he was going to tell her what to do.

“How the fuck is this supposed to work, Belle? What the fuck are we doing?” 

“I don’t know, Nosty, it’s only been three days. I thought maybe we’d figure it out as we go, like most couples, instead of having an existential crisis over bedtime.” 

It felt mean to say, but this didn’t look like it upset Nosty as much as being called a coward. In fact, he settled, watching her like she might attack and he wouldn’t be ready for it.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I.” She stepped one foot toward him and when he didn’t back away, continued. “No one knows what to do at the beginning. This isn’t a Jane Austen novel. There’s no courtship ritual. Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

He nodded, and she walked until they were chest to chest, but didn’t move to touch him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’d rather sleep on the mat outside your door like a dog than go back to the sidewalk with my fucking gin,” he said.

Tentative, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest, listening to his heart thump as wildly as hers. He started moving, and it wasn’t until his jacket thudded to the floor that she realized why, and then he was wrapping his arms around her, and those lonely roots backed off. Maybe someday, they’d disappear. 

“I want to be with you,” she said, putting as much firmness in her voice as she could with her cheek pressed so tightly to his sternum, she couldn’t fully form words.

“You’re crazy,” he said. “But that suits me.”

“Stop telling me I’m crazy.” She leaned away to look at him, but not enough that she had to loosen her grip. “Stop acting like I can’t make up my own mind.” 

“I just don’t get it.” He tapped on her forehead. “Intelligent bird like you—what the fuck are you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter if you get it. It only matters that you trust me.”

He kissed her on the forehead then, a gesture of such comfortable intimacy, she almost cried again. 

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Why are your boots still on then?” 

He snorted. “Can’t take ‘em off with a whole fuckin’ woman hanging off me, can I?” 

“Not my problem.”

He moved her arms from his hips to his shoulders, and before she realized what was happening, he’d hoisted her up by the waist to carry her to the bedroom where he all but threw her on the bed. 

“Stay there,” he ordered, and this time, she didn’t mind being told what to do. “And take your robe off.”

She obeyed, trying not to panic when he stomped out and calming when she heard the bathroom door swing shut. By the time he returned, she was lounging back in her silk negligee, and he wore a new pair of sweats and nothing else. 

“When do you get up for work?” he asked.

“Seven,” she said. “But if I pick out my outfit the night before, I can sleep in a bit.”

He wandered over to her closet, sliding the door open so he could flick through everything. Within a few seconds, he’d plucked a forest green dress from its hanger and thrown it over her vanity. 

“There. Good enough?” 

“I need stockings and shoes.”

She didn’t really, but watching him root around in her drawers to find a suitable roll of stockings and then her closet for matching shoes brought a smile to her face. He came up with nude hose and a pair of black pumps, adding them to the vanity when she nodded her approval, and then he was in bed with her, cocooning them in the comforter and wrapping himself around her like she’d disappear if he didn’t.

“I like the way you dress.” He ran his thumb along the lace hem, just like she’d thought he would, and then his hand wandered to her thigh. 

“I think you look very dashing in a kilt.”

“Dashing, eh?”

His fingers whispered along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she flooded with heat, the loneliness banished for the night. 

“Very.”

He kissed her shoulder, moving toward her neck with his lips, and she wanted to turn around, participate, but he held her steady with his arms around her, and when he closed his teeth around her skin and sucked, she decided she didn’t mind. 

“Nosty,” she sighed, and he pulled his lips away with a pop. His hand slid up her skirt, resting on her stomach, and she could feel that he was enjoying his attentions to her as much as she was, the evidence pressed up to her back. 

“Tell me something,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe.

“Tell you what?”

“Anything.” He stroked his hand up, brushing the underside of her breast with just the tip of his finger, the closest he’d ever come to really touching her. “Something no one else knows.”

She wanted to give his question thought, but it was so hard when she was lightheaded with the feel of him, the relief he was here. 

“You already know everything,” she said. “I’m an open book.” 

“Too open. I want you all to meself.” His fingers ghosted along her breast, and when one brushed her nipple, she gasped. “Tell me who else has done this.” 

He ran his thumb around her nipple this time with a little more force, a little more intention, and she felt like she could come just from that. This was dangerous territory.

“No one’s ever—” She cried out again when he bit down on her shoulder. “No one’s ever done anything more than just—”

He pinched her nipple and she thrashed, but his other hand came around to hold her against him at the hip. 

“Keep talking, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me hear your voice.”

“I’ve only had bad sex,” she said. “It’s always been better alone.”

He licked the mark he’d undoubtedly left on her neck, then kissed her shoulder. “Forget all that,” he growled, and she could have disintegrated. “I want you to feel good.”

“I feel good.”

Still flicking his thumb back and forth across her nipple, his other hand ran along the edge of her knickers, between her thighs, gently stroking the sensitive skin there.

“I can’t—” she tried, but when he ran a finger along her knickers, she moaned.

“Can’t what?”

“Reciprocate. Not until—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” He switched to her other breast, and she had never had anyone use their hands so deftly, so tenderly. “Tell me what feels good.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, although maybe nice wasn’t the right word when he was ghosting his finger between her legs, just hard enough to tease her.

“I want to hear you scream.” He bit her shoulder. “I’ve wanted to do this since I met you.”

“You’ll—oh—you’ll have to work for it.” This was likely not true—she was on the verge of screaming right then, and he’d barely done anything.

“Anything, sweetheart. Anything you want.” 

She wanted him to stay, to be in her bed when she woke up tomorrow and again when she went to sleep. He drove the words out of her mind, stopping his ministrations to use both hands to tug her knickers off, and then he was running a finger along her wet skin, and she shuddered.

“I didn’t realize how much you fucking liked me,” he said, and the teasing note in his voice only made her want to scream his name more, but she kept her mouth shut.

“I didn’t know you were so good with your hands.”

“I’ll show you, sweetheart.” He slipped the tip of his finger inside her and she did cry out then, rolling her hips as he gently moved in and out. “Any bastard who didn’t take the time to do this was a fucking idiot.” 

She agreed—not even the thick feel of a vibrator felt as all-encompassing, as earth-shattering as Nosty’s finger exploring her while his other hand tended to her breasts and he licked and sucked and kissed along her neck and shoulder. 

He slid his finger in further, pinching a nipple as he did, and she lost sense of time as he drew from her all manner of whimpers and sighs and cries of his name. 

“Oh god, Nosty,” she said when the pleasure had built so high, she didn’t know if there was anywhere else to go.

“That’s it, love,” he growled. “You’re fucking beautiful, I promise I’ll let you come soon.” 

She didn’t know that the idea of being allowed to come would fill her with just as much heat as the feel of his teeth scraping along her bare skin, but she moaned at that, and he groaned in response.

Then, he slipped his finger out of her and up to her clit. She had never put much stock in the fireworks described in romance novels, but she felt it then, electricity all over, and then it crested and burst, and she screamed Nosty’s name as she came, clenching around his hand. He held her, rubbing her gently until she stopped convulsing.

“You are perfect,” he whispered, and she thought she might come again. 

“So are you,” she said. 

Tenderly, he kissed the side of her neck, sliding his hands off of her and righting her nightgown. Her knickers were lost somewhere in the bed, but she could find them later. 

Once free, she shifted until they faced one another, cupping his cheek this time. 

“I don’t want tonight to end,” she said. She kissed him softly on the corner of the mouth, and he clutched at her hip. 

“Me neither.”

She rubbed her thumb along his stubble, loving the feel of it and the way his eyes drifted shut when she did. “Nosty?”

“Mm?”

“Do you feel safe here?”

He was quiet, and she wondered if she’d done something wrong, said something stupid. Then he took her hand from his cheek and slid it down, pressing her palm to his chest, watching their fingers instead of her.

“It’s more dangerous here than anywhere else,” he murmured. “You’ve got a fist around all me most vital organs.” 

“I’ll take good care of them.” She moved his hand to her heart as well, knowing he could feel the I love you thumping against her breastbone, and she didn’t care. “As long as you return the favor.”

He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against hers. “I’ll keep you safe.” His lips hovered near hers. “You’ll never have to worry as long as I’m here.”

His heart beat against her hand, a steady, powerful drum. “I trust you,” she said.

Nosty finally kissed her then, and as he rolled them over to blanket her with his body, she had never felt safer.

[chapter 7]

[iwouldlovetobreackitoyou]

Chapter Sixteen: "Get. Lost."

It was as if the weather couldn’t get any worse. Every day seemed to drawl on longer and longer as the first Quidditch match seemed to loom over every house at Hogwarts. We found out on Tuesday that we were to verse Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the year due to a certain Slytherin Seeker needing more time to rest his injured arm.

Thursday evening came with a horrendous thunderstorm, but that didn’t stop the Hufflepuff team from Quidditch Practice. I could barely see through the rain while it pelted down on me as I flew through the sky on my Nimbus 2000. I was soaked to the core and freezing as I successfully caught the Quaffle heading straight for my head, even after I almost slipped off my broom in the process.

“Watch it!” I yelled over the rain as I threw the Quaffle just outside of Malcolm Preece’s reach, making him dive to catch it. I flew over to Cedric Diggory and hovered there for a moment as we watched Malcolm and Heidi Macavoy throw and catch the Quaffle.

“I see we have company.” Cedric said as he folded his arms and gestured towards the stands. My eyebrows scrunched together as my head swivelled over to where he was looking to. I first caught sight of an umbrella, and below that umbrella was none other than Fred Weasley. He sat there quietly as he watched me and Cedric hovering together.

My cheeks heated up despite the freezing weather just knowing Fred was hear alone to watch us practice. It’s not unheard of that he would come and watch me practice, but he would usually be accompanied with either his brothers or even Lee Jordan for that matter.

“What? Are you shy now?” Cedric teased beside me which earned him an elbow to his ribs that he laughed off.

“All right!” Cedric called over the downpour and everyone turned their attention to our Captain. “We’re gonna practice how far we can throw and catch the Quaffle.”

“How far?” Heidi asked as she flew up to us.

“Aim for the Goal Posts.” Cedric said as Heidi passed him the Quaffle. We all flew to the Goal posts in the pitch and allowed Malcolm to be the first team member to practice his throwing and catching skills. The more we stayed out here, the colder it got. At least when we were watching Malcolm and Heidi throw the Quaffle between each other the rain started to let up a little.

It was soon Cedric and I’s turn to throw the Quaffle and I volunteered to be the first one at the goal Posts. The rain started to become heavier as I waited for Cedric to throw the Quaffle. I could barely see through my goggles that were meant to help me see through the rain.

I allowed my hearing and sharp eyes to seek out the Quaffle heading straight towards me, successfully catching each time before Cedric called for us again instructing us that each of us will throw the Quaffle and chase after it and catch it. I watched as Malcolm, Heidi and Cedric all took turns before it was my turn to fly and catch the Quaffle.

“You ready, Azurielle?” Heidi asked as she bounced the Quaffle in her hand.

“Born ready.” I said with determination, and with that, Heidi threw the Quaffle and I was racing after it. The Quaffle was getting too far away, getting closer and closer to the edge of the pitch where Fred was sitting. I could hear the rain splatter against the Quaffle as I continued to fly after it. I was nearing the stands now and I still haven’t caught the Quaffle, but I knew I would catch it by the time I reached Fred, it would just be a very close call.

The air was whipping dangerously cold against my cheeks, but I didn’t care as my ears picked up where the Quaffle was. Before I knew it my eyes were now tracking the Quaffle as I pushed my broom beneath my feet and drifted above the stands. As my broom swung around I raised my hands high above my head and caught the Quaffle.

“Yeah, Azure!” I heard behind me. I whipped my head around and saw Fred’s over exaggerated cheering. This brought a wide a toothy smile from me as I looked at Fred through my goggles. I giggled at him as I was basically standing upright, along with my broom. Fred gave me a wink and I couldn’t tell if my cheeks were burning from the wind and rain or from his wink.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Fred said over the rain. I swayed on my broom and looked back over at him in surprise, then I couldn’t control the wide smile that spread across my face.

“Fancy indeed!” I said to him before turning back to the pitch, Quaffle in hand. I pushed my broom back down and headed back to the team to continue practicing.

It was a lot warmer in the Hufflepuff Changing rooms, especially after swapping my soaked Quidditch robes for a much warmer jumper and dry socks. As I was pulling my trench coat over my shoulders Fred appeared in the doorway to the changerooms, shaking the water droplets off his umbrella.

“Hey, Fred.” I greeted as he walked over.

“Hello, Azure.” Fred said as he leaned against the locker next to me. We stayed silent for a while as I put my Quidditch robes into my locker.

“Why isn’t George with you?” I asked through a smile. “Afraid to get wet?” I teased and Fred chuckled softly.

“Jee I hope not if the weather’s like this on Saturday.” Fred said and we made our way to the changeroom entrance.

“Merlin, it will definitely be a spectacle,” I added as we stood in the doorway and watched the rain absolutely bucket down. ”You still got that umbrella?” I asked as I wrapped my trench coat around me. Wordlessly Fred opened the umbrella and held it above us. We gave each other one last look before entering the downpour.

The walk back up to the castle felt like it took an eternity. All I could focus on was our elbows brushing against each other and our close proximity under the umbrella. With each contact our arms made my heart fluttered

As Fred and I made it to the castle, Fred walked me all the way to the Hufflepuff common room. I had long discarded my trench coat by this point, which Fred insisted that he carried until we got to the common room. But as we reached the barrels, I felt almost disappointed that I couldn’t spend anymore time with him tonight.

“Well, this is me.” I said as I looked to the barrels and took a deep breath as Fred held out my coat. When I reached out to grab my coat that was folded over Fred’s hand, our hands brushed together. My heart skipped a beat when Fred didn’t pull his hand away, but instead held my gaze.

Fred’s chocolate brown eyes bored into my hazel green one’s as we stood planted in place. The warm lantern light danced in his eyes and I swear I saw a hint of pink that dusted his cheeks. My breath hitched as all I could think about was that Fred wasn’t pulling away or making a well-timed joke to ease the tension.

Fred cleared his throat before dropping my coat into his hand. I felt my cheeks burn as I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly.

“I’ll see you later then.” I farewelled before holding out my wand to the barrel that was two from the bottom, in the middle of the second row. But before I could tap out the password Fred quickly grabbed my left hand. I turned around with slightly raised eyebrows and noticed Fred’s face resembled that of a tomato.

“D-do you-um…” Fred said shakily, as if nervous to tell me what was on his mind. This came as a shock to me as Fred has never once been nervous or shied away from me. “Would you like to grab a Butterbeer the next time we go to Hogsmeade?”

“What d’you mean? We always grab a Butterbeer when we go to Hogsmeade.” I said to him in confusion. Fred’s shoulders slackened ever so slightly.

“I mean-like,” Fred said  but seemed to grab hold of his courage. “I mean just the two of us.”

“Oh,” I said as realisation washed over me, then a toothy smile spread across my face. “I’d love to.” I said to him earnestly.

“Brilliant.” Fred said with an equally wide smile. He stood up a little taller, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I told him as I tapped out the password and watched as the lid to the barrel slid open, revealing the cozy inside to the common room. After I stepped through the barrel, I turned back and watched as it closed up, savouring the last moments I saw of Fred before the barrels completely sealed up.

Friday went by faster than expected and soon I was found myself in company with Tara, Charlotte, and Abby on our way to Defence Against the Dark Arts. As we entered the classroom with a few Slytherin’s, all noise was extinguished as our eyes landed on Professor Snape standing at the front of the classroom. Confusion and surprise would be an understatement for what we all were collectively feeling.

We all sat down silently compared to our more enthusiastic racing to our seats to begin the lesson. We were learning about Ghouls but my mind kept trailing back to Remus. I knew the full moon was coming this Sunday, and even I was feeling the effects of it.

It was the quietest it had ever been in a Defence Against the Dark Arts class. I was distracted and utterly bored to say the least as Snape’s monotone voice echoed throughout the classroom. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see Remus until he was feeling better. Despite the last time I had seen Remus was only Wednesday, it felt like a lifetime without having an interesting lesson from any subject as Quidditch was all about which we could think.

It was like a breath of fresh air when Defence Against the Dark Arts concluded and we could all escape to our last classes for the day. I met back up with Fred and George for our Library session which flew by in an instant. Dinner and my night-time Astronomy lesson with the Ravenclaws became a blur of stars and moon charts, and before I knew it, I was already back in bed.

My mind was buzzing with anticipation for Quidditch tomorrow. It felt like forever since Quidditch season could finally kick off. All I needed to do now was wait until the morning.

I was back in the Hufflepuff changing room tightening my shin guards. We were all hyped up by Cedric’s pre-game speech and soon we heard the stomping of feet and cheering as the rest of Hogwarts started to enter the Quidditch stands. We all grabbed our brooms and headed for the Quidditch pitch. Before we left the changing room I slid my goggles over my eyes before the seven of us walked over to the centre of the pitch.

Cedric and Oliver Wood shook hands and it appeared that Oliver was grinding his teeth subconsciously.

“Mount your brooms!” Madam Hooch howled over the wind and on cue, we all jumped upon our brooms, all becoming more antsy by the second. We all watched closely as Madam Hooch brought a whistle to her lips and paused dramatically before she gave it a mighty blow. It’s ear-splitting noise echoed around the pitch and we were sky-rocketing upwards.

I rose up quickly and took hold of the Quaffle. Despite my broom being dragged by the wind I raced over to Gryffindor’s goal. My ears picked up a Bludger heading my way on my right, and at the last second I barrel-rolled to the left and passed the Quaffle to Heidi who was flanking me.

I was already soaked to the bone by this point. You couldn’t even hear Lee Jordan’s commentary over the wind and rain, all you could hear were your teammates next to you and Bludger’s whizzing past.

This Quidditch game had been going on for hours at this point and the scores were twenty to thirty, with Gryffindor in the lead if I was keeping count properly. It was hard to focus on points when I was so busy trying not to get thrown off my broom by a Bludger.

It was growing darker and darker by the second and the storm above seemed to go from horrendous to torrential. The amount of times I had almost been thrown off my broom by another player was ridiculous. The rain was becoming so unbearably thick that I almost succumbed to a Bludger straight to the face. 

A flash of lightning lit up the pitch and shortly after we heard Madam Hooch’s whistle scream. I looked around in confusion to Charlotte and Malcolm before we all landed back onto the pitch.

“What’s happening?” I asked loudly as Cedric came running under a large umbrella at the edge of the pitch.

“Wood called for a time-out.” Cedric said and all of us looked slightly relieved to be out of the rain, but annoyed that we couldn’t continue playing.

“Is he scared of the lighnin’?” Tara asked as she pulled her goggles onto the top of her head. All Cedric could do was shrug and we all caught our breaths due to the intensity of the game and with the adrenaline pumping through our veins.

We all watched as the Gryffindor’s shuffled around before Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded, and like lightning, we were streaking across the sky in canary yellow.

As Cedric continued ascending through the open air, Malcolm, Heidi, and I all fell into formation to perform Parkin’s Pincer. Heidi and Malcolm body slammed Angelina Johnson between them, who had the Quaffle in a death grip. As I swerved my broom back around, I made a beeline for the three as I tried to psyche out Angelina to drop the Quaffle.

I was thirty seconds away before I would crash into Angelina. But only then did I see fear strike her face before she threw the Quaffle upwards and she dived towards the ground. I rose up and caught the Quaffle and heading straight to the Goal posts.

As we neared closer to the goals I caught sight of Oliver performing a Double Eight Loop to defend the Goal Posts. I watched as he went and noticed he flew slower in front of the left Goal Post. I raised my arm up high above my head and threw the Quaffle to the Goal ring. It went through and now I knew that the scores were finally even.

My hands were going numb and I was seriously regretting not wearing my Quidditch gloves. There was a lot more whizzing back and forth from both teams before I watched Harry sky-rocket after Cedric who disappeared behind the heavy clouds above. I was shocked for all but a moment as a Bludger snagged the end of my broom and I was then spinning out if control.

Us Chaser’s soon fell into a dance of passing the Quaffle around. Gryffindor scored twice more and Hufflepuff scored once again. It started to become colder and darker with each goal made. It was soon close to impossible to see. Even with my heightened senses and impeccable vision, the rain was too thick and the wind was too disorienting.

As I was making my way back across the Quidditch pitch, I was caught dead in my tracks as I saw a broom fall from the sky, closely followed by someone in scarlet robes. I didn’t know who it was but all I saw was Cedric reappear from the clouds holding his arm in the air. All I could look at was the falling Seeker-Harry.

He was falling too quickly and I was too far away to even attempt at catching him.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dumbledore stand up amongst the staff and raise his hands to the sky. His mouth move but the wind cancelled out any noise as Harry’s plummeting slowed at an alarming rate.

I watched as Harry slowly lied on the muddy ground. His scarlet robes were turned black as he lied there, then I watched as Madam Hooch  and Madam Pomfrey raced across the Quidditch Pitch to where Harry was.

All of us raced down to the ground as Harry was put onto a stretcher and was rushed off back to the castle.

“Do you reckon he’ll be okay?” I asked aloud and Charlotte looked over her shoulder at me.

“He didn’t really hit the ground so…” Charlotte trailed off as she rubbed the back of her neck. She then rested her Beater Bat on her shoulder as our team, except for Tara and Charlotte retreated back to the change rooms.

“We’re going to the Hospital Wing.” George said with Fred in toe.

“Is Harry already there?” Charlotte asked him and we all headed for pitch exit.

“He would be at the rate they’re going.” George answered and we all made our way back up to the castle.

The Hospital Wing was lit up by lanterns and echoed the howling wind outside. Alicia Spinnet was shaking from the cold and all of us looked as if we just jumped headfirst into a swimming pool. We were all huddled together and around the bed Harry was on as we waited for Harry to wake up.

“lucky the ground was soft.” Fred said before I elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Ow!”

“Rude!” I said to him in disbelief. As my eyes landed on Fred, I only just noticed how white he looked under the mud and his hair stuck to his forehead due to the rain.

“I thought he was dead for sure.” Tara said grimly and I shuddered at the thought of a dead body hitting the bottom of the Quidditch pitch.

“But he didn’t even break his glasses.” George said in disbelief. Then we all stilled as Harry stirred on the bed. The movement was so subtle that if you weren’t watching him, you would’ve missed it.

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Charlotte voiced what we were all thinking and Harry’s eyes snapped open. He looked around wearily as he took in our faces.

“Harry!” Fred said as Harry blinked groggily. “How’re you feeling?” Fred asked. We watched as Harry stared at him for a moment, as if recalling what happened to him above the clouds.

“What happened?” Harry asked as he sat up quickly. We all gasped as he picked up his glasses and put them on.

“You fell off,” Fred said. “Must’ve been-fifty feet?” Fred said unsure of himself.

“We thought you died.” Alicia said as she shook in place. Hermoine then held back as sob as I rubbed her back next to me. She had cried the whole way back up to the castle thinking Harry was died on that pitch. Her eyes were bloodshot and her tear tracks were hidden from the water that dripped down her face from the rain.

“But the match, what happened? Are we getting a replay?” Harry asked and the whole room fell silent. Harry looked at us in concern before disbelief fell over his features. “We didn’t-lose?”

“Diggory got the Snitch.” George revealed. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realise what happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a re-match. But they won fair and square…even Wood admits it.” George explained. Even I felt guilty for Hufflepuff winning. It didn’t seem fair.

“Where’s Wood?” Harry questioned as he leaned forward on the bed.

“Still in the showers,” Fred said glumly. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.” I rolled my eyes at this and looked at Fred with a quirked eyebrow and gave him a face that said ‘really?’

We watched as Harry buried his face in his knees before Fred gripped his shoulder and, quite literally, tried to shake some sense into him.

“C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.” Fred said in an attempt to cheer Harry up.

“There had to be one time you didn’t get it.” George commented.

“It’s not over yet,” Fred started. “We lost by a hundred points , right? So, if Hufflepuff lose to Ravenclaw-“ I elbowed Fred once again but he ignored me. “And we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin..”

“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” George continued.

“But if they beat Ravenclaw…” Harry started sadly.

“No way, Ravenclaw are too good-“ George said.

“We only play to have fun, not to win.” Charlotte said defensively and George grimaced at her as she folded her arms over her chest.

“But if Slytherin lose to against Hufflepuff…” George continued.

“It all depends on the points-a margin of a hundred either way-“ Fred said before he cut himself off when he noticed he was basically talking to a brick wall. Harry was staring down at the blanket that covered him and not reacting to anything that was being said.

Ten minutes later, Madam Pomfrey told us all to leave Harry to have some quiet time.

“We’ll come and see you later.” Fred said to Harry. “Don’t beat yourself up, Harry,” Fred said more seriously this time. “You’re still the best Seeker we’ve ever had.” With that, we all left Harry in the Hospital Wing.

The Hufflepuff common room was alive with energy. We were all celebrating our victory and our qualification to the next round of Quidditch.

There was music blasting, Butterbeer and Fire Whiskey was, quite literally, floating around the room. Cedric was being held up by the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, me included. I didn’t even realise how thunderous the common room had become as I didn’t even notice that the twins had appeared.

After letting Cedric down and back on his two feet, I went over to where the drinks were pilling up. As I was picking what my next drink was, I felt two fingers tap my shoulders. I smiled and turned around to be met with Fred and George looming over me.

“About time you boys showed up.” I said to them over the music.

“And we brought drinks and prank items!” George said enthusiastically as he held up a bag full of Gods know what. A wicked smile danced on my lips as I looked between the two twins. They reflected my smile as we retreated to a corner of the common room with a bottle of Fire Whiskey.

Fred, George, and I schemed up some new pranks as the night progressed. The music either started to sound good, or it was just the Fire Whiskey finally effecting my system. I found myself on the dance floor witch Abby and Heidi as the Weird Sisters was blasting throughout the common room.

The three of us were all singing and dancing to the beat of the music when I was knocked about from behind.

“Hey!” I turned around and was alarmed to see Charles Beecher, a Slytherin I had Herbology with. “Watch where you’re going.” Charles said before shoving me backwards. I could smell liquor on his breath, but that was no excuse.

“You’re the one that bumped into me!” I said as I pointed a clawed finger at him. Charles then turned to face me fully and took a step closer. He was a fair few inches taller than me, which would normally be intimidating, but with the Fire Whiskey and mead coursing through my veins gave me an all new kind of bravery.

“What was that?” Charles asked rhetorically. I puffed out my chest and took a step closer to him.

“You. Bumped. Into. Me.” I gritted out and Charles’ little gang of Slytherin’s flanked behind him. I recognised Thomas Jordan, August Welsh and Henry Paddington all holding onto their respective drinks and looking slightly confused as they backed Charles, most likely tipsy and deaf due to the party.

“And why would I want to even be near a filthy halfling?” Charles asked in a derogatory way. I felt my hackles raising and my canines sharpening at his slur but felt someone standing behind me.

“Says you, ye string bean, gangly, wheat-haired, tight arse.” Tara said through her slurred speech. But despite her lengthy insult, I saw from the corner of my eye that Fred was wading through the crowd towards us.

“Yeah, imagine being a pure blood and also a mudwallow.” I bit back and I saw Charles become alarmed. He thought I didn’t know his little secret about being fascinated by the muggle world, and even loving the simplicity of their lives.

“At least I’m a pure blood.” Charles said in a final tone, and before I could get my next insult in, Fred stepped between me and Charles, shouldering him backwards as he basically became nose-to nose with him.

“I wouldn’t be so proud to be a pureblood if your entire gene pool was filled with pretentious gits,” Fred jabbed and there was a deadliness in his tone as he stared down Charles. Fred significantly towered over Charles and I watched as his arrogant façade faltered for a moment. “So, I think it would be a good idea if you and your little goonies backed off.” Fred said lowly. Charles was about to have the final say before Fred cut him off.

“Now.” Fred said in a final tone. Charles looked around Fred at me with menacing eyes.

“It must be nice to your boyfriend to protect you around every corner.” Charles said.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said and I swear I saw Fred’s shoulders slacken. “At least I don’t need the entirety of Slytherin to make myself feel powerful.” I jabbed and Charles blanched at me.

“Get. Lost.” I growled before Charles and his three goons followed him out of the Hufflepuff common room.

The common room was so loud and so full of people that no one, except for the people involved, noticed our little spat. I was breathing heavily from the adrenaline pumping though me and saw that Fred was in the same boat as me. I took a deep breath to calm myself and watched as my claws turned back into fingernails.

“You didn’t have to stick up for me,” I said to Fred softly. “I can fight my own battels, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.” Fred said as he lifted the bottle of Fire Whiskey he was holding up to his lips. After he took a swig, he offered me the bottle and I took it gladly. “Plus, he’s a humongous prat anyways.”

We retreated over to a settee in a corner of the common room and shared the rest of the Fire Whiskey bottle. The world tipped as the last of the bottle slid down my throat. My head then rested against Fred’s shoulder heavily as I watched the room buzz with energy. He then rested his head on top of mine. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or not but I decided to intertwine our fingers.

Fred stiffened against me but eased back into relaxation as the party continued. I thought back to how Fred stood up for me. Usually, he lets me figure my own conflicts, standing back and watching as a smug smile would take over his face, but he decided to step in. It wasn’t unheard of. It was kinda hot.

My face flushed and I felt Fred shift beside me. As I looked over to him we came nose to nose. We froze for a second. Neither of us moving as we stared into each other’s eyes.

I watched as Fred’s cheeks dusted pink and his breathing quickened. I knew I appeared the same. Fred gave my hand a squeeze and that unknown emotion that I used to see flicker across his eyes was on full show for me in that moment.

Infatuation.

Fred then laid his arm on the back of the settee which made me fall into his side. A cheeky smile graced his lips and the world spun around me.

“Fred…” I trailed off, suddenly feeling quite warm and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was now tucked under Fred’s arm or because I was completely flustered.

“Azure.” Fred answered gingerly. Any thought that I had hold of disappeared. I never thought I’d love how my name rolled off his tongue, or how much I wanted his tongue to explore my-oh my Gods Azure, calm down.

“What’s happening right now?” I asked him. Fred’s head turned back to me from the full common room.

“Well George is getting absolutely schooled in arm wrestling with Tara.” Fred answered and I looked over just in time to see Tara slam George’s arm into the table and the crowd around them roared in applause and laughter. I giggled but kept myself on track.

“No,” I started. Fred then turned to me again and two lines formed between his eyebrows. “What’s going on with us?” Fred stared at me as he tried to summon the right words.

“Whatever you want this to be.” Fred said genuinely. This completely caught me off guard. What I wanted was what is happening between us to progress further than just friends.

Word count: 4974

Last edit: 03.04.2024

Chapter Seventeen

Masterlist

[ifishouldvanish]

Robert Carlyle as Father Joseph MacAvoy (3/3)

∟ The Tournament (2009)

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

Runs in the Family CH. Four

Book: Prisoner

Title: Quidditch

Words: 1099

Warnings: None

A/N: 

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RitF Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

The first couple days of the term went well. Now it was Saturday and time for Qidditch tryouts. Gryffindor’s were right before Hufflepuff’s, so you got to see what they were like. It seemed easy enough and you soon found yourself on the field.

 “Okay. We’re going to play a mock game. A scrimmage with no Seeker. I’ll be watching from above. At the very end I will announce who made the team,” Cedric said. He divided everyone into two teams and you put on the black cloak Cedric handed you. When everyone had their cloaks on, Cedric blew a whistle and the game begun.

 You kicked off into the air and within seconds you had the quaffle in your hands. You flew as fast as you could over to the goal posts and feinted to the left before throwing right. It went through the goal and you heard cheering come from the stands.

 The rest of the scrimmage went by quickly. You made a fair share of goals, but the keeper did a good job of blocking them too. After Cedric blew his whistle again, you landed on the field. He was writing something down in his little book and you found yourself growing nervous.

 “Alright. For the beaters, I’ve chosen Anthony Rickett and Michael McManus. Our Keeper will be Herbert Fleet, and our Chasers will be Tamsin Applebee, Heidi Macavoy, and [y/n] Dursley,” Cedric said.

 Cedric went on to name the seconds, but you didn’t hear a word he said. You were so happy you made the team and that euphoric high followed you throughout the day. Everyone was congratulating you. You received praise from your Housemates and hugs from your friends.

 The next couple months went by smoothly. Quidditch practice was after school every Wednesday and Friday and on each of those days you were very eager for your classes to be over with so you could fly. Harry had also come to you and told you about Sirius.

 “So this Sirius Black, the one who escaped from Azkaban is after you?” You looked at him. You were in the library, Harry helping you look for a potion book while Ron and Hermione sat at a table and did some work.

 “Yes. Mr. Weasley told me the day we left for school. I think it’s also why I wasn’t expelled. They were more worried about me leaving the house than doing underage magic.”

 “I told you that you shouldn’t have left,” you said, throwing him a look. He glared at you and you stifled a laugh, walking back to the table. “I’ve been noticing that the teachers have been keeping a close eye on you. I wondered what that was about and now I know.”

 “They’ve been watching you too, [y/n],” Hermione said.

 “Really? But why?”

 “You’re Harry’s cousin. If he gets to you, he gets to Harry,” she said.

 “That’s why McGonagall has been happy I can’t go to Hogsmeade.” Harry sounded slightly bitter and you frowned.

 “I thought dad signed your form,” you said.

 “No. He was going to after Marge left but then I blew her up,” Harry said with a shake of his head.

 “So Sirius Black. What do we know about him?” You asked, changing the topic.

 ---

 You felt like you were going to puke. It was the morning of your very first Quidditch match and you were so nervous you could barely eat your breakfast.

 “Dursley!” Someone called. You lifted your head and saw some Ravenclaw students looking at you.

 “You got this!” They said. You were given thumbs up and you couldn’t help but smile.

 “Thank you,” you said. They waved and walked away and you found yourself less nervous.

 “[Y/n], we should get down to the pitch,” Cedric said.

 “Alright.” You shoved a piece of toast into your mouth and grabbed your broom before following Cedric.

 When you got to the locker-room, Cedric went over some maneuvers after everyone got changed into their robes. You paid as much attention as you could and before you knew it, it was time for the match.

 “[Y/n]!” Harry yelled. He came running over to you, a smile on his face.

 “I want to take a picture with you, if that’s alright?” Harry asked.

 “Of course!”

 Harry grinned and called Colin over. You and Harry posed, smiles on your faces and your arms around each other. Colin managed to take the picture right as lightning flashed and rain started pouring behind you and you knew that it was going to be a good one. Harry thanked Colin and turned to you.

 “Good luck out there today,” Harry said. “I know you’ll do great.”

 “Good luck to you too, Harry.” You gave him one last hug before pulling your rain goggles on and running to your team.

 “I want a nice, clean match,” Madame Hooch yelled over the rain. Cedric and Wood shook hands and at Madame Hooch’s whistle, the game began.

 You kicked off as hard as you could and rose into the air. You had already been soaked to the bone the moment you stepped onto the pitch, but now that you were in the air, you didn’t seem to notice it. Everything around you seemed to slow down and all you could focus on was the game.

 Within a minute, you had taken hold of the quaffle and managed to get it past Wood and into the goal. You could tell that some of the Gryffindor players thought that you weren’t going to be much of a threat, but they ate their words. You had made three goals in the first fifteen minutes and never felt better. Cheers erupted from one side of the pitch as you zoomed across the pitch, dodging players and bludgers alike. You made another goal and high fived fellow Chaser Heidi.

 Everything was going well until both Cedric and Harry caught sight of the Snitch. They both went racing after it. Cedric was then struck by lightning and he fell a little before getting his wits about him and chasing after the Snitch again. You tried not to pay much attention to what was going on up there, but after someone yelled abut Dementors, the game practically stopped. Harry fell off his broom, Cedric caught the Snitch, and the game ended.

 “Harry!” You yelled. You raced to where he had landed on the ground, his teammates and Dumbledore quickly following you.

 “Let’s get him to the infirmary,” Dumbledore said. He lifted Harry with his wand and you stumbled behind him, worried about your cousin.

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Reviews: The Town Where Everyone Was Nice! or Scrooge Is the Lindburgh Baby

Saludos Amigos! The Ride of the Three Cablleros has at long last come to the last stop before it’s final phase. It’s been a hell of a ride so far: Our boys have tried to woo some ladies, performed some black magic, had some sort of drug trip, dealt with Donald’s ego, helped goofy ungoofy himself...

“SEASONS CHANGE, TIMES CHANGE BUT UNGOOFY IS FOREVER AND ALWAYS HE IS ALWAYS THERE” ... I created this magificent stalion.. kinda I think he came out of a styigan hole in the universe from the darkest dark in the dark of the dark... I can’t be sure. Our heroes fought an arrogant prince, found a lost city and helped donald get his smile back. All culminating in our heroes going to Spain for some reason, soundtracking Goofy’s win against Horace in Flamico Dancing, somehow that wasn’t a Covid induced fever dream I had but the actual premise of the episode, and then played some soccer with Daisy’s cousin and Pancho Pete. All in all we’ve had some good times getting here and I feel acomplished having made it this far. While I’ve still got quite a ways to go, getting this far means I really made something.. and not just the 80 something dollars it took to comission all of this. And I genuinely just want to thank all of you for reading these as these have easily been some of my most popular reviews and @weirdkev27​ for comissioning all of this. It’s been easily one of my faviorite projects so far and I look forward to the final leg of it soon. For now though we have one last adventure before the biggest one starts.  But before we can dive into it you probably have a few questions, and since I don’t really need to give Ducktales 2017 a lavish introduction as unlike most stuff so far this show is well and familiar: it’s what got me started reviewing animation on this blog, it’s what got me into the duck community as a full member, and it’s what caught Kev’s attention leading to this entire series. So I have time to answer the questions your probably asking and if your not.. well here’s the answers anyway Wait aren’t you going to cover Louie’s Eleven?: Nope. While I love that episode, I already did a full review of it earlier this year.  I saw no reason to completely and utterly redo the entire thing when my opinions toward the episode haven’t really changed. That being said since I didn’t touch on the boys characterizations in that one too much and since I do want this retrospective to be comprehensive, I will talk about Panchito And Jose’s characterization there briefly during this review at the right time as a compromise. 

Wait why isn’t THIS the last stop since it came out AFTER Legend of the Three Cablleros: Simple.. it felt unsatsfying to both me and kev to end on this one. While their apperance here IS a good one and a big deal... it’s also ANOTHER guest apperance. It’s something I didn’t quite realize for now but outside of the movie.. every apperance after is them guest starring in another series. Their aperances in Don Rosa’s Duck Comics, while awesome and treating them with proper respect, were still them showing up to shake up Donald’s stories and formulas. They were LITERAL guest stars in House of Mouse, and Roadster Racers was entirely just “let’s shove them in there because we can”. Legend.. is their story. Their moment in the sun after too damn long with all three as main characters and while being a lead is normal for donald, Jose and Panchito really HAVEN’T had that shot outside of their home countries. To be the hero of their own fully realized epic adventure. So it just fits best to have the road lead there instead of have all that happen.. then go back to yet another guest appearance. The other major factor.. is that while Legend came out around the same time as ducktales, to the point many compared and contrast both shows treatment of Donald, this episode is what most non-latin american audiences saw first as it took Disney WAY too damn long to air the series over here.. i.e. until Disney Plus launched, finding it somewhere online was the only option despite the series being produced in america with some really big american names voice acting wise. Point is this came first to some people, so i’m using that as a flimsy excuse to put it ahead so we get a better finale. 

Now all that’s settled, let’s dive into “The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!” and see what one of the best duck propeties period makes of our boys. 

We open in a remote town in Brazil. It’s the Festival of the Flower.. which is a bit off to me. While it DOES kind of make plot sense.. the problem is the lure was written to Panchito and Jose.. Jose whose a brazil native and could’ve possibly been supscious that a tourist invintation wasn’t in Brazilian Portugese, the countries national language and something I specifically researched just to see what it’d be called. For the record it’d be O Festival da Flor acording to google translate, which still sounds neat, Webby could’ve still said it means festival of the flower. It just feels like a missed opportunity from a creative team that’s taken such pains to make the series feel as authentic as possible and clearly put a lot of hard work and research into making each location feel like it’s real world counterpart.  But it’s a minor thing and we soon get our two plots for the episode: Our B Plot.. is that Dewey can’t stay the fuck off his phone and is taking pictures rather than actually getting experiences with Louie enabling him, while Webby gets increasingly frustrated at Dewey not actually botherting to experince this unique and obscure culture. We’ll get back to this in a bit. 

Our main plot naturally concerns the reason our heroes are here: Donald is reuniting with The Cabs, who in this continuity are his old College friends who Scrooge hates due to having to listen to them practice constnatly and tells the kids they’d hate it worse than his playing the bagpipes. 

Bagpipes are objectively the worst insterument on earth. They are loud, unharmonic and generally just obnoxious. I do respect how important they are to Scotland, home of David Tennant, Grant Morrision and .. Alan Cumming and James Macavoy? Wait what? that’s awesome! Point is Scotland is great but I do not like the bagpipes except when Bugs Bunnny is murdering them. Honestly Donald’s college band was probably more like this. Nothing bad at all just mildly pathetic and mildly pathetic is what got Donald a girlfriend, so it’s not a  bad look

That brings me to another point: Scrooge is pretty obnoxious in this episode. It seems like his sole reason for coming was to bitch about Donald’s old college band. He could’ve just sent them a stern letter like the pros at being a cranky old geezer do. 

I do GET why he’s here as there are some REALLY damn funny bits with him in the a-plot, it just feels like they could’ve justified it better. But on to better things as Jose and Panchito enter the scene after Scrooge claims they “weren’t so cool”.. with Panchito diving from a plane and drifting down on his umbrella

And Panchito shows up dramatically playing the guitar. A truly awesome and worthy intro to our boys. So let’s talk about them in this series. Honestly the two really aren’t that diffrent from usual, though Jose’s lady chasing is given to Panchito, his footloose world traveling lifestyle remains in tact as does his genuine charm while Panchito remains the peppy one, just with his outbursts gone as his guns are replaced with cell phones.. 

Yeah while I do get replacing the pistols because let’s face it the mexican of the group being a gun nut was pretty damn unfortunate, though Don Rosa toned it down and justifed it well, and frankly guns are a hard no for family shows these days unless their laser guns so replacing them I get. But instead of I dunno giving him knives or turning his holsters into pouches carrying his stuff.. he just has two Cell Phones. It’s weird. It dosen’t really make sense other than for him putting on a big shot act and even big stars probably don’t have two phones on them at all times. It’s just a VERY weird update that makes not a whole lot of logical sense and I belivie is thankfully gone by the next ep. The only real issue I have is the two just sorta blend together personality wise instead of being distinct like usual, but that’s also happened in other apperances, so it’s not exactly a new or unique problem, and the two’s voice actors do a great job making both feel like they should. 

Speaking of which let’s just go ahead and discuss that elephant in the room: The Cabs were recast for the first time in ages, which didn’t sit well with friends of legend as Eric Bauza, who’d replaced rob Paulsen, was himself replaced by Arturo Del Puerto and Bernado Del Paulo replaced Jamie Camil and Carlos Aquazi as Panchito. And I have mixed opinons on this one: Replacing Eric was a no brainer: while he’s a terrific voice actor.. he’s not brazilian and the crew of Ducktales 2017 perfer to cast actors who match their characters backgrounds, which again adds to the authenicty of it’s globetrotting and scope. They don’t ALWAYS, Cree Summer isn’t, as far as I know, Egyptian and Catherine Tate, while wonderful, isn’t italian. But for the most part it adds a nice flavor to things and frankly I personally prefer it when Jose is voiced by an actual brazilian man. So that change i’m fine with. Not using Camil though... I do not get. Jamie Camil is a throughly talented voice actor, having done TONS of great work lately , vocing Globgor for star vs and not getting nearly enough screen time as the loveable demon dad, and stealing the show as Don Carnage earlier in the series. While that episode is one of the series weakest, he’s still easily the best part of it and I hope Carnage shows up one last time before the finale. 

So it really makes.. no sense to me to replace him. Not only is camil a bigger named actor, but he was already on the show and even the defense of “well they don’t want actors playing multiple rolls” ended up utterly destroyed by the end of the season, as Christ Dimatopolus not only reprised Storkules, but went on to play Drake and Melon, and picked up a FOURTH role in season 3 as Hades. My point is the show has no real issue with doubling up on voice rolls, so I scratch my head as to why Camil wasn’t given this part too despite being the obvious choice. Del Paulo isn’t a bad actor and is great in the role.. I just scratch my head why he was needed when a perfect actor for the part was right there and already had experince with the character. 

I do think Puerto and Paulo are terrific and do the characters justice, issues with Paulo being there at all aside, and they do a great job and more than earned the roles and I don’t think the mass critcisim of this version of the characters is entirely warranted.. for this episode. This episode while they can meld into each other... that happens in most of their apperances anyway, so it’s not unusual or unique to this series. I will say however that the way their written in their next apperance is utter garbage: they aren’t really given any chances to be distinct, are basically written as one person even worse .. and that one person is a greedy asshole who takes advantage of their friend and never apologizes. I do get why people did not like them in that episode. I do think it has no baring on this one and people should stop bashing these versions as a whole for one terrible episode, especially when Louie has been written pretty badly for the bulk of season 3, yet is still not a bad character. It’s unfair to paint the series as painting them soley as selfish jackasses when it didn’t at first and hopefully wont’ again when they presumibly show up for the finale’s big avengers endgame sequence I hope is coming. For now they aren’t bad and the colors are crisp and the animation nice and bouncy on our boys. 

Since we have two plots here, I’m just going to go ahead and split em since honestly, the b plot dosen’t really impact the a-plot until really the last minute and is basically happening right along side it and in concert with it. Sooooo... 

The Trite B-Plot: As you can probably gather I didn’t really like this one. It’s basically 5-7 minutes of me wanting to punch a child in the face. Or rather Webby wanting to have fun experinces and actually take in the culture while in town, while Dewey just wants to take pictures of everything, make it seem like he did stuff, and generally is obnoxious to webby while Louie supports him wholeheartdly. That last part is really one of the few good parts of the plot as it’s nice for one of the brothers plots to NOT be about them being in conflict or squabbling but just hanging out and having some fun, doubly so since i’ve had to spend a season watching Louie , outside of a few good exceptions be an absolute dick to Huey and also Dewey once. It’s nice to just see him and Dewey bond over a shared intrest: posting shit online and getting good photos. 

And it’s not without GOOD gags: Dewey’s obnoxious captions at one point while Webby continually looses her shit, Louie continually saying “that’s so wise” at Dewey’s bullshit philosphies, Webby’s continued annoyance is delivered great by Kate as always, and the best bit is Webby, utterly pissed at Dewey for refusing to eat Local Cuisine, wolfing down the entire fucking plate, all the dumplings in her mouth at once while Dewey, naturally, takes a picture. Otherwise this is just.. grating. It’s utterly grating to watch Webby GENUINELY try hard to absorb the local culture and really enjoy a once in a life time experince.. while Dewey jackasses about and basically acts like she’s wrong for it and treats his best friend like garbage. Just because i’ts nice it’s not Louie this time doesen’t make one of the kids being a dick without any nuance or character stuff suddenly great. It’s just tiresome. 

And SOMEHOW , despite already not liking it the first time watching the episode.. it’s even WORSE now afterlast years. No not because I watched it while having to put up with Coronoavirus induced Chills, but because another show did this plot 100 times better: Close Enough. One of the best new shows of the year, Close Enough had a plot where exes Bridget and Alex, aka yet aother great set of Kimiko Glenn and Jason Mantzokus characters, went on vacation together, but their attempts to have some ex sex fell flat due to longstanding issues we found about through this plot: Bridget has a bad habit of doing what Dewey did, focusing way more on her social than actually enjoying her vacatoin while Alex has a bad habit of befreinding random weirdos who agree with his worldview. Keep in mind this is the same worldview that spent an afternoon connecting garfield to jesus while pissing in a jug for some reason. Point instead of a character just being a smug dick, it ties into actual character flaws that helped us not only learn more about them but lead to a really heartwarming scene where the two admit they jsut can’t sleep together casually with allt heir baggage, and that they still have a lot to sort out. Before given the show their on having their friends show up from the a plot and all of them getting kidnapped by a robot because Josh skipped a bunch of ads and a 5 year old has to solve some issues and prove she’s not dumb to blow up said robot. What i’m saying is it’s even more insufferable watching this after seeing it done a thousand times better, and fucking watch Close Enough. Thankfully unlike Inifnity Train it’s not reliant on you to get a second season as it’s been renewed proving that even in a cluster fuck like 2020 miracles can happen, but it’d still be nice for it to get more fans during the presumably long wait for Season 2. Let’s move past this, i’ll get to the plot relevant bit for the climax when we get to the climax, and onto the reason your all here. 

The Main Event: A Life Not Wasted

Okay onto the actual plot. Rewinding quite a bit, the boys meet our boys, and we get some good bits. The boys cool new handshake leaves Huey wanting one only for Louie to simply lick his hand. See this is Louie dickery I can get behind because what did Huey expect? I do take comfort in the fact he has actual friends now who will likely do a handshake, fenton very much included. I’m sure Gyro didn’t want one either so he’s had plenty of time to workshop. We also find out one of the boys was dropped as an egg and well.. given Dewey opens and closes his eyes one at a time for this one moment, the ohter triplets just sorta.. silently agre it’s Dewey. IT does explain why he thought Champ Popular would get over..that and Santa Claus is Going to Highschool being his favorite movie. 

So both Jose and Panchito claim to be sucessful: Jose being a sucessful jetsetter and trendsetter, and Panchito being a world famous pop star, never stop stopping. So Donald being donald panics and runs into a alley where Scrooge and Huey join him.  Donald is fully convinced he’s wasted his life and has nothing to show for it. Huey rightfully points out he raised three wonderful children and isn’t that enough? Naturally given Donald clearly has some issues related to this subject and Scrooge has develoved into old man yells at cloud, he agrees it’s not important as money. So Huey decides to help his uncle because he’s the good son.. and because the two are easily the most alike out of Donald and his Kids. It’s something I haven’t really been able to bring up before so I was delighted to realize i could now: Besides the obvious people bring up constnatly, I.e. Huey having inhereted the most of the family rage out of his brothers, there’s the fact both are kind of obessive, both tend ot spiral into panic when a situation goes wrong, both are awkward with women, both are frequently ignored or taken for granted by those around them, and both are awkward adorable dorks who I will give my life to protect. It’s why I think Huey has the best relationship with his uncle of the bunch: He’s the only one who at least TRIES to empahtize with him and support him. While the other two do love him, and Webby of course likely has an insanne and horrifying shrine of him, and scrooge and probably della now in her closet.. and of course lena but that’s less out of hero worship and more out of her insane, over the top, very webby version of love. Point is, he’s the one who genuinely sees his uncle as a person who needs help and love. This was best demonstrated in the scene at the bank back in “Who Is Gizmoduck” as Huey tries to get his uncle a loan using the guidebook and is there soley to help the guy and taking time out of his day to visit the bank. Let’s face it though this is huey: he probably loves visiting the bank. They just got new pens! So Huey decides to put his improv badge to good use... so far the only use he’s gotten is Louie laughing at the fact he actually earned an improv badge and urges donald to simply ACT like he’s sucessful. Scrooge balks at this, because as Wonder Woman 1984 taught us nothing good comes from lies.. or from  banging your ghost boyfriend while he’s possessing someone’s body without said body’s consent and plan to fully live out the rest of your lives togehter without ever considering how fucked up this is. I will..deal with that movie ... soon. But he soon changes his turn and agrees to go along with it to avoid Jose getting upset and them having to pay for everything. 

So Huey suggest Donald keep the lie small, but belivable. Given the law of sitcoms when it comes to anyone saying that and the fact this is Donald, he instead panics and lies that he’s taken over McDuck industries and scrooge has gone full abe simpson in the other direction. 

Which is why i’m not enitrely annoyed by Scrooge’s presence: while they don’t even handwave him being here, Scrooge putting on an old man act, and sometimes getting back at donald for it is solid gold the whole damn time and some of David Tennat’s best comedic acting on the show, so it makes up for him being a grumpus.  And while i’m not usually not a fan of liar revealed plots, this one works for me.. mostly because it’s rooted in character. Here Donald is lying.. but because of deep seated neurosis he’s yet to fully tackle. While he loves his boys and is proud of htem every day... it’s very clear Donald hates his life and how it turned out. We got bits of this back in House of the Lucky Gander, with Donald’s first thought upon thinking he’s about to die is “I wasted my life” and feeling entirely like a looser. This episode brillinatly builds on that: it shows a Donald who simply feels.. he acomplished nothing. It’s easy to see why as his parents were happy and sucessful at whatever they did from the looks of it and how well taken care of the kids were, his uncle is the richest duck in the world and it’s greatest hero and explorer, his sister is the only one who could rival that record, and his cousin constnatly gets riches and fame handed to him. Donald.. by comparison.. is just a normal guy whose house is in his rich uncle’s pool, who has no job, no partner, and only really the love of his family. He spent his life on adventures he didn’t want to have living int he shadow of someone he grew to resent before the Spear of Selene incident blew things up for a decade. And then when he was free instead of becoming a big sucess... he blew the rest of it being overprotective of his boys and bouncing from dead end job to dead end job. It’s easy to see why he sees himself as a failure despite having lived a good life: compared to everyone else, even his sister who mooned herself, in his life.. he feelsd far behind. And as someone whose felt they were far behind countless times and only now is realizing they haven’t and it’s a marathoon ot a sprint I naturally relate. So his wanting to play big shot for just ONE day, to be the big hero like scrooge, teo be a sucess for five minutes with his best friends.. it’s understandable and relatable. 

So Donald continues the ruse, leading to a great bit where the cabs all try to avoid picking up the check “WE can’t all keep whistling nonchalantly” before Scrooge is forced to give Donald the money to in the best joke of the episode.. and I mean FORCED. He and donald get into a fight with their hands under the table and Huey eventually gets fed up with that and has to BITE his uncle’s hand just to get him to do what he shoudl’ve done ruse or no given he’s the richest person there. The reason I take special offense to this.. is that my fairly wealthy grandpa and grandma, my mom’s dad and his wife for the record, would buy us dinner EVERY TIME they were near town, a nice steak dinner with whatever we wanted to most of the time. They knew we couldn’t afford such luxury half the time and wanted to treat us and spend time with us. Since my grandpa’s passing, my Grandma and her New Husband have continued the tradition since then, if obviously not this year for damn obvious reasons, thought hey sent us a really nice dinner to cook for christmas in the same spirit. What i’m saying is when you know your relatives arne’t as stacked as you , you pay for the fucking meal especially since i’ts a special occasion, and even for someone as stingy as scrooge, it comes off as a dick move. 

We then get the best scene with the episode, just inching out the climax as the three simply talk, remince on old times, have a good rib like old friends would. It feels natural and wonderful to watch and gets even better when the three hear the radio and end up having an impromptu dance and musical number. Also Jose’s umbrella is also a flute somehow. 

Point is the boys have a good time and Donald gets carried away, with the boys planning a world tour. Huey, while happy to endulge his uncle in a badly needded ego boost, isn’t happy to endulge this and scrooge is unwilling ot pay, more resonably this time. Huey eventually talks him out of being a moron and tells him he has to tell the honest truth and while that dosen’t work this does. 

So as Donald goes to face the music, we have come to our climax. Phrasing. 

The Finale: Ay Carumba

So we come to our finale. Backing up a scene or too to the B-Plot, webby is interviewing a local about the festival when she gets stuck in a loop. So far in the episode we’ve had hints something is up with the people as they go all yellow eyed.. and webby finds out why as she notices the “person” she was interviewing is, in a hilarious and disturbing review.. a horrignly realistic hand puppet.. and upon stealing Louie’s phone, she points out there’s no shots of anyone’s feet.. and the reason why is that the giant flower the feast is about is a mean green mother from outer space and he’s bad. And Webby finding that out’s got him fighting mad.  Webby and the boys naturally run to warn the remaning boy and scrooge and they all run out only to get blocked out of town and captured. Dewey looses his phone inside the plant monster.

In a great joke, Scrooge ended up actually throwing his back out with the old man act, so our heroes are all captured and it’s up to our stars to save the day.  So while his family is in peril, Donald finally comes clean with Jose and Panchito naturally being upset.. for a second before Jose admits he lied to and an irate panchito.. is forced to admit he also lied. Jose is a flight attendant, hopefully he’ll get his own mini series where he accidently murders a dude on disney plus, which is a nice update of his globe trotting ways, as it’s a resonable way for someone with no money to get around the world these days and Panchito is a birthday party muscian. They all however chuckle over this realizing they haven’t come as far as they thought.. and they still have each other. It’s a nice way of modernizing Rosa’s jobs for them and their hard luck lives he set up and I love this. IJt’s just a sweet emotoinal scene that makes donald, and his friends, realize they aren’t faliures and life isn’t just about reaching some arbitrarity goal.. just like Soul taught me aka the actually great movie I watched on Christmas Day.  But since Donald’s family is in peril Jose suggests theys till play the gig.. just like they did ion acapulco thus we get the second best scene of the episode and another worthy rendition of The Three Caballeros as our heroes beat the shit out of the plant, free the kids and the plant straighens out scrooges back. 

It’s beautiful, psycadelic, and utterly awesome. Seroiusly the bright boldend colors are awesome and so’s this sequence. Easily one of the show’s best.. and it’s a show that contiains the greatest scene in television history

So that masterclass concludes with Donald signing.. badly.. and blowing the plant hte fuck up. Our heroes win and head off in the sunchaser. No idea what Launchpad is up to, probably has another ex in the area. Point is our heroes win, Dewey deletes his photos because “If there was no pics it didn’t happen” (So wise) and Donald decides to get the band back together, prompting scrooge to do an animal house on Panchito’s guitar... you.. you know you have to pay for that right? you aren’t a loveable frat man and he wasn’t ‘singing and I gave my love a cherry. Your obligated to get him a new guitar. You know that right?

So with that the episode wraps. This is a pretty good episode. While the subplot is bad and it should feel bad the main plot is emotional, well done and really adds more depth to Donald’s character while giving us a hell of a show with the cabs. The College Band background gives the boys a unique flavor this time around, not musically but in how they know each other and helps set it apart from the countless other reunions. It’s a truly bright, colorful and fun episode with some great gags and great performances. As I said Puerto and Paulo really knock it out of the park as the boys and while I would’ve preferred Jamie Camil, Paulo was still utterly excellent, though Puerto was the clear standout of the two. While their second apparence would be disapointing characterization wise, overall this was a fun introduction to two of disney’s best into it’s best universe and one of Season 2′s Standouts. 

Next Time on the Ride of the Three Cablleros: we begin our massive finale look at The Legend of the Three Cablleros. Donald gets dumped by a nightmare of a person and finds an inhertance, new friends, and some sort of hot adventure god in his new cabana. Good times. Until then goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

[emospritelet]

Confession

The first of the three Monsterfuckers’ Ball fics I have planned. I made it Father MacAvoy instead. Hope you don’t mind. 

Have some wholesome demon-on-priest smut *dodges lightning bolt*

AO3 link

x

Father Joseph MacAvoy was aware of three things. One, the church was cold: a bitter, bone-deep cold that had seeped into him and which would take substantially more than a hot cup of tea to drive away. The second was that he had not been paying full attention to the penitent in the confession booth for at least two minutes. The third, and this was by far the dominant thought in his mind, clamouring for his attention like the insistent ringing of the church bell, was that he needed a drink.

There was a bottle of whisky in the rectory behind the church, standing on the desk in his study, waiting for him. He imagined how it would look, the light from the lamps shining through it with a tawny-gold gleam, calling to him with a soothing, calming voice. He could almost smell it, rich and spicy with hints of smoke and peat, and his mouth watered at the thought of that first taste. It would burn on his tongue and in his throat, the heat mellowing with sweetness and a touch of salt, the aroma filling his nose before he swallowed. It would chase away the numbing cold and let his body relax as he drank his way down the bottle until sweet oblivion claimed him for another night. Perhaps it would even drive away the dreams.

“Father?” came a tentative voice from behind the screen, and Joseph started.

“Uh - yes,” he said quickly. “Five Hail Marys and an Act of Contrition.”

“Oh, thank you, Father!”

He listened to the prayers, the penitent speaking fervently. It was old Miss Ginger, he could see that, and while she had confessed to taking the Lord’s name in vain, and to envy over Mrs Lucas’s baking skills, he was well aware that she had other sins she had chosen not to unburden herself of. Perhaps she didn’t see malicious gossip as a sin, or perhaps she didn’t care. He found it hard to feel too strongly either way; the days of his youth, when he had been full of desire to do good, to spread the word of God and help comfort those in need of guidance, were far behind him. He was in his forties now, tired and disillusioned, a short, thin figure with brown hair falling around his face and catching on the stubble on his cheeks where he had neglected to shave that morning. It had been his intention to do so, but he had taken one look at his reflection, hollow-eyed and sweating as his body tried to rid itself of alcohol, and realised that he couldn’t stand to look at himself.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken confession while suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s drinking, and desperately awaiting the next hit of alcohol. Mother Superior often cast disapproving glances at him if she called at the rectory too early. It was something that she did at least twice a week, on the pretext of discussing some minor church matter which could easily have waited for a more civilised hour. He was almost sure she did it on purpose, just so she could give him one of those insincere smiles and make some snide comment about the communion wine, but he found it hard to summon much indignation, going through his days on autopilot until he could pour himself that first glass. The small congregation of Storybrooke deserved better.

He tried to pinpoint when it was that he had lost his way, and found that he couldn’t, only that it was after he had started crawling into the whisky bottle each night, and before the move to Storybrooke. Emigrating to small-town America from Glasgow five years ago had been something of a shock to the system, but the townsfolk were friendly and welcoming. All except for Mother Superior, of course, and the pawnbroker, who had never entered the church and who always seemed to eye him with an air of contempt. Joseph had hoped that a new start would inspire him, would rekindle his religious zeal, but with the passing of each year he seemed to grow more disenchanted with the world, and with himself.

He was relieved when Miss Ginger finally left, and shifted in his seat, hoping she was the last. Cold was sinking into his bones, not helped by either the black cassock or his thin frame, and he wanted to stand up, stretch, and head over to the rectory. He could light a fire and change into something that didn’t make him feel as though his balls were about to turn to icicles and drop off. The assigned time for confession was almost over, and the whisky was calling to him, an insistent prodding deep in his belly.

The sound of soft footsteps in the booth made him want to groan, and he looked through the lattice of carved wood, seeing dark hair and smooth, pale cheeks. The penitent had her head bowed, but he immediately knew who she was. Sister Belle, who had joined the Storybrooke convent less than a week ago. He had seen her the day she arrived, brought to the church by Mother Superior to make the introductions. They had entered with a bitter gust of wind, a flurry of dead leaves cartwheeling by their feet, and Joseph had felt himself shiver. He had told himself it was the cold. October had started out unseasonably chilly, and was getting worse as the month drew to a close.

Sister Belle was beautiful, with large blue eyes and full, pink lips, shining chestnut hair swept neatly into a knot at the back of her head. She had looked him over with surprising directness when they were introduced, the light of curiosity in her eyes, and it had made him nervous. There had been a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, but when Mother Superior looked back at her it had disappeared, her hands clasped at her waist and her head bowed, the perfect picture of demure humility. That tiny reaction had made him think that she held Mother Superior in a certain amount of contempt, which was as fascinating as it was shocking. He himself had always thought that the head of the Sisters of Saint Meissa was too inclined to be judgemental rather than to practice forgiveness, but he had never imagined any of the nuns would agree with him. Especially a newcomer.

He had seen Sister Belle in the church every day since then. Her slim figure was covered from neck to knees in the plain, dark blue dress that all the nuns wore, with thick tights and stout shoes beneath. The nuns always worked in the church, taking charge of the dusting and flower-arranging, but Sister Belle seemed to be there more than most. Joseph often found her alone after her sisters had gone, her eyes meeting his as she knelt to pray, that tiny smile quirking her lips as she passed him with arms full of flowers.

A scent hung around her, warm and oddly sharp like the smouldering wicks of snuffed-out candles, but he thought it suited her. There was an air of mischief about her too, in the twinkle in her eye and the quirk of her lips, as though she was always thinking of a joke that no one else knew. He couldn’t imagine what it was that amused her so about being in the church each day, but perhaps simply being away from the watchful eye of Mother Superior was enough to make her happy. She greeted him with warm tones, her voice soft, her eyes gleaming. It had made him nervous all over again, and he found himself stammering as he responded to her. He called himself an idiot for doing so, but there it was. The charms of a pretty young woman weren’t completely thwarted by the white collar around his neck, it seemed.

It had been many years since he had been distracted by thoughts of pleasures of the flesh, and he certainly had no intention of ever letting them take shape in his mind, even if she hadn’t been a nun. Yet if he was totally honest with himself, her beauty wasn’t what caused the nerves. It was more a sense of knowing, as though she could see to the heart of him. As though he was naked before her, all his secret shame displayed for her to study. As though she had seen every one of his faults. His weaknesses.

The thought of her knowing all his frailties was disturbing, but given that she had come to him to make her confession, he tried to push away his own feelings and concentrate on whatever she had to tell him. Some petty jealousies towards her new sisters, perhaps. Some uncharitable thoughts towards the less pious citizens of Storybrooke, or towards Mother Superior. Nothing more serious than that, he was sure. He watched as she made the sign of the Cross, and waited.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” she said, her voice clear and melodious. “It has been seven days since my last confession.”

Just before she came here, then. I wonder where she lived before Storybrooke. Why did she leave? Why come here, of all places?

“God is merciful,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Tell me your sins, child.”

There was a pause.

“I - I have not been chaste, Father,” she said. “I have had - impure thoughts.”

Right. Not impatience or lack of charity. Well, she’s young. Celibacy can be a hard path, for some. Joseph licked his lips nervously, his heart thumping.

“Ah - well - impure thoughts are not uncommon,” he managed. “The Lord understands that it can be hard to overrule your body’s - urges. The important thing is not to act on them.”

She was silent for a moment, and Joseph frowned.

“I take it no one in this town has been bothering you?” he said. “I know that some of the young men here can find it hard to take no for an answer at times, even from the nuns. If you’ve had any difficulties in that respect, the Sheriff takes that sort of thing very seriously. If - if you wanted someone to speak to him on your behalf—”

“Oh no, Father,” she said hastily. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

He sensed that she wanted to speak, but was holding back, no doubt out of some sense of shame.

“Go on,” he said gently.

She sucked in a breath, and he waited patiently for her to gather her courage. Poor girl. Probably mooning over some young pop star. One of those boy bands, or whatever they call themselves now. I doubt Mother Superior would approve, but it’s hardly the crime of the century.

“I’ve had the most terrible dreams, Father,” she said breathlessly. “I think the Devil must send them to me.”

“The Devil is always testing those that God loves,” said Joseph gravely.

“How can God love me, when the Devil has made me his!” she breathed.

Joseph’s head jerked upwards at her words, hissed out through her teeth. His heart began to thump hard, his skin tingling. There was a cold sensation flowing up the back of his neck, a creeping sense that something was very wrong, and he swallowed, his throat dry.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“He comes to me,” she whispered. “At night, when I sleep. He comes to me, Father. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me from the dark.”

A nightmare. Joseph felt himself breathe a little easier. She’s having nightmares. A new town, new sisters around her - hardly surprising. 

“The Devil is cunning,” he said. “But these are only dreams.”

“But it’s so real!”

“He will try to reach you in whatever way he can, to tempt you,” said Joseph, hoping his tone sounded calmer than he felt. “He can take a pleasing form to lure you in.”

“I doubt you would call his form pleasing,” she said. “He has golden eyes and sharp claws, Father, and his skin is covered in scales. Horns grow from his head, and he has a long tail and leathery wings. He wraps them around me, and pulls me to him so I can’t escape.”

“That sounds like a terrifying dream,” said Joseph soothingly. “Rest assured that God is with you, protecting you while you sleep. Say your prayers each night, hold Him in your heart, and you will be safe.”

“I’m afraid, Father,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I’m afraid of the things the Devil does, and - and how they make me feel.”

Joseph cleared his throat nervously.

“Wh-what things?”

She turned towards him, and he heard the soft thump as she pressed her hands against the wooden panel between the booths. The scent of snuffed-out candles was there again, drifting into his nose, and he felt his heart thump hard.

“He tears my nightdress from me,” she said, her voice somewhat breathless and almost eager. “He strips me bare and binds me to the bed by my wrists and ankles. My legs are open, ready for him. Ready to let him inside.”

Joseph swallowed hard, a vision of her leaping into his mind, naked and bound, those blue eyes gazing up at him and that tiny secretive smile curving her lips. He shoved the image away hurriedly, furious with himself, but the image lingered, insistent, inviting. She reached up, fingers sliding slowly over the latticework grill between the booths, slipping over the holes with small, rhythmic thumps of her fingertips against the screen.

“He - he puts his head between my legs, Father, and - and tastes me,” she went on. “He licks me all over, this long, hot tongue sliding all over my flesh as he growls in pleasure. I can feel his tongue inside me. Pushing deep inside me.”

He watched as the tip of her index finger pushed into one of the holes, pink flesh bulging outwards. A shard of arousal pierced him, shooting down his body to his groin, and he could feel his cock start to swell. His mouth fell open in horror.

“I - I understand this must be distressing to recount—” he began.

“Yes, Father, but you haven’t heard the worst part!” she said insistently.

Joseph closed his eyes. There’s worse?

“He - he takes me,” she breathed, her voice low and throaty. “I can feel him between my legs, grown long and hard and thick, and he takes me. So many times. Pushing into me over and over until I scream. I can feel him thrusting inside me, pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot seed, and - and it feels good.”

His erection was causing Joseph a serious problem, and he pressed a hand down on it, willing it to go away. That just seemed to make the situation worse, so he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“The - ah - the Devil wants to tempt you,” he said thickly, the words seeming to stick on his tongue. “Pleasure is a common temptation, and lust a sin, but God’s grace will protect against the Devil’s wiles. Contrition is what is important.”

Sister Belle let out a low, hollow laugh.

“But that’s the thing,” she said insistently. “When I wake, I don’t feel contrite. I feel as though I want more.”

She moved, the silhouette of her body shifting behind the wooden screen, the gentle scrape of her nails against the wood. He could sense her staring at him, could feel the warm gust of her breath through the lattice work. She was breathing too heavily, and he felt his own breath quicken in response, his cock twitching.

“I put my hand between my legs and I’m so wet, Father,” she breathed. “So wet and hot and ready.”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that this whole encounter was a bad, whisky-fuelled dream and he would wake drooling on his desk with a thumping headache, as he so often did.

“So - so I touch myself,” she whispered. “I slide my fingers deep inside. I rub at that little place where it feels so good, until the pleasure takes me and I cry out with it!”

Joseph cleared his throat, trying to push away the images her words created. What was wrong with him? She had come to him for help, for absolution, not his own forbidden lust unexpectedly rearing its head.

“Do you want to atone?” he asked, his voice unsteady, and she exhaled, long and low, as though she had been waiting for him to ask.

“Oh yes, Father!” she said eagerly. “I know how bad I’ve been! I want to be punished!”

Joseph shook his head tiredly.

“Have you more sins that you want to confess?” he asked. Please God, let her say no. I’m getting too bloody old for this.

“Not today, Father.”

“Very well,” he said, his voice still shaking a little. “Three Our Fathers, three Hail Marys.”

He listened to her go through the prayers, running a shaking hand over his face and feeling the rasp of stubble against his fingers. Once she had finished speaking, he went through the prayer of absolution, and Sister Belle said ‘Amen’ in a soft voice as she pulled back from the wooden screen.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

Footsteps faded as she walked out, and he heard a low, heavy thump as the church door closed. Joseph sat back with a sigh, feeling drained. At least his cock appeared to be going back to sleep. He was sweating, and he was unsure if it was his newly-awakened lust or his sudden, overwhelming need for whisky. The latter would surely drown out the former; he just needed to get to it. He realised that listening to her recount her lurid nightmares had probably been the longest he had gone in years without thinking about how much he needed a drink. Quite what that said about the state of his soul was something he was trying not to contemplate.

x

Joseph sat at the desk in his office, listening to the slow tick of the clock and tapping his pen against the paper as he tried to get through the first draft of his sermon. It felt as though he had been at it for hours, but the words wouldn’t come, and whenever he glanced down at the notebook in front of him, it was as though the lines he was certain he had written had disappeared, and he needed to start afresh. At least his study was warmer than the church; a fire crackled in the hearth, and he had changed out of his cassock and into plain black pants beneath his black shirt and white collar, his silver crucifix around his neck. He rubbed at the space between his eyes, sitting back and reaching for his whisky, and a knock at the door startled him.

Pushing back his chair, he glanced at the clock, which showed that it was almost midnight. Unease made his skin prickle, and he cast an eye towards the hallway. Who would be calling so late? The knock came again, a heavy, insistent pounding that seemed to echo through him, and his heart thumped hard, his breath catching in his throat. It must be something urgent. Someone hurt or dying.

He stood, grasping at the edge of the desk as he staggered a little, and turned as he heard the front door open on its own and slow, rhythmic footsteps echoing in the hallway. Fear bloomed in the back of his mind, scrabbling with tiny claws, whispering that darkness was coming for him. He tried to speak, but the words seemed to swell in his throat, cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth and rendering him mute. Warmth flooded over him, wrapping around him, as though a fire was raging in the next room, and he couldn’t move, his body frozen in place with fear. Helplessly, he watched the study door swing open, and Sister Belle entered with a smooth, graceful stride.

Joseph felt himself relax, relieved at the sight of her, even as he wondered at her being there, and how she had got past what he was sure had been a locked door. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw what she was wearing: a tight black dress that clung to her curves and left her legs bare and pale. She must have been freezing on the walk over from the convent, and his first instinct was to grab a coat to put around her, but then she stepped closer, her lips parting, her chest heaving. He felt his pulse beat in his throat, tracing a throbbing thread of fire down to his groin, and he licked his lips nervously. She looked a little strange, her eyes sparkling with blue light. For a moment that light rippled over her skin, picking out tiny scales, and he told himself the whisky was making him see things. His throat felt dry as dust, but to his surprise, he didn’t want a drink.

“Sister Belle,” he managed. “Wh-what are you doing here so late?”

He still couldn’t move. It was strange, but that warmth was seeping into him, making his muscles relax and his body grow loose, even as his brain called strident warnings at him. She stepped closer, until she was almost touching him, her full lips open and glistening, and he remembered the things she had told him. Her nightmares. Her desires. Long, pale fingers ran over his chest, and he tried to move, tried to step away from her. He needed to tell her to leave, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her to stay.

“I had to come, Father,” she whispered, letting her hands slip down his chest to his waist. “I have a need. There was a choice to be made, and I chose you.”

She tugged at the belt of his pants, and his mouth fell open, his eyes wide and his body frozen in place. His brain was screaming at him to push her away, but he couldn’t move, and she pushed black pants over his hips with his boxers, sinking to her knees as she lifted the hem of his black shirt. Her hand was hot as it wrapped around his cock, and she looked up at him, eyes blazing with blue fire as she took him slowly into her mouth.

x

Joseph jerked awake, his heart thumping, breath coming hard as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom, the pillows cool against his hot skin. Moonlight was shining through the curtains, a dim blue colour outlining the dresser and chair and the wardrobe that contained his clothes. He let out a shuddering sigh, running his hands over his face and relaxing into the sheets as he realised he was alone. The dream had been very real, so real he could remember how she felt. The warmth of her, the wetness of her mouth around him. His cock was hard, pushing against the cotton pants he wore, and he closed his eyes, trying to think of anything but her. Trying to distract himself with his plans for the day ahead, no matter that it was still the middle of the night. An early start would be good for him.

His head was aching from too much whisky, so firstly he would need tea, or perhaps some coffee. He would sit in his study and drink coffee and he would finish writing his sermon for next Sunday’s Mass. He could also go through the preparations for the Christmas fundraiser; he had the preliminary enquiries from potential stallholders to look through, after all. That should be enough to distract him from thoughts of Sister Belle and her blue eyes and tiny smile.

“You’re very restless.”

Her voice made him start, and he pushed up on his elbows with a sharp intake of breath as she seemed to flow out of the darkness, a slender shadow-creature. Her limbs were as pale as milk, her body wrapped in a tight black dress that he was sure no nun in Storybrooke would ever consider wearing. The same dress she had worn in his dream. She crawled onto the bed at his feet, moonlight licking over her skin and shining in her hair as she watched him.

“No need to hide from me, Father,” she said. “I can see into your soul. I can see what you want.”

She grasped the sheets, slowly pulling them down his body, uncovering his naked chest and his thin legs in their loose pants. Her eyes lingered on his groin, where his erection pushed up against the cotton pants, and she smirked as she looked up at him. She walked up the bed a little way on her hands and knees, sitting back on her heels when she reached his knees and reaching for the strings at the waistband of his pants. Joseph shook his head, and realised with sudden, complete clarity that his headache had disappeared, and that he was stone-cold sober, as though his soul had been cleansed. It was oddly exhilarating.

“I’m dreaming again,” he whispered. “This can’t be real. You can’t be real.”

“Oh, I’m very real,” she said softly, and stroked a finger down the hard length of his cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “As real as this. As filled with need as this. You want me, don’t you?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to summon a lie from deep inside him. That smouldering scent was all around her again, drifting into his nose and catching in his throat. Not candles, he realised. More like embers, like coal. She was watching him with those knowing eyes, one finger gently stroking him. It curled under his balls, circling them one by one before drawing up the length of his cock to the head and making him twitch.

“You want me, don’t you?” she repeated.

“Yes!” he gasped. “But I - I shouldn’t. I can’t. It - it wouldn’t be right.”

“But you want to,” she said knowingly, and he swallowed hard, nodding wordlessly.

Pushing up on her knees, she grasped the hem of her tight little dress and tugged it upwards, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside. She was naked beneath except for a thin gold chain around her neck with a dark, round stone like a pool of pure shadow, a hole in the air that seemed to eat the light, hanging between her breasts. His eyes widened at the sight of her, at the pure beauty of her form, pert breasts with small, dark buds at their centres above a tiny waist and long, pale thighs. Silver moonlight shone on the curves of her breasts and hips, streaks of dark blue shadow painting the lines of her ribs and the hollow of her navel. The dark cleft between her thighs glistened with promise, and he felt his mouth water as he shook his head.

“No, no,” he said weakly. “You’re a - a dream. This is a dream.”

She tilted her head to the side, dark hair falling in a shining wave over one pale shoulder, and her eyes gleamed with that blue fire again.

“Would you prefer that?” she asked softly. “Dreams can be powerful. Do you want this to be a dream? A fantasy?”

He shook his head again, abandoning propriety in favour of honesty.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I don’t want that. I want it to be real.”

“Then let it be real,” she breathed, and she leaned forward, hands sliding up his chest as she brushed her nose with his. “Let yourself feel for once, Father.”

The stone between her breasts was resting on his chest, and he was surprised at how heavy and warm it was. As though it burned with its own fire. His eyes flicked up to hers, and she pushed up on her hands, gazing down at him. He tried to find the will to tell her to leave.

“If - if Mother Superior knew you were here—” 

“That self-righteous gnat could find fault in the purest heart,” she said sharply. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me.”

“Well, neither do I,” he said impatiently. “But if she catches you, the whole town would turn its back on you. And on me.” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said. “So unless she’s hiding in the bloody wardrobe, I think we’re safe.”

“But - but your vows!” he said. “Your soul! You can’t be here, you should - you should go.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

He bit down on his tongue, but the word had left his mouth almost immediately, and she smiled.

“I thought not,” she said, and bent to kiss his chest. “You’re an honest man. A good man.”

“Apparently bloody not,” he muttered, and she chuckled richly.

“Yes you are,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of churchmen cross my path, Father. Some I sought out, and some sought me, but I do believe you are one of the few I’ve met who is genuinely good. A little - lost - maybe. But good, at your core.”

“I’m not!” he said desperately. “I’m bloody hopeless! I’m - I’m an alcoholic priest who can’t even concentrate in confession because I’m thinking about the next bloody drink!”

“You were listening to my confession,” she said, and the tip of her tongue circled a spot on his neck, making him shiver. “You were listening very intently.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember the shameful way he had responded to her words. It seemed ridiculous to be embarrassed over that when she was naked in his bedroom, but he had never claimed to be logical. She straightened up, that smile back on her face again.

“I don’t believe you even thought about whisky when I was telling you about my dreams, did you?”

Her voice was lilting, soothing, and he shook his head. Her smile grew, and she shifted on her knees, bending to let her lips graze his chest as she slipped back down the bed a little way.

“You shouldn’t worry about my soul, Father,” she said. “It’s in very, very good hands. And I want this, believe me. As much as you do.”

She grasped the waistband of the pants, tugging them down over his hips and exposing him to the cool night air. His cock bounced upwards, freed of its cotton prison, and she let out a low growl, taking him in hand and bending her head until her lips brushed against him. Joseph let out a cry, throwing his head back as she sucked him in between her lips. Her mouth was almost too hot to bear, and she let out a low moan as she let him sink deep into her, soft flesh yielding. It felt as though her tongue was wrapping around him, twisting and squeezing, and he pushed his hips upwards in response, letting out a deep groan.

He had never believed that something could feel so good, and he let his hands drop to her hair, stroking through it as she slipped him in and out of her mouth, her lips tugging at him as she sucked. Heat was rising up through his body, a heavy swell of pressure from the base of his spine, and he wanted it to spill over, to burst. He wanted to let the pleasure take him, to have her swallow down everything that he had to give. His back arched as he groaned, and she drew back, letting him slip from her mouth with a low hiss.

He raised his head to stare at her, and she held his gaze as her tongue swirled over the head of his cock. A ripple of light seemed to pass over her pale skin, as though a pattern of scales came and went, and for a moment it looked as though her tongue had grown long and tapered, winding around him, squeezing him. He told himself it was the moonlight playing tricks, and then she took him deep once more, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he cried out in pleasure. The air seemed cold when she let him slip out, and she kissed down his length, her tongue swirling over his balls and sending bursts of sensation through him.

“Oh, God!” he whispered desperately, and heard her chuckle again, hot breath bathing the head of his cock.

“Not even close,” she murmured.

She moved up his body, straddling him, her legs sliding against his thin hips, and he jerked at the feel of her skin against his as he reached for her, trembling fingers sliding up her pale thighs. Her skin was soft and smooth, hot despite the cold room, and she hissed in approval as his hands grasped her hips, her fingers stroking up over his belly to his thin chest. Shifting position a little, she pressed her core against the hard ridge of his cock, heat and wetness pulling a shuddering gasp from him.

“There’s no sin in sharing pleasure,” she said, and her hips rocked slowly back and forth, rubbing her wet flesh along his length and making him groan. “Bodies are made to give pleasure. To take pleasure. It reinforces human bonds. It creates life. Where is the sin in letting yourself enjoy it, Father?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to think of something that would actually convince himself as well as her. He found it an impossible task, but something told him to make one last empty gesture of protest.

“I took a vow of celibacy…” he said lamely, and she shrugged, a brief rise and fall of one smooth shoulder.

“You told me yourself that your God is merciful,” she said. “That contrition is what’s important.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So in the morning, you can tell Him how sorry you are that you fucked me until I screamed, can’t you?”

Joseph’s eyes flew wide open.

“Sister Belle!” he gasped, and she shook her head.

“I’m not Sister Belle,” she said. “Not anymore. I’m leaving the convent, leaving Storybrooke, and you’ll never see me again.”

Joseph felt a pang, a stab of pain at the thought of her leaving forever, but she smiled at him. For a moment it looked as though her eyes were filled with a strange blue fire, but then she blinked, and it was gone.

“Call me Lacey,” she said softly. “That’s who I truly am, Joseph MacAvoy. I’m Lacey.”

“Lacey,” he whispered, and it seemed to release something deep within his chest. Perhaps the last shred of his self-restraint. Her smile grew, her eyes gleaming.

“Yes!” she said, and took him in hand, raising up on her knees and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion.

Joseph arched upwards with a cry as he entered her. She was burning, scalding like soft, liquid fire. Her hips moved, gently rocking back and forth, letting him slide in and out as her wet flesh tugged at him, The sensation was incredible, making his skin tingle and his body throb with a deep, pulsing need to thrust. He pushed his hips upwards, getting deep inside her, wanting to feel her all around him. She made a noise of approval, hands sliding over his taut belly, and he felt tiny points of pain as her nails dug into his skin.

He raised his head a little, eyes flicking open, and she was undulating against him, breasts rising and falling with every thrusting roll of her hips. It felt incredible, but there was a dull, low-down ache there too, as though sharp hooks had lodged in his soul and were trying to pull it from him. As though there was something deep inside her, calling to him, trying to drag him with her into the dark of the night.

Lacey was moaning, a low purring sound as she circled her hips, and he could feel his cock stirring inside her, rubbing against her. The feel of it was sending ripples of sensation through him, and he could sense his balls drawing up, full and aching. She let out a growl of pleasure, shaking back her hair before fixing him with those strange eyes of hers, and it was as though scales bloomed on her skin, glistening blue in the moonlight before disappearing with a blink of his eyes.

“Touch me!” she gasped.

He reached up with trembling hands, cupping her firm breasts. They fitted perfectly in his palms, her skin soft as silk, the nipples taut peaks beneath his stroking thumbs. Lacey yowled, pushing into his hands as he squeezed, rocking her hips as she rubbed against him. Dimly, he was aware of something brushing his legs behind her, something thin and hot and smooth stroking back and forth over them with a rhythmic heavy slap. Tail! It’s a tail! a shrill, terrified voice gibbered at the back of his mind, but that was impossible, so he ignored it. He silenced that voice, that tiny wail of terror, and focused on Lacey, concentrating on the feel of her against him, the way she clenched around him and the sounds she made as she circled and slipped and fucked.

It was hot where their bodies joined, scalding hot and slippery-wet, and he could feel her body tugging at him, pulling on his soul. He could feel her hunger, her desire, her need. Smooth hands slid up over his chest, sharp nails scraping against his skin as she quickened her pace, and he could feel the bliss rising up inside him like a wave, wanting to crash over him, wanting to pummel him and drown him and spit out his battered body on the shore. Lacey grinned, white teeth shining in the moonlight.

“That’s it!” she whispered. “Come for me! Fill me with it! All of it!”

Joseph groaned as he pushed upwards inside her, ready to burst, and she bucked her hips, rubbing against him with rapid, shallow thrusts, her hands braced on his belly and her head thrown back. A whimper began deep in her throat, growing in pitch until she let out a harsh cry, and he came hard, shouting wordlessly, his cock pulsing and squirting. Lacey let out a shriek of pleasure, her flesh clenching around him, pumping against his cock, milking every drop from him as he jerked and moaned. It was intense and almost terrifying, as though something inside him was tearing at the edges, as though his soul was leaving his body and being pulled into hers, but then it stopped with a sudden, sharp snap as her eyes caught his.

For a moment all he could do was try to pull air into his lungs as Lacey worked her hips, drawing the last of his seed deep inside her with a low growl of pleasure. He eyed her through half-closed lids, her full lips glistening and a satisfied smile on her face. There were no scales on her skin, no heavy thump of a tail stroking over his legs. Of course she doesn’t have a tail! Of course she’s not covered in scales, what the fuck is wrong with you? He let out a shuddering breath, running his hands over his face and listening to the heavy pounding of his pulse. The fell of her rising up off him made him drop his hands to the sides, and Lacey smirked at him, that dark pendant swinging in the air as she leaned on the palms of her hands.

“Thank you, Father,” she said softly. “You’ve given me exactly what I needed.”

She pushed up off the bed, bending to grab her dress, and he missed the heat of her, the night air cold against his skin and his softening cock, still glistening with her fluids. His body was tingling, his heart thumping as he came down from his high, but as she pulled the dress over her head a crawling sense of disappointment began creeping over his skin. She was leaving.

“Wait!” he said hoarsely.

“What is it?” she asked dismissively, as she tugged the dress straight.

“Are you going?” he asked. “Right now?”

“Perfect time, wouldn’t you say?” she said, slipping into her shoes.

Joseph shook his head, even more confused than when he had woken to find her half-naked in his room.

“But - but where will you go?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Please, I - I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

Lacey smiled, stroking a hand across her belly.

“See?” she said. “A good man. Really not my usual type. I must be getting old.”

“But it’s not safe for you out there,” he insisted. “It’s bloody freezing, for a start, and - and the Rabbit Hole has some unsavoury types.”

She chuckled at that, her grin widening.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Father,” she said. “I have somewhere to go. And something very important to do.”

Joseph closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he began, and opened his eyes before he cut off, blinking in shock. 

The bedroom was empty, the only sign that she had ever been there a drying sheen of fluid on his lower belly and the lingering sense of pleasure still licking at his skin. Lacey was gone, perhaps forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had done. How did one go about atoning when one felt no guilt? He ran his hands over his face before throwing back the sheets. Perhaps he could start by writing that sermon. Coffee, prayer, and preparation. That might do it.

It was four days later, when he was settling down by his fire with a book, that he realised he hadn’t drunk a drop of whisky since the night Lacey left.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Darkness Within (4/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [AO3]

=====

Four

Gold's night was once again disturbed, but this time there was no fear or unease involved, more a sense of intense curiosity that would not die. Well, there was still a certain unease, pertaining to the fact that Belle had been in his garden in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. How did she know where he lived? Did she even know where he lived or was her presence here at random? He was inclined to think that the visit had been deliberate, whether Belle realised it or not, because... Well, he had nothing concrete to support that claim, just the strange hunch that wouldn't leave him alone. There were too many coincidences at work, and Gold was never one to believe in coincidences. She was searching him out, both in her waking and her unconscious life. Although, at the same time, he couldn't guarantee that her visit to him in the small hours had been an unconscious one. Just because she had not mentioned it to him when they had been talking in the bar the previous evening did not mean that she did not remember it, but it was easy to assume from her self-confessed history of blackouts and memory problems that she had no idea that she'd been in his back yard. Too many loose ends, too few rational explanations. Every time Gold thought that he had found a real-world reason for what was going on in Belle's mind, something else reared its head to throw him off the scent. He could have worked with a medical explanation if he hadn't found her handprint. 

At last, after three hours of staring at the ceiling in the darkness and getting nowhere; trying and failing to piece everything together, Gold accepted that he was not going to get to sleep until he had made at least some progress on the case, and to that end he got up and made his way downstairs to his study, grabbing pens and paper and beginning to make notes of everything that had happened, everything he knew, and all the possible tenuous connections that linked it all together. It didn't really help create a solid theory, but at least he had it all written down and was no longer trying to keep a grasp of all the threads in his mind. He leaned back, tracing his fingertips over all the lines and going over what he knew again and again. He went over and grabbed a few books off his shelves, ones that he had often consulted during the course of his career. They were old favourites that had long brought him comfort, a mixture of healthy cynicism and the more open-minded. He really needed more information on Belle's condition before he could hope to create any diagnosis, but it seemed that she wouldn't be opening up to him any time soon. He still had no way of contacting her, or she him. Unless, of course, she knew where he lived and gave him another midnight visit. 

He had been browsing through the medical journals for about an hour when he felt it again, that strange sensation of being watched that had plagued him the previous evening, and without meaning to, he glanced towards the study window. The curtains were closed, but Gold got the distinct impression that should he open them, he would be met with some kind of horrific vision, and the thought was enough to keep him petrified in his seat. There was something out there, he was sure of it. He dragged his eyes back to the book, which was open on the page explaining the significance of delusions and paranoia, and he had to laugh at the irony of it, shaking himself and closing his eyes, trying to quieten down the frightened little voice in the back of his mind that was setting off all the alarm bells and telling him that something very strange was going on. He'd just spooked himself with all this reading about paranoia, that was all. 

The feeling passed, and movement returned to Gold's limbs although his unease remained. Desperate to satisfy his brain's craving need for an explanation, he padded over to the window and twitched the curtain back an inch, peering out into the darkness beyond. There was nothing to see. It had all been a figment of his imagination. No rustling in the bushes, no glowing eyes in the darkness, no odd shadows where they shouldn't be. It was just a feeling, and it could be ignored and put down to overwork and a lack of sleep. Nothing to worry about. 

Gold readjusted the curtains and went back to his desk; despite the exhaustion settling in his body his mind was fraught with activity and he knew that going back to bed was not going to be a viable option yet. He closed the medical journal, since it wasn't giving him the answers he needed, and turned instead to his desk drawers, pulling out an old notebook full of all the contacts he had made throughout the years. They were grouped by theme, and Gold flipped through to 'Doctors - Medical and Psychological'. Several of the entries had been crossed out - he had either lost contact with them or had fallen out with them due to his methods, but there were still a couple who would not mind hearing from him and whom he could probably call in a favour from. Victor Whale had worked with him on a couple of cases involving mysterious injuries that had been claimed to be stigmata, and Archie Hopper had always been his go to for mental illnesses. Archie was local too, working out of Storybrooke. It would be easy to pop round to him in the morning and discreetly present the few facts that he had gleaned. He wouldn't call it a new case, of course. Just something hypothetical. Research. Officially, Gold had retired from his public career, but there was nothing to say that he couldn't be working on a private project. And in a way, Belle's case was a private project, a kind of little secret between the two of them that neither really had all the facts to. Gold nodded. He would make an appointment with Archie, framed as a simple fact-finding mission. A shiver ran down his spine, like the feeling of someone walking over his grave, and Gold gave a snort of self-deprecating laughter. Perhaps he ought to make an appointment to discuss his own problems. 

He tried to shake away the feeling, the eerie feeling of not being safe in a previously safe haven, determined not to return to the refuge of his aunts' spells when there was categorically nothing to worry about, even as the small, frightened part of him kept saying that his vehement denial of strange goings on would be his undoing. A psychic he'd been investigating had told him that once. The woman had turned out to be a fraud as so many of them did, but that final cool statement she had made to him had stuck in Gold's mind for a long time afterwards, that he ought to believe for his own good. Gold groaned and rested his forehead on his desk. If he didn't know better then he'd say that he needed a holiday, but this was already supposed to be his holiday and his chance to get away from it all. He couldn't keep getting away from it all, or he'd be running for the rest of his life. That was what they wanted, to unnerve him and make him feel like nowhere was safe, get him going in circles... 

Gold blinked suddenly. Where the hell had that terrible thought come from? There was no-one chasing him, there was nothing following him, he was going to be fine and he was going to find an explanation for Belle's condition and neither of them would need to worry again. He grabbed the notebook again where he had dropped it, flicking back through to the page he needed. As he did so, his eyes alighted on another name, one that he had not come across for a few years. Father Joseph Macavoy. The name and contact details were in faded black ink, with a fresher notation added in brackets next to it: Roman Catholic, defrocked 2014. He'd managed to stop in the 'religions - various' section of the book, and he wondered if he'd been looking for it subconsciously. Perhaps Belle's words about a Dark One sharing her mind had touched something in his memory and he'd made the link to exorcism. Mind you, considering Joseph's past, he could be forgiven for not wanting anything to do with exorcism ever again. He had not been formally charged over the incident, but he'd been kicked out of the church that had been his life for so long and it had changed the man irrevocably. No, he would not contact Joseph, although he was keen to know how he was getting on now, whether he'd managed to turn his life around. 

Gold snapped the notebook shut and put it back in his desk. He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to rule out the physical and psychological first before he started turning to the religious and mystical, although sometimes they were more linked than he liked to think. The next time he saw Belle he might have to make surreptitious inquiries about her belief system, one never knew. He leaned back in his chair, wishing that he could make progress. He wanted to think that the next time he saw her, he could at least have something to say to set her mind at ease, but all he had was more questions, no answers in sight. He wondered why he was taking this so personally. People had sought him out to consult him hundreds of times before now, and none of them had had this effect on him. Certainly, Gold always tried his best in any case he took on; he would never do a job half-heartedly. But this driven need to solve the mystery came not from a wish to consider it a job well done, but a desire to set Belle's mind at rest, because even from his brief meetings with her, he could tell that she did not deserve the heavy burden that was weighing down on her mind. Why had she affected him like this? Was he starting to lose the plot as well? 

He got up and left the study, his gaze drawn inexplicably back to the window as he closed the door. The same sinister feeling was still bubbling away under the surface, and he sighed, going back into the room and flinging the curtains back in an attempt to dispel the notion that there were dark forces hiding in his garden once and for all. Grey light was beginning to peek over the horizon; he'd been sitting in the office contemplating for longer than he realised. There was nothing to see in the garden. Of course there wasn't. 

Until the hedge at the back of the yard twitched, and Gold jumped out of his skin as a pale shape crashed through the bushes and landed on the lawn. He was too afraid to scream, his throat constricted around his breath as he stared out in wide-eyed horror. The small superstitious part of him took this very inopportune moment to crow that he hadn't been paranoid and there had been something in the garden. 

The shape was not moving and it appeared, to the growing ice in Gold's stomach, to be human. Eventually, cold and coherent thought returned. Without giving any thought to how whoever it was got there, he needed to go and investigate. Something that he was not going to do in his pyjamas. He made his way up to his bedroom at the top of the house and opened the curtains there, but the shape had not moved. Looking at it from this angle, it was definitely human. Gold dressed quickly and rushed back down the stairs, grabbing a torch and trusting that his cane could be a makeshift weapon should it be required. The grass was wet and dewy under his feet and it squeaked against his shoes horribly loudly as he crept across the lawn. The body was still not moving, and as Gold approached, fresh fear shot through his veins. It was a young woman, dark haired, wearing a simple white nightdress and no shoes, her feet caked with mud and blood.  Even before he turned her over to see her face, he knew who it would be.

"Belle?"

[always--tan]

it feels better biting down...

Name: Julian Wood

Age: 23

Date of Birth: July 10th

Occupation: Transfiguration Professor

Location: Hogwarts School

the electronics of your heart...

Personality: meticulous, organized, reliable | perfectionist, stubborn, impatient

Magical Strengths: Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy

Magical Weaknesses: Potions, Herbology

see how fast they fall apart...

Younger Brother: Ethan Wood. Julian is not on good terms with Ethan due to a fallout they had in school concerning Quidditch. While Julian is open to reconciling, he is unsure of how to move forward considering that Ethan had gone to play professional Quidditch and it had been years since they last spoke.

Former Best Friend: Roxanne Weasley. Their friendship developed due to the fact that they were the youngest faculty members at Hogwarts, in addition to a growing interest in each other’s subject matter. However, Julian fought with Roxanne before she left to pursue a job at Beauxbatons instead of staying with him at Hogwarts.

Athletic Rivals: James Sirius Potter. When Julian had first started on the Quidditch team, James Sirius was one of the naysayers who doubted his abilities as a Quidditch player, being the first to claim that Julian’s only reason for being chosen for the starting lineup was because his last name was Wood. Years later, James would also taunt Julian for quitting the team and force him to be ostracized by Gryffindor House.

Youngest Brother: See wanted connection.

Academic Rivals / Former Friends: See wanted connection. An odd friendship developed between the two during their years at Hogwarts; she was the top of the class for several years until Julian decided to quit the Quidditch team and focused on academcis. Despite being in different houses, they would support each other through studying and become high achieving students while indulging in friendly competition.

Current Girlfriend: See wanted connection. She fell for whatever charm Julian exuded when he replaced her spilled coffee at Madame Puddifoot’s. She is very committed to Julian, though she questions his obsession with work.

skip a hit, don't make a sound...

Early Years

The Wood family was quite well-off because both parents were professional athletes, and only stopped playing to raise their children. Oliver didn’t retire immediately after Julian’s birth; he wasn’t present all the time, but Julian became driven to make sure that his father took notice of how much he improved whenever he was around.

Julian is the eldest child of Oliver Wood and Heidi Macavoy, and before attending Hogwarts he spent more time on a broomstick than his own two legs. Oliver wanted his sons groomed to be play professional Quidditch, halfway serious about having seven children to fill his own Quidditch team. He did get lucky, however, with three boys who could potentially become the most powerful chaser team to ever exist.

Most of Julian’s energy was put towards making his father proud, which wasn’t easy given the high expectations Oliver had from being on Puddlemere United for most of his career. However, Julian and his brothers easily became skilled Quidditch players due to the constant practice Oliver required them to do. Quidditch had become the only priority for the Wood brothers.

The only time in his childhood that Julian stopped blindly following what his father wanted to do was when he had chased his brother Ethan and caused Ethan to break his leg. Oliver insisted that Ethan still practice the next day, and the cracks in the façade of the perfect father started to develop.

In School

There was one thing to be said about the Wood family that, despite any argument Julian could make, would always be true: they loved Quidditch. Much so that the day before Julian was on the train to Hogwarts, he had broken his arm trying to play one last game with his brother. (Although Heidi was skilled with Quidditch related-injuries, he was immediately ushered to the Hospital Wing after being sorted).

His second year made it clear that he was Oliver’s son, and he was one of the youngest chasers on the starting lineup of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Although he enjoyed playing, the pressure of winning in front of a very expectant public soon began to terrify him as he became more known as Oliver Wood’s son than as Julian Wood. This was especially so with his more envious classmates, who claim that he was only picked for the starting position due to his claim to fame.

Although Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup with Julian’s assistance as a chaser (and more so with the addition of his brother, Ethan Wood, in his third year of school), he was given two options before his fourth year: become prefect or become the assistant Quidditch captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Choosing the latter would mean that he would be its captain by his seventh year, and on the shortlist to be recruited on a professional Quidditch team.

However, the assistant captain position would go to someone else: Julian was already stressed by the attention Hogwarts Quidditch got him, there was no way he would be fit for professional Quidditch. A long apologetic letter addressed to his father was written, but never read: Julian didn’t have the heart to tell him that he chose to wear a badge over throwing quaffles in a goal. After a bit of guidance from Professor McGonagall, it wasn’t long until Julian quit the team – causing a rift between him and his brothers, especially Ethan.

Ethan was disappointed with Julian’s decision, to say the least, but one argument ended all communication with brothers who were once inseparable. A still overprotective Julian attempted to stop Ethan from playing the next match with a broken wrist, but who was he to tell him what to do? Julian wasn’t captain, nor was he in charge of Ethan, nor was he part of the family anymore. Julian would claim to hate Quidditch for what it did to his relationship with his family, and more often than not he felt like he didn’t have one.

For the rest of that term, Julian studied and passed his O.W.L.s with one of the highest scores in his year. He spent most of his fifth year in the library and empty classrooms, practicing spells and avoiding people. His sixth year, however, was spent enforcing rules as a prefect for another year, maintaining the guise of the perfect Hogwarts student, eventually coming to believe that academic success was the only means of success, and his stellar marks meant that he was going to be much better off in life than most of his peers.

This attitude was carried into his position as Head Boy, ironically becoming just as judgmental towards other students as they were when he first started playing Quidditch. Julian was good: he followed the rules to the letter and worked hard to become Head Boy. Therefore, he didn’t get along well with the Head Girl, Roxanne Weasley, famed either for her party days or for her family’s lackadaisical regard for authority.

Several attempts to ignore her included long walks to the Astronomy Tower on the nights he was not on patrol, most of which was spent contemplating what the next year held for him as he soon realized that his good marks meant nothing when he had no connections aside from Professor McGonagall and a Head Girl who tossed a blanket on him when he finally decided to double back and fall asleep on the couch.

Present Day

Professor McGonagall offered Julian a Transfiguration teaching position to get his career started, and it didn’t hurt that he was chosen as Student of the Year in Transfiguration Today two years in a row. Whatever career that was, however, he wasn’t sure. To his chagrin, Roxanne Weaslette was in a similar position and this time around there seemed to be no ignoring her: the fact that the few friends that he had made through a competitive camaraderie were all on their way to become the potential future Ministers of Magic made his social life very limited. The two begrudgingly became friends for a year, only for Julian to burn more bridges: Roxanne’s eventual decision to leave Hogwarts was one he did not take well after eventually coming to the realization that Roxanne was his only friend.

Julian wasn’t sure if Roxanne leaving was the cause of his setback, if he could call it one: he remained at Hogwarts for the next 4 years, improving his teaching abilities and developing a passion for teaching. Most of his work now involves convincing the Ministry to fund more programs for students at Hogwarts as well as changing the magical curriculums to better fit the needs of the present day. Although Julian’s main subject was Transfiguration, he very much believed that magical abilities of wizards, witches, and wix are all better utilized when subject matter is combined and pushed for a more interdisciplinary education.

[smartgirlsaremean]

BobbyWatch: The Tournament Part 4 (final). Spoilers Ahead.

-Car chases usually bore me to tears but that one was pretty amazing. Plus Malavoy was able to save Lai Lai so that’s a plus.

-OF COURSE Harlow survived that huge explosion. I mean duh.

-Seconds sure do countdown slowly in movies.

-Powers - holy shit - you are one evil, despicable snake. Like, I’d place you in easily the top ten most evil dudes in movies. I CHEERED when you exploded, do you hear me? Cheered.

Rundown and Final Thoughts:

I thought the movie was very well-paced, which is something that is often a problem for me with action movies. Most of them have so much action that I actually get bored with it (The Bourne Supremacy comes to mind), but I thought The Tournament had a good mix of adrenaline-pumping action and quiet, introspective moments.

The performances were just amazing all around. I mean obviously Bobby was incredible as always but Kelly Hu and Ving Rhames were also wonderful. Kelly gives ruthless professional killer Lai Lai a soft, vulnerable center that responds instinctively to sweet, gentle Macavoy, and Harlow’s agony and self-loathing and vengefulness are evident in every line of Ving Rhames’ face.

Movie: 10/10. I can’t believe I’m giving this a higher rating than Plunkett & Macleane, but I really thought it was that good. (Also P&M suffered a little from its idiosyncrasies.) I can see why this movie went straight to video, but I love it.

Bobby Hotness Factor: 10/10. I know I usually have ridiculous numbers on these, but really Macavoy’s charm is in his growth as a character and not his sex appeal (though that is there in spades because he is Bobby Fucking Carlyle after all). Plus when we first see him he’s waking up in a bar and puking on the bartender’s shoes, and we see him later either trying to throw up or trying to take a dump. I wanted to enjoy another “Bobby’s legs” sighting, but there’s not much that’s exciting about a guy on a toilet. So all of that brings him down from un-fucking-believably sexy to just plain perfectly sexy, y’knowwhaddamsayin?

Anyway, that movie was a hell of a fun ride.

[julian--wood]

Julian Wood: The Biography

Early Years

Julian is the eldest child of Oliver Wood and Heidi Macavoy, and before attending Hogwarts he spent more time on a broomstick than his own two legs. Oliver wanted his sons groomed to be play professional Quidditch, halfway serious about having seven children to fill his own Quidditch team. He did get lucky, however, with three boys who could potentially become the most powerful chaser team to ever exist.

Most of Julian’s energy was put towards making his father proud, which wasn’t easy given the high expectations Oliver had from being on Puddlemere United for most of his career. However, Julian and his brothers easily became skilled Quidditch players due to the constant practice Oliver required them to do. Quidditch had become the only priority for the Wood brothers.

The only time in his childhood that Julian stopped blindly following what his father wanted to do was when he had chased his brother Ethan and caused Ethan to break his leg. Oliver insisted that Ethan still practice the next day, and the cracks in the façade of the perfect father started to develop.

The Wood family was quite well-off because both parents were professional athletes, and only stopped playing to raise their children. Oliver didn’t retire immediately after Julian’s birth; he wasn’t present all the time, but Julian became driven to make sure that his father took notice of how much he improved whenever he was around.

In School

There was one thing to be said about the Wood family that, despite any argument Julian could make, would always be true: they loved Quidditch. Much so that the day before Julian was on the train to Hogwarts, he had broken his arm trying to play one last game with his brother. (Although Heidi was skilled with Quidditch related-injuries, he was immediately ushered to the Hospital Wing after being sorted).

His second year made it clear that he was Oliver’s son, and he was one of the youngest chasers on the starting lineup of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Although he enjoyed playing, the pressure of winning in front of a very expectant public soon began to terrify him as he became more known as Oliver Wood’s son than as Julian Wood. This was especially so with his more envious classmates, who claim that he was only picked for the starting position due to his claim to fame.

Although Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup with Julian’s assistance as a chaser (and more so with the addition of his brother, Ethan Wood, in his third year of school), he was given two options before his fourth year: become prefect or become the assistant Quidditch captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Choosing the latter would mean that he would be its captain by his seventh year, and on the shortlist to be recruited on a professional Quidditch team.

However, the assistant captain position would go to someone else: Julian was already stressed by the attention Hogwarts Quidditch got him, there was no way he would be fit for professional Quidditch. A long apologetic letter addressed to his father was written, but never read: Julian didn’t have the heart to tell him that he chose to wear a badge over throwing quaffles in a goal. After a bit of guidance from Professor McGonagall, it wasn’t long until Julian quit the team – causing a rift between him and his brothers, especially Ethan.

Ethan was disappointed with Julian’s decision, to say the least, but one argument ended all communication with brothers who were once inseparable. A still overprotective Julian attempted to stop Ethan from playing the next match with a broken wrist, but who was he to tell him what to do? Julian wasn’t captain, nor was he in charge of Ethan, nor was he part of the family anymore. Julian would claim to hate Quidditch for what it did to his relationship with his family, and more often than not he felt like he didn’t have one.

For the rest of that term, Julian studied and passed his O.W.L.s with one of the highest scores in his year. He spent most of his fifth year in the library and empty classrooms, practicing spells and avoiding people. His sixth year, however, was spent enforcing rules as a prefect for another year, maintaining the guise of the perfect Hogwarts student, eventually coming to believe that academic success was the only means of success, and his stellar marks meant that he was going to be much better off in life than most of his peers.

This attitude was carried into his position as Head Boy, ironically becoming just as judgmental towards other students as they were when he first started playing Quidditch. Julian was good: he followed the rules to the letter and worked hard to become Head Boy. Therefore, he didn’t get along well with the Head Girl, Roxanne Weasley, famed either for her party days or for her family’s lackadaisical regard for authority.

Several attempts to ignore her included long walks to the Astronomy Tower on the nights he was not on patrol, most of which was spent contemplating what the next year held for him as he soon realized that his good marks meant nothing when he had no connections aside from Professor McGonagall and a Head Girl who tossed a blanket on him when he finally decided to double back and fall asleep on the couch.

Present Day

Professor McGonagall offered Julian a Transfiguration teaching position to get his career started, and it didn’t hurt that he was chosen as Student of the Year in Transfiguration Today two years in a row. Whatever career that was, however, he wasn’t sure. To his chagrin, Roxanne Weaslette was in a similar position and this time around there seemed to be no ignoring her: the fact that the few friends that he had made through a competitive camaraderie were all on their way to become the potential future Ministers of Magic made his social life very limited. The two begrudgingly became friends for a year, only for Julian to burn more bridges: Roxanne’s eventual decision to leave Hogwarts was one he did not take well after eventually coming to the realization that Roxanne was his only friend.

Julian wasn’t sure if Roxanne leaving was the cause of his setback, if he could call it one: he remained at Hogwarts for the next 4 years, improving his teaching abilities and developing a passion for teaching. Most of his work now involves convincing the Ministry to fund more programs for students at Hogwarts as well as changing the magical curriculums to better fit the needs of the present day. Although Julian’s main subject was Transfiguration, he very much believed that magical abilities of wizards, witches, and wix are all better utilized when subject matter is combined and pushed for a more interdisciplinary education.

[chevon34]

Blog Tour- Negotiating Her Release by Becca A. Miles

Blog Tour- Negotiating Her Release by Becca A. Miles

  Blog Tour

Title: Negotiating Her Release

Author: Becca A . Miles

Genre: Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance

Release Date: May 2, 2017

Add to Goodreads

  The last thing hostage negotiator Ashe MacAvoy expected was to need a rescue herself, but it’s a game-changer when Detective Chase Weber offers his protection—and his bed. UPPING THE STAKES Ashe MacAvoy is Wilmington PD’s chief hostage…

[wickedbabesblog]

Blog Tour for Negotiating Her Release by Becca A. Miles

#BlogTour #Romance #Suspense Negotiating Her Release by Becca A. Miles #Oneclick https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0727WGN8F

  Blog Tour Title: Negotiating Her Release Author: Becca A . Miles Genre: Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance Release Date: May 2, 2017 Add to Goodreads   The last thing hostage negotiator Ashe MacAvoy expected was to need a rescue herself, but it’s a game-changer when Detective Chase Weber offers his protection—and his bed. UPPING THE STAKES Ashe MacAvoy is Wilmington PD’s chief hostage…

[smartgirlsaremean]

BobbyWatch: The Tournament Part 3. Spoilers Ahead.

-Oh man if Slade didn’t kill Mary, my money’s on Bogart.

-It’s a good thing I don’t gamble. Lai Lai? Really? But...

-Okay, time out. There’s a killing montage going on anyway and it’s not that interesting. Lai Lai claims that she doesn’t kill the innocent but Slade says she killed Mary. Slade says he doesn’t cheat or lie and I believe him - those things take subtlety he doesn’t possess. So...wtf?

-He hurt Bobby’s face I want him to fry!!!!!

-Seriously how does Bobby make his eyes so big and shiny? He’s a living anime character.

-Love the toilet confessional. God, Lai Lai...you really fucked up. But who would set her up for that? Powers? And why?

-”I don’t know how to drive a bus!” “Learn fast!” I’m a little disappointed that Macavoy wasn’t rapidly apologizing to every car he had to pass. Anyway, I paused right in the middle of this chase to write this little update. Time to get back to it.