#first time drawing harry with a beard

[the-colourful-witch]

🍬Professor Dumbledore🍬

Believe it or not, this one took a long time to make (whaaaaat, it's only been like twenty days since Madam Pomfrey came online! That's nothing... > note the sarcasm here). I know, it took a while to figure out how I wanted Dumbledore to look. I had a good idea of the 'vibe' I wanted him to portray. It was the costume I struggled with. Drawing long robes and making them look somewhat personal/fashionable isn't the easiest thing to do. He is a very respected man and I wanted him to look responsible. However, he's also described as somewhat mad... so he needed to have something 'cooky' as well. You see my dilemma. I ended up with something of a formula: he wears long robes, like Gandalf, but the robes are very sophisticated. There are patterns, colours, embroidery and jewels. The robes are tied with fancy rope or a belt. Not to mention he wears a pointy hat because he's a stereotypical old wizard :)

Dumbledore has always been a fascinating character to me. Very duplicitous. He tells the truth but withholds it too. He lies, but we’re unsure if it’s for the benefit of someone else or himself. He protects Harry but puts him in danger as well. I’ve never really agreed with the idea of him being a father figure. He’s not parental. Dumbledore is a scholar, first and foremost. He craves knowledge and would sooner watch events unfold if it means gaining wisdom from it.

That’s what makes Dumbledore so complicated, yet fascinating.

Now, a few final words. Something I DO NOT understand about the Fantastic Beasts films.. WHO decided it was a good idea to put Dumbledore in these gentlemanly muggle clothes when he was teaching at Hogwarts, when we fully know that he was born and raised a WIZARD, teaches at a MAGIC school with ✨MAGICAL ✨MAGIC AND MAGIC. ✨🔮⚡️ It does not explain how he evolved to 'long bearded' 'half-moon glasses ' 'purple robes' Headmaster Dumbledore at a later age🧐 I love most of the costumes from Fantastic Beasts, but this I simply cannot condone 🙄

[gummydummy19]

Month six: Army nurse (October)

Summary: Sy is too grumpy and proud to ask for help, so you do what needs to be done.

Content Warnings: fluff, grumpy sy, bad writing idk lol APOLOGIES

Word Count: (idk Ill put this up later sorry sorry sorry)

October 4th:

“Can I doodle on your cast?”

It was Sunday. The most sacred day of the week. The weather had been getting gloomier recently, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. Fall was your favourite season by far.

You and Sy were hanging on the couch, 4 hours into the Harry Potter marathon you finally convinced him to partake in.

“Hmm?” He groaned sleepily

“Can I draw something on your cast?” You repeated your earlier request

“Like what?”

“I don’t knoooww…I’m bored” you whined

“You’re kidding right? You nagged my damn ear off about these movies and now you’re bored?”

“Well not bored bored just, I need something else to do while we’re watching.”

Sy huffed as he ran his palm over his face and down his beard, clearly debating you request.

“Oh pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?” You begged

“Fine! But I better not catch you drawing a dick or some shit” he grumbled, making you chuckle as you jumped up to get your markers.

October 10th:

'Syverson, I swear to god if you don't pipe down and eat your damn veggies Im gonna tie you down and make you.'

The man was stubborn as a damn bull, but so were you damnit.

“Is that a promise, darling?” he replied with that damn smirk of his, making you roll your eyes as you tried to hide the inevitable blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Can it and eat” you rushed out, pointing your fork at him.

You wanted to help him. That’s what good friends do. Sure, some days you debated to either push him down the stairs or kiss him silly. But neither of those seemed very friendly of you, so you settled for just helping him.

It didn’t seem to bad at first, but the longer that damn cast stayed on, the grumpier he got.

You understood he was a man of pride, you really did, but there really wasn’t any shame in allowing you to help him from time to time, at least that’s how you saw it, but try explaining that to captain grumpy…

October 17th:

“I said I was fine didn’t I?” Sy grumbled, trying to manoeuvre himself through the kitchen on his crutches.

'Would you stop acting like a damn child?' You yelled

'Then stop treating me like a damn child!'

“Im not! I’m just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your damn help! I’m a grown man and I was doing just fine before you came along”

Okay, that stung.

'Fine!' Have it your way!' you huffed, 'Aika, c'mere girl' you called out, allowing Aika to walk past you and out the door before you slammed it angrily behind you.

You walked through the chilly, orange tinted streets with Aika trotting proudly beside you, glancing up at you every few seconds.

'He such an ass...' you grumbled, hugging yourself tighter as the cold fall breeze huffed passed you, helping you cool off.

Part of you had hoped having Sy back in the apartment would ease your ‘crush’ or whatever it was you had going on. You spent months trying to convince yourself you were just horny and alone. Fantasising about your hot roommate while he was away was just a way of coping. Right?

Except that since Sy came home your feelings had been all over the place. You worried about him like crazy. Which kinda scared you. You were nobody to him, so why did it matter to you wether or not he ate his damn vegetables?

Every time he made a flirty comment, you thought maybe he felt it too, but then when you offered to help him, he’d get all grumpy and cold. Sometimes you just felt ridiculous for even trying.

Your internal rant got interrupted when you felt Aika’s leash tug on your arm, bringing you to a rather abrupt halt.

“Wha- Aika come on.” You called, looking back at where she was currently sitting.

For a second you wondered why she had stopped, but then you noticed something.

She was sitting right next to some run down costume store. Nothing special at first glance, but then you noticed something in the window. For $29.99 including fake stethoscope and the promise of at least 4 jaws on the floor per room you walk into; a mildly sexist, hot nurse outfit.

“What do you think, Aika?” You looked down at your furry companion and you swore she nodded in agreement.

You've never bought something so fast in your entire life.

October 21th:

“what...what are you doing? Is that one of my chopsticks?!' You shrieked as you entered the living room, only mildly horrified by what you were currently looking at.

Syverson was sitting on the couch, well, sitting wasn't exactly the proper term for it. He was damn near folded in half. His big, muscly body bend over his stretched leg with one of your chopsticks in his hand, trying to poke around his cast.

“My foot itches,” he grumbled “Can you please just help?”

The past couple of days you tried avoiding Sy. He hadn’t apologised, neither had you. You figured it was one of those things you best ignored, but as he sat there whining for your help, you couldn’t help but make a snarky comment.

'Oh so, now you need my help?' you commented, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer, Aika still by your side.

You took the chopstick from him and carefully prodded around inside his cast. Sy fell back on the couch, groaning in relief.

'Little lower...just a little-Ah! Right there, sugar! Fucking hell...'

His words alone made your cheeks glow bright red, let alone the damn sounds he was making...You desperatly searched for a change of topic, when a certain scent hit your nostrils.

'Hey uh...Sy? When did u last shower?' You asked, retreating the chopstick and giving his big toe a poke. Sy propped himself up to look at you, raising his eyebrow at your comment.

“A proper shower? Must have been months.” He replied, chuckling at your grossed out face

'I've washed the important bits, don't you worry, sugar.' He winked

“Judging by this smell, I seriously doubt it.' you replied, trying to ignore yet another one of his flirty comments. Sometimes it felt like he knew what went on in your brain. Every dream, every fantasy. It felt like he saw right through you.

“It ain’t that bad.” He said, just when Aika stuck her nose near his foot, quickly retreating once she smelled his cast.

“See that? Even our dog won’t go near it!”

Normally, Sy would have been quick with a response, but he was busy trying to ignore the way his chest fluttered when you said ‘our dog’.

'You smell ripe, old man. This could be used as a fucking nuclear weapon. One whiff of this and the entire middle east would wave a white flag in a second.' you stated

'Hey, watch your mouth young lady!' Sy shot back with a raised finger.

'I could help you, if you want.' you carefully suggested

'Help me with what?' He grinned, knowing exactly what you were saying.

'Help you wash...'

'My important bits?' he teased

'Oh forget it' you groaned, turning away making Sy laugh

Before you could get too far, Sy got ahold of your wrist and tugged you back, making you sit down next to him.

“If you really wanted to see my dick that bad, you could’a just asked, sugar”

'I'm just worried your dick is growing a second dick"

That actually made him chuckle. The sound made your heart soar a little and you tried to ignore it.

“Well both of my dicks are fine, thank you very much”

He sat up, his face mere centimeters from yours. His fingers danced along your face, brushing some stray hairs out of his way. His voice got real low and quiet when he said,

'Besides, I'm not allowed to get this cast wet.'

Your eyes grew wide, as they gazed into his devilish ones.

He was doing this on purpose. He knew how he made you feel, the effect he had on you, he knew.

It took ever fibre in your body to shake yourself out of it.

“Okay, first of all, I meant when the cast comes off and second of all you’d be wearing underwear you moron” you stated, “and you damn well knew I meant that.”

Sy tried to hide his grin as he looked down and gave Aika a pet on her head.

“Why do you insist on helping me so much?” He asked, rather serious all of a sudden

“Because, well…I don’t know, we’re roommates” you mumbled,

“Doesn’t mean anything” he said dryly

That pissed you off a bit.

“Well, it does to me.” You replied, “Your family lives far away, and I know for a fact you’re far too proud to actually ask anyone else to come and help you.”

Sy didn’t interrupt you, so you continued, getting a little more riled up as you spoke.

“I live here now, wether you like it or not. It might not mean shit to you, but it means something to me. I’m a good roommate and an even better friend. Im not gonna let you rot away. I wanna help you because I’m a decent fucking person and it’s the bare minimum I can do.” You rambled before adding, “Oh and truth be told, Sy, I figured you’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed, but I’m strongly debating that right now.”

You don’t know when exactly you got upset, but suddenly you wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I’m gonna take Aika for her walk now if you-”

“Could you please drive me to the hospital on Monday?” Sy interrupted you

“What?”

“My cast comes off on Monday, I’d appreciate it if you could drive me.” He stated again

“I uh, yeah sure. I can get a day off from work.”

“Thanks” he muttered, scratching the back of his head

And just like that, Sy had finally apologised to you.

October 23rd:

“My colleagues are throwing a halloween party next week, you should come. Get out the house, socialise, that sorta thing?”

You were driving Sy back from the hospital, where he had finally gotten his cast removed. The doctor said he needed at least 4 weeks of physio-therapy, but he should be fine, which was a huge relief.

“Not really a big fan of parties, sugar.” He replied “plus, I aint got no custume.”

“You have your army clothes, don’t you? I could splatter some ketchup on you if you want.” You joked, making him crack a smile, showing off his fangs in the process.

“Or a vampire…” you mumbled, staring at his pearly whites.

“What?”

“Uh, n-nothing!” You replied, focussing back on the road, “So what do you say, huh? I think a party would do you good, Captain grumpy.”

“Hmm…what are you going as?” He asked, brow raised as per usual.

“Ill tell you if you let me cut your hair.” You suggested

“Like hell! You ain’t touching my hair, woman!”

“What if you just let me wash it then?”

“You really wanna get me naked, don’t you?” He joked, making you role your eyes

“I meant over the sink but whatever, dumbass”

“Fine, ill let you wash my hair if you tell me what you’re going as.”

“And let me cut it?!”

“Okay fine! And Ill let you cut it! Just tell me already.”

You smirked at your small victory before saying, “I’m going as a nurse”.

Sy’s eyes twinkled at the thought of you in a nurse outfit

“Ill go with you if you wear it while washing my hair” he smirked

“You’re an actual dog, Syverson.”

October 28th:

“Are you sure you know what your doing?” Sy asked unsure

He was propped on one of your high chairs over the sink at the kitchen island. You had a pair of scissors and a bunch of hair products scattered all over the marble top.

“Sure, can’t be that hard, can it?” You smiled, “now just relax”

You checked the temperature of the water on your hand before gentle running the tap over Sy’s dark head of hair. Your free hand softly wove through his locks, nails massing into his scalp.

“Oh fuck…” he muttered under his breath

“Too hot?” You asked

“N-no no, s’perfect sugar. Feels nice.”

His eyes were closed and you could see the tension seep out of his body as you rinsed out his hair.

A proud smile tugged at your lips with every appreciative hum that came from him.

You studied his face carefully as you took your time washing and conditioning his hair. Not a lot was said, but you didn’t mind. The silence allowed you to look at his beautiful face. Every scar, every spot, every hair. He was so gorgeous it almost hurt your eyes. Peace was a good look on him.

When his hair was all rinsed out, you gently towel-dried it, before draping the towel over his shoulders and grabbing the scissors.

Your fingers tangled through his locks as you studies his hair carefully, trying to figure out a starting point.

“Alright so, I’ll just trim up the sides a little and just shorten the general length. Sound good?”

“Whatever you say, Sugar…” Sy hummed, making you grin.

You were enjoying his compliant behaviour until you accidentally closed your first a bit too tight, pulling the root of his hair so hard his head yanked back a little, making Sy groan in what you presumed was pain.

“Oh shit, sorry!” You rushed out, soothing his scalp gently over the sore spot.

Sy let out a yelp that turned into half a groan before it became a couch as he jumped up and faced away from you.

“I-uh…gotta go to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back.” He mumbled before walking off, pulling the towel off his shoulders and holding it against his crotch…

…hmm…weird?

October 31rd:

“I just don’t wanna go alone, Sy, come on! I don’t know a bunch of people there”

You yelled from down the hall. Sy was sitting on the couch in the living room, the same spot he’d been sitting all day.

His leg had been killing him all day. You just knew it.

Ofcourse he would never tell you because first of all, he can’t stand it when you’re right and second of all he didn’t wanna ruin her night. If he told her, she’ll stay home and miss the party, and he didn’t want that.

“You’ve been sitting on the couch all day! It’s gonna do you good to get out of the house” you spoke, standing closer to him now.

He finally looked up from the tv to see you standing in your nurse costume, stethoscope hanging over your shoulders, knee high socks hugging your thighs, heels just the right height…

It’s a shame you’re not a real nurse because Sy’s was definitely experiencing some shortness of breath…

“Nah, sorry Sugar, but you go have fun” he said, trying his best not to sound like he was in excruciating pain “I’m gonna go take a shower”

“A cold one”, he silently added.

“Fine, I’ll see you later then.” You watched as he made his way to the bathroom

It was clear from the way he was walking that he wasn’t doing good.

You heard him turn on the water as your rummaged through your purse, double checking if you had everything you needed.

After doing a final mirror check, you were about to walk out the door but you were stopped by a loud thud and a yell coming from the bathroom.

“Sy?!” You yelled out a little panicked, but you didn’t get any response

Before you could stop yourself you rushed to the bathroom and barged in, seeing Sy laying on the bathroom floor in nothing but his boxers. (A pair that looked a little familiar to you for some reason, but that’s besides the point)

“Sy, what the hell?! Are you okay??” You rushed to his side, quickly checking him for injuries

“Damn leg won’t do what I want it to” he groaned out

“How many painkillers have you taken today?”

“Took my last one this morning…m’all out…” he mumbled

“Sy you should have told me, I could have stopped by the pharmacy!”

“I’m a grown ma-”

“Yeah yeah you’re a grown man, I’ve heard it!” You interrupted “a grown man would have made sure he had enough pain meds!”

“I have some extra’s in the cupboard for emergencies.” You said, “I’m gonna get you some and then I’m gonna run you a bath and you’re gonna let me help you for once.”

“You don’t have to, really…”

“Oh relax, you can keep your boxers on but I’m not letting you shower by yourself when you can barely stand”

“What about your party?” He asked

“What about it?” You replied calmly as you walked out the room to get his meds.

A good 20 minutes later the smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon filled the room along with the calming sounds of the water.

At first he had whined about not needing a bath bomb but you just knew he secretly enjoyed being pampered as much as you loved pampering him.

You were sitting next to the tub, absentmindedly running your loofah over his muscular back when suddenly, amidst the silence, you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Sugar?” He asked, raising his brow as he stared at you.

“You finally got me to give you a bath in the stupid costume…”

A/N: AAAAAAAAA ITS FINALLY POSTED IM SO SORRY PLS DONT HATE ME IM SORRY IF ITS BAD ALSO JDHHDUZFZSFXFC Im currently on vacation and I swear I wrote like 95 procent of this on my phone at the pool and Im now finally posted this from my moms laptop so HAVE MERCY ON ME PLSSSS xoxo as always comments and reblogs are very highly appreciated!

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[shloodles]

the terror experience

ID: a comic doodle of a scene from the terror being viewed from a laptop screen. james fitzjames is speaking to francis crozier with a despairing yet hopeful expression, and the caption reads, "Are we brothers Francis?" the next panel is a rendition of the artist who is watching the show, a young person with an undercut in a messy bun wearing a sweat-stained t-shirt. they're sitting at a desk, hand smushed against their face, watching between their fingers in anguish. a tissue box rests next to them and there are wads of tissue on the desk. an arrow pointed at them reads, "full of covid." the next panel shows the laptop displaying another scene. harry goodsir is hunched over in his shirtsleeves with long disheveled hair and beard, speaking to crozier with a pained and tired but earnest expression, and the caption reads, "This place is beautiful to me, even now." the next panel cuts back to the artist, this time with knees up, tissue box spilled to the side with an arrow pointed at it reading, "this bitch empty." they are watching with a broken, disbelieving, and grief-stricken expression, leaning on one elbow, hand gesturing limply. an arrow points at them that reads, "experiencing every stage of grief at once." end ID

a rendition of the very first time i watched this show with @necromcom back in the sweltering late august heat while sick with covid (this doesn't even begin to cover it, these are just the scenes i could bring myself to draw)

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

When Harry Potter was born, he knew nothing of prophecies or horcruxes. The name Tom Riddle meant absolutely nothing to him. He knew of a woman with long, copper hair and green eyes and a tall man with messy, black hair. He knew of three pairs of hands that were the hands of his uncles. He knew what snuggles were and he knew what it felt like to have a body with only one soul. 

When Harry Potter celebrated his first Halloween, he knew nothing of trolls in the dungeons or Death Day Parties. He knew nothing of petrified cats and words written in blood by a girl who has no control over her own body. Goblets of Fire meant nothing to him at this time and what the consequences could be if his name were to ever come out of one. Instead, he only knew of the orange costume his mum put him in that made him look like a pumpkin, and the painted face of his dad that made him look like a skeleton.

When Harry Potter celebrated his first Christmas, he knew nothing of coal in stockings and shoelaces as presents. He didn’t know what it felt like to watch his cousin open up his 25th present while he cooked Holiday brunch in the kitchen. He didn’t know what a belt was or how it could be used as a punishment if the bacon came out a little too crispy for his uncle’s liking. He only knew of stockings filled with toys, and 25 kisses from each one of his parents. He only knew of his mum’s (off key) singing of muggle Christmas carols as she helped his dad cook Christmas brunch. 

When Harry Potter played with the big black dog, he knew nothing of the grim. He did not know the scared feeling of being chased by bulldogs owned by his uncle’s sister. He knew nothing of magical prisons and unjust criminal systems nor was he aware of The Ministry of Magic and the secrets that lie within its walls. He didn’t know how thin the dog could become after being starved for 12 years. He knew only of piggyback rides and wet, slobbery kisses. 

When Harry Potter celebrated his first birthday, he knew nothing of letters addressed to a boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs. He was not friendly with spiders and their cobwebs littering his bedroom. He did not know about drawing birthday cakes in the dirt with eleven candles on them. He only knew of toddler sized broomsticks that he could chase the family cat around the living room with. He knew of a big cake baked by “Ma” that ended more on the floor and his face than it did his own mouth. 

When Harry Potter woke up on his second Halloween, he knew nothing of death. The name Tom Riddle still meant nothing to him, and he did not know that green flashing lights were a sign of evil. He did not know how devastating a betrayal from a best friend could be. Most importantly, he did not know the sound of his own mother’s screams. Instead he only knew the bright colors his dad would shine above his crib as his mum told him a bedtime story. He only knew “Pea” as a surrogate uncle, just like “Serus” and “Reem.” Most importantly, he only knew the sound of his mother’s laugh.

When Harry Potter was left on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle’s house, he knew nothing of abuse. He knew nothing of his cousin’s fists or the silly, little game called “Harry Hunting.” He knew nothing of negligent teachers who ignored the obvious signs of mistreatment. Instead he only knew the stars that twinkled like the bearded man’s eyes and the flying motorcycle in the night sky. He only knew the faint cheers from wizards and witches all across Great Britain celebrating the death of the man he now shared a soul with.

He knew nothing yet of what was to come.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Instrument of Surrender

There is something down there...

The musty smell of a potato cellar in spring emanates from the air vent.

We're going to stop by Siileng on our way.

Changing into the White Satin Shirt triggers a new thought.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Why does art inspire you so much?

It does, yes -- but what *is* art?

No, art is for arrogant blowhards. Why am I getting this?

[Discard thought.]

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Excellent question. Art is a diverse range of visual, literary, auditory, and performative creativity! It's an expression of imagination and technical skill. Additionally, it's history, criticism and pure enjoyment...

In short, art is the highest form of human communication -- representation, narrative, emotion and agency intertwined.

Would I fit into the art world? I mean...

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Have you looked in the mirror lately? You have the exact features of a savage art critic, with that beard and those clothes! Dishevelled and *prophetic*. Perhaps you should try to critique architecture too!

Hold on, is architecture also art?

I guess I *have* been feeling critical lately.

That's stupid. Architecture is stupid.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Of course not, it's autism. Box-drawing. Masturbation with a ruler and a sextant or whatever they use. You should demean and criticize the genteel institution of architecture. While extolling the virtues of the *pure* arts.

Wait, what about music? Is it art?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Only the most experimental kind.

I guess I *have* been feeling critical lately.

That's stupid. Architecture is stupid. Music is stupid.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Yes! You seek substance. No vapid representations and reproductions of social mores, as made manifest in stuffy biennials, we're talking real *living art* here. Become the Art Cop. Half art critic -- half cop.

Wait, but don't I have to be 100% cop -- to get the case finished and all that?

Okay. If 50% art critic is what's needed to free me from rote repetition, so be it. (Opt in.)

No. I cannot risk another copo-diversion at this point. Go away! (Opt out.)

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Quit being so indecisive. What are you going for here? Some kind of indecisive and *camp* aesthetic now? Strike a bold shape here. Go art or go home.

2. Okay. If 50% art critic is what's needed to free me from rote repetition, so be it. (Opt in.)

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Exactly. It's not *only* your duty to only catch the criminals of the street, you must also apprehend criminals of the printing press and the gallery -- the trite and derivative artists and writers of the world!

Thought Gained: Actual Art Degree

Go ahead and provide savage criticisms, Art Cop. The world is yours to rip to pieces and reassemble!

ACTUAL ART DEGREE

Temporary research bonus: -1 Perception: Can't even look at this shit Research time: 1h 30m

Yeah, it's another copotype -- the worst one. The most savage and brutal. The Art Cop. Nothing is good enough for him. Everything is *shit*. You have to employ an armada of adjectives to depict and demean the mediocrity of the works and visual institutions around you. Really *flex* that critical muscle. Until the vocabulary for PUNISHING mediocrity becomes second nature. Here we go...

SIILENG - The shine on these sunglasses lasts a lifetime, officer! One hundred percent guaranteed!"

3. [Conceptualization - Formidable 13] Try again, maybe you can find *some* interesting sunglasses in the box.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Ah, I see... A pair of waterblue shades. The writing on the left temple says: "Sub-Insulindic Rendezvous." The frame appears to be hand-carved out of bone.

SIILENG - "Oh, very interesting choice, officer, very *high-culture*..." For the first time the street vendor's voice trails off, as he watches you inspect the glasses.

Try them on.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - This is how a sea monster sees the world. You've become a sea monster, Harry -- giant, hidden and... strangely tender at heart. All is blue.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - Alright, but these actually make your vision worse. It's like literally being under water.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Yes, but they also make your soul quiver like jello. So deep.

SIILENG - "Wow, officer, you look so cool," the street vendor has picked up his pace again, as you observe the world through deep sea-tinted lenses.

"And they can be yours for a mere three reál. My regular customers have passed them all up because they've got no taste, but *you* found them..."

"Kim, what about these?"

Put them back.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant tilts his head and steps back, eyes narrowed in a thorough examination. It's a case to him.

"You look like a musician," he declares, eyes still squinted behind his own glasses. "Like a *blind* musician. But you could do worse. Take them if you want."

The Sunglasses "Sub-Insulindic Rendezvous" gives +1 Inland Empire and -1 Perception. Not too useful with our already high Psyche. They also put the entire game under a blue filter.

Ok, we're actually here.

WATER LOCK CONTROL PANEL - A rusting control panel with loose wires dangling out from the hole where an indicator light used to be, and a mechanical lever sitting in the middle.

Pull the lever -- again.

WATER LOCK CONTROL PANEL - You grab the handle and pull the lever up. As soon as the metal connects against the contact pins you hear a loud *clunk*, then...

The water lock starts moving...

Task complete: Close the water lock on Wednesday

+10 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay..." The lieutenant looks across the canal. "If we ever need to get to the coast, then this is the way. But please, contain your *wanderlust* for now. I don't want us to get sidetracked. Not with everything that's going on."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Focus on one thing, achieve it, then the next... he thinks. That's the task chain.

I prefer to take a more *holistic* approach to detective work.

The radio relay hums with electricity.

Traffic beyond the gate. More abandoned motor lorries.

The sign says "No Entry." Someone's scribbled an inverted star on it.

Prying this panel open with the crowbar, we discover a pair of sunglasses.

JAMROCK BIKER-COP SUNNIES

+1 Empathy: Feel the streets -1 Logic: Leave the reason behind

For taking your Harmel-Rioux Supersonique out for a ride -- on the streets of Jamrock, where your heart is buried.

🎵 Disco Elysium Pt. 1

Someone has broken down the fence *and* the barbed wire.

The swing is missing -- no one's been here for a long time.

INLAND EMPIRE - Rust peels off the bent iron posts of the swing. The wind whistles through the skeleton of the small house behind you. There's desolation... everywhere.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Yet someone used to live here. Laugh here. Thought it was a good idea to build a *swing* even...

"What happened here?"

[Discard thought.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "In this yard?" The lieutenant looks at the small building. A flock of grey swallows takes off in the distance.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - He's assessing the situation. How long ago was it abandoned.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Someone thought they could have a summer house in a *bloc obscur*. For cheap. It didn't work out. They abandoned it about a decade ago."

"Wait, what's a *bloc obscur*?"

"So this part of the coast is a *bloc obscur*?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "A black bloc, a part of the city left unrenovated after the war. Or one that has fallen to gang violence. Or has become inhospitable in some other way."

"So this part of the coast is a *bloc obscur*?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Practically. It's not an official term in any way, but..." he spreads his arms, "look around -- no sewage, broken power lines, crime, drunks... Life is tough in the blocs. It's no place to build a summer house."

"Maybe they left something useful behind?"

"You're right -- it's no place. Let's go." [Finish]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes -- for you to pick up as part of the Jamrock shuffle." He gives you a weary smile.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Trivial: Success] - It's not meant as nagging, just an observation.

KIM KITSURAGI - "We should move. I don't think we will solve the murder with forays into the urban hinterland. At least in this phase of the investigation."

"Glory," says the graffito, "to the ghosts of us!"

Someone has left their music collection beneath the tarpaulin.

TAPE "SMALLEST CHURCH IN SAINT SAËNS

The tape you found from a shack on the coast. The A-side has Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns written on it, while the B-side is supposed to contain the instrumental version. Requires a boombox to play.

>INTERACT

There's no way to listen to the tape without a working tape player or porta-reel at hand.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - But even just holding the tape makes you feel a little sad...

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - A pawnshop -- a pawnshop would have a tape player...

Birds in the birch tree -- barely audible coos from above.

There are tyre tracks in the sand here. As we approach them, Harry begins to slow down.

A breaker box to power the radio pylon above you. Maybe there's something inside?

Ahead: decades old concrete defences. Children play on them now.

All that's inside the box is 90 centims. I've been picking up some other loose change and medicine here and there.

A creaking ahead -- a broken axle grinding.

A bottle, drained of all its booze, is frozen to the ice.

BANGED-UP FUEL CANISTER

A dented stainless steel canister for transporting and storing heavy fuel oil. A logo on its side has been partially stripped over years of use. The government-issued red-dyed fuel oil inside looks like paint -- though it smells much, much worse.

LOGIC - This is it -- the scene of the party. The fire pit, cigarettes, and empty bottles all evidence it.

Hold up -- don't you mean scene of the crime?

Yeah. Sure does look like a lot of folks partied here.

(Dismiss thought.)

LOGIC - Not as such. I'm talking about what came after -- the party scene.

Yeah. Sure does look like a lot of folks partied here.

LOGIC - Looks like they were here a while, judging from all the bottles. The sunken motor carriage provided them a focal point -- like a goose ice-sculpture or a chocolate fountain.

"Hey, Kim. Looks like we've had a couple of party-goers here."

Guess I'll be on my way. (Finish thought.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like it."

"Looks like they had a great time laughing here."

"This was some kind of theatre to them. A circus production by a great clown."

"Was this party against the law? On the ice like this -- it was probably a public danger."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hey -- let's keep moving, detective." The lieutenant adjusts his glasses.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Somehow he doesn't want to dwell on it...

The ice just off the coast cracks, shifting.

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - A banged up motor carriage lies half-submerged in the icy water, slowly sinking into the Insulindian ocean. Only the cabin top, rear wheels and the engine remain visible.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - Remember the tyre tracks in Martinaise? This is where they were leading.

"So this is where all the tracks were leading to!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It appears to be so." The lieutenant has a peculiar look in his eyes as he inspects the wreckage.

"Let's investigate."

"We don't have time for traffic hooliganism right now." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "I agree," the lieutenant replies, his eyes never leave the sunken vehicle. "We should definitely investigate."

INLAND EMPIRE [Trivial: Success] - You get a sudden sinking feeling. Stomach acid comes up as you look at the motor carriage in the deep, dark, cold water.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Why the doom and gloom? It's just a sunken motor carriage. Some motor carriages are bound to end up in the sea.

Run your hand over the cold metal.

What is the make of this MC? Can I see a logo?

"How long has it been here?"

"Well, well, well. Looks like Jacob Irw's journey came to an abrupt end here."

"What should we do?"

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - The motor carriage is properly stuck in the ice. Getting it out would require a team of specialists.

2. What is the make of this MC? Can I see a logo?

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - The logo is too deep in the murky water -- you can't make it out. But you *do* see a monkfish float by.

3. "How long has it been here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "The ice hasn't closed around the vehicle yet..." He leans forward to peek into the cold water. "My guess is it's been here since last Saturday or Sunday."

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - The estimate is correct. The incident probably occurred on Sunday evening.

4. "Well, well, well. Looks like Jacob Irw's journey came to an abrupt end here."

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - Your mocking tone finds no response but the motion of the waves.

"Did you say something, lieutenant?"

"Yes, yes..." (Rub your chin.) "Crazy recklessness."

"Yet another case of the engine displacement triumphing over the driver's IQ."

"Enough gloating. This is serious."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes. Quite." The lieutenant seems to be inspecting you more closely than the motor carriage.

5. "What should we do?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Let's wait for the low tide and see what's inside."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Great idea! Then we can get the things inside. The joyrider must have left something good inside. Guns? Papers? Maybe a cool jacket? A joyrider jacket?

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - A joyrider jacket? You feel a strange connection to this joyrider. Maybe he's from some kind of Joyriders district and likes blue and white racing livery? Like a cop would.

"How long will it take for the low tide to come in?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't know. An hour or two tops."

6. Sit on the swing and wait for the tide to recede.

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - As you sit down in the old, rusty playground, the world around you becomes very silent.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The hinges creak under your weight -- dangerously so.

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - Nothing but the sound of seagulls, high above in the sky, echoing like distant laughter. Ice cracks around the blue motor carriage in the sea.

"Hold on, it looks very blue." (Point to the sunken vehicle.)

[Drama - Medium 10] Whistle a tune.

Wait in silence.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, yes, it does."

2. "What's your favourite blue thing?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hmm..." The lieutenant is staring at the wreck. "Let me think about it..."

2. [Drama - Medium 10] Whistle a tune.

+1 Art cop.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - The tune on your lips forms a strange, yet undeniably beautiful contrast with the surrounding bleakness.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant gives you a quick glance. Then, still looking straight ahead, he joins you with a higher-pitched and slightly more melodic trill.

+1 Morale

+1 Reputation

+5 XP

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Two birds on a wire, whistling by the seaside. Looking at the water. And a sunken car.

SUNKEN MOTOR CARRIAGE - The clouds pass in the sky and the shadow of the swing moves like the hour hand on a time piece... Thirty minutes have passed.

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - Looks like this might take a while. Time to present a good topic for discussion.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hello, I am hoping that you have a good day. I don't remember if I already sent in a request so if I did just ignore this one and I apologize. I was hoping that I could get a Star wars, harry potter, and the witcher, and disney romantic matchup. I am a straight man

Appearance: I am 5ft 11in. I have very curly black hair, dark brown eyes, olive skin, and a beard. I am a burly man with a chubby belly.

Personality: I am introverted but when I get to know people I am very talkative and at ease. I have ADHD and I have minor autistim so I love to discuss whatever area of interest is in my brain that day. People describe me as a very kind, funny person. I am easy to get along with and I am very relaxed and easygoing. I have a bad memory from a head wound but when someone is important I put a lot of work into remembering things about them(writing notes, keeping lists of their likes and dislikes, important dates, etc). Because I have a bad memory I tell the same stories over and over again. I care a lot about my family and friends and I am very loyal to them.

Likes: When people are kind, when someone is passionate about something, Someone who is a good listener.

Dislikes: being mean/rude to people(especially service workers) or animals, making fun of peoples interests

Hobbies: outdoors stuff(hiking, camping, rock climbing, etc), painting/drawing, video games, reading, music

HI! I am sorry for this matchup to be sent so late, but I hope you love it nonetheless! <3333

---

(Romantic);

---

Star Wars;

Leia Organa:

⭐ You met Leia when you, Han, Luke, Chewie, R2D2, and C3PO rescued her - you were a bit quiet at first, but after she started talking, asking you questions, you found yourself answering

⭐ After everyone got out, you and Leia ended up talking a lot; you even got her to laugh a couple of times - all the while, you are also making a small list about Leia, so you could remember all the things she told you she liked and didn't

⭐ When you, Luke, and Han were gifted the medals, you and Leia made eye contact, and for the first time in forever, you felt this sort of connection with her; it made your soul feel warm - she felt completely the same

⭐ After Hoth and finding yourself in the care of the sweetest IRL care bears, you and Leia danced to the music, and the both of you found yourselves wandering around in the forests near the camp - the music was quiet, but neither of you noticed, too caught up in your conversation

⭐ You ended up staying with Leia, going and following her wherever she want, and she immensely enjoyed the company - and when she became Commander Organa, you became her right-hand man

---

Harry Potter;

Hermione Granger:

📚 You met Hermione after Hogwarts and after the battle, you worked at Hogsmeade, at the small sweets shop; you held stock shelves and sometimes helped with customers, but during one of your work days on the floor, that was when you met Hermione

📚 She asked you where a certain sweet was located, saying it was a gift for a friend - you were a bit nervous speaking to her, but you expertly led her to the sweet that she was wanting; and from then on, she kept coming back to the shop, sometimes not even buying anything, just wanting to talk to you

📚 On you lunch break, Hermione would enter the shop and the both of you would walk about Hogsmeade before going to The Three Broomsticks for lunch - there, you and Hermione got to really now each other, swapping your likes, dislikes, hobbies, and so on

📚 Hermione is very supportive and understanding towards you with whatever you might forget; she is always more than okay repeating something to you - she completely understands ♥

📚 At one point, as your relationship began to blossom, you and Hermione would swap books with each other - you would also meet at each other's homes to paint, read, and even hiking when the time suits the both of you

---

The Witcher;

Yennefer:

✨ You met Yennefer when she was learning how to use her magic, you had been close allies with Tissaia de Vries, and you were able to stop Yennefer's attempt during the time - since then, you and Yennefer became pretty close

✨ You and Yennefer spent a lot of time together, your demeanor being very relaxed and easygoing, you radiated a warmth that calmed Yen - she felt as if she could be herself with you

✨ When not busy doing magicy things, you and Yen would spend time walking around the grounds, talking about spells, interests, and both of your dislikes for those who are mean towards others

✨ You believe Yen is an amazingly good listener, and she is, she loves learning more about you, finding your interests very intriguing - and she would always be down to go walking places with you, painting with you, and even reading with you

✨ You make Yen very happy, and she does the same for you, the both of you are so well fit for each other, and it is obvious to those who you meet - you are one of (if not the only) the most powerful couples in all of the land

---

Disney;

Ariel:

🐟 You had known Ariel for a long time, being a merman, you often spotted her swimming away to her secret cave of treasure from time to time - you, like her, were also interested in the land above, and often went up to the surface to watch ships go by and people play on the nearby beach

🐟 It wasn't until you found some object from the surface world fall into the sea that you thought of giving it to the young princess - though, you were a bit nervous, but you gained your courage and swam to find her

🐟 Ariel was beyond the moon when you gifted her the surface treasure, instantly smiling and her eyes widening in excitement; it was then that she asked if you wanted to see her collection - how could you say no? You loved how passionate she was about the surface, and her collection was very impressive

🐟 From then on, you and Ariel would spend a lot of time together, swimming around when she wasn't needed by her father, just swimming and talking about the surface - Ariel would get so excited when you got back from the surface with new information or when you brought her a new item

🐟 You and Ariel have such a love for life, and all of its wonders, and the both of you dream of a better future - a future on the surface together

---

[this-isajokerjoke]

pt 2 of dudley and his attempt at redemption

he goes to therapy after he moves out. he comes to the realization that he was part of the problem

he didn't talk to harry potter for years

he didn't talk much to his parents either

but he still talked to them

he got a girlfriend, broke up, got a girlfriend, broke up

he missed the way that sweet sweet girl made him feel

but that time in his life is over, even if that wonderful girl will always hold a place in his heart

but he meets someone through a friend

she's beautiful. she has short black hair and grayish brown eyes, she has a square frame and a long hooked nose

dudley’s stomach flips pleasantly

she is kind and funny, she loves hiking and moths and can't draw to save her life, she hates tea and coffee and fizzing drinks but loves water and milk and tomato juice, she likes dark chocolate and is allergic to bees, she has four sisters and a little brother who is in junior high, she is 5’10” and wears heels everywhere, making her even taller 

it took a while for him to ask her out, but he does, and she says yes (dudley is shocked, but his friend tells him he's selling himself short)

they go on one date, then another, and another 

the woman, asks him to make things offical. of course, he says yes

they get married after 4 years of dating

they have two little girls

and the first has unexplained disasters. she's wild and once dudley could have sworn he saw her flying. he has a funny feeling about that. 

when she was eleven, a letter came along with an old woman who explains that his daughter was a witch (dudley isn't surprised)

it took a lot of digging to find harry, but he was determined and even if it took him three months

his wife took it well, or as well as she could. she just started laughing when dudley admitted to being cousins with one of the most famous wizards of their century

meeting harry is weird. he's grown and has a beard and a leaner body, but he's the same height and still has scars littering his hands and arms. 

but harry is kind, and he helps him 

he explains things to dudley, gives him recommendations on books and tells him that he was apart of a war and the wizarding world is still healing, so to be careful

so when his eldest daughter is sent to hogwarts with harry’s children, she is ready

his youngest never receives a letter

but he makes sure to not favor either. he doesn't call anyone a freak or stupid or evil or unworthy of magic. he makes sure they're both included in everything. 

and his daughters grow up happy

dudley dursley is 37 when he apologizes to harry potter.

dudley dursley is 37 when harry potter tells him that even if it's not excusable, he’s willing to give him another chance

[burlveneer-music]

Borja Flames - Nuevo Medievo

He has three brains, a thousand lives, past or parallel, and his name is Borja Flames. Spanish, Parisian, Burgundian, cosmonaut, we don’t know anymore. His head is that of a pope, a king, a lion, a faun or a melancholic centaur. He is well dressed, with pot holes and beard : Merovingian. We knew him in June and Jim of which he was the southern face (the northern hemisphere being Marion Cousin), a duo recently transfigured under the name of Catalina Matorral, real electronic pastoral. We saw him reshuffle his cards for the first time in 2016 with Nacer Blanco, the first album under his name, whose tipsy clocks, totems like the Tower of Pisa and bony madrigals evoked Moondog, Robert Wyatt and the Postman Cheval, one inside the other, helter-skelter. After which Rojo Vivo (2018) a blend of pale house and tenebrous preachings made us fear and pleasure and dance. Nuevo Medievo which appears today (Les disques du Festival Permanent / Murailles Music) is even more beautiful, more striking. From the very beginning, sung on tiptoe, the silvery voice with robotic effects on a synthetic bedside rug spiked with cymbals makes us feel bareheaded in a vast cabinet of stars, we are captivated. There are laser beams, oracle lyrics with vocoder. Paul Loiseau, the Morse drummer, makes the kitchen set sound like an orchestra of stoned calculators, then Borja Flames accelerates the record’s pulse with the diction of a fed-up TV news anchor before a jungle background until Marion Cousin and Rachel Langlais make everything capsize, she of saturnian vocalization, she of a strangely regulated synth. Then on, the hits fall here, there, everywhere, real ones, a shower of asteroids. Negro Negro is suave, mysterious, moving, as surprising as a kiss we no longer expect. We would gladly listen to her only but then comes Magnetismo making us giddy with joy. Then Marioneta, dry and airy as a Sign O’The Times period Prince, which one could dance to endlessly, even alone, head tucked under arm. Nuevo Medievo moves this way throughout, stiff and groovy, cerebral but exploding with dreamy tumors. Powerfully entertaining, filled with odd rhythms, computer choirs, keyboards that slide and are slippery. Nuevo Medievo is a bit reminiscent of the synth-wave scene and 80s Iberian post-punk. It also evokes lo-fi versions of Franco Battiato‘s panoramic SF hits from the album No Time No Space (far away worlds, sound research, fat refrains), Arthur Russel disco, or even Porque te vas, yes yes, Sade, Motown B-sides played at the IRCAM one evening of blunt slackness, Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrel in a full-on slow dance under the anachronistic neon lights of a chicha bar or Blade Runner rushes with the Miami Vice original soundtrack. If Nuevo Medievo, like all of music loving cannibal Borja Flames’ records, summons a certain number of other artists, it does so to organize unexpected meetings between them, and to dissect each one in a scientific, erotic, amorous and gastronomic impulse before freeing himself from them and drawing in all the diagonals of authentically unheard features. Throw him a party. Txt : Sing Sing Translation : Cathérine Hershey Music & Lyrics by Borja Flames. Produced and arranged by Borja Flames with the collaboration of Marion Cousin, Paul Loiseau and Rachel Langlais. Recorded in Lucy-sur-Cure, Cinq-Mars La Pile and Saint-Aubin du Cormier. Mix by Manuel Duval at Grange Cavale. Mastering by Harris Newman at Grey Market. Personnel : Rachel Langlais (synths, vocals), Marion Cousin (synths, vocals, percussions), Paul Loiseau (percussions, vocals, synths), Borja Flames (vocals, guitar, synths, percussions, programming, samples).

[electromelancholy]

for the palette challenge thing my brain immediately alighted on "jean is dead" so i guess you could try jean and harry with that one?

Jean is HARD to draw!!! I wanted to do something special with this, the palette name made me really want to draw a Harry/Jean Swap AU, but Jean is all I got. So instead here are some notes I took about the au:

Harry and Jean were always on the same race to the bottom, this time it's Jean who gets there first

Harry sees his younger partner mimicking his bad habits, tries to gently support him until the big fight in Martinaise where it's Jean who snaps and tells them to leave

Jean wakes up with none of his memories like Harry does. Less of a connection to Shivers but a much stronger connection to EDC which lets him go through a longer period of time before he has to admit to Lt. Kitsuragi that he doesn't actually remember who he is

Antidepressants were in the car -- venlafaxine withdrawals are a bitch

Harry's still wearing some stupid wig in the Whirling because these idiots have the same sense of terrible humour

Harry and Jean were always on the same race to the bottom, this time it's Jean who gets there first

Harry sees his younger partner mimicking his bad habits, tries to gently support him until the big fight in Martinaise where it's Jean who snaps and tells them to leave

Jean wakes up with none of his memories like Harry does. Less of a connection to Shivers but a much stronger connection to EDC which lets him go through a longer period of time before he has to admit to Lt. Kitsuragi that he doesn't actually remember who he is

Antidepressants were in the car -- venlafaxine withdrawals are a bitch

Harry's still wearing some stupid wig in the Whirling because these idiots have the same sense of terrible humour

his beard does NOT meet!!

[perverse-idyll]

For those of you who have never seen this, here’s an animation drawn for the Snarry Games 2008 by the very talented Littleblackbow. It’s always been one of my favorite pieces of Snape/Harry art, and I’m going to inflict on you a condensed version of the comment I wrote in reaction to my first time watching it. Or you can skip my blathering below the cut and just click - but make sure you watch past the end titles and the fade-to-black for the very last image.

This is so incredibly inventive and sweet-natured and there's something about it that's just - well, beautiful. Heartbreaking, but in a way that makes everything right. (And by "everything" I mean Snape's death and the utter desolation and loneliness of it and That Stupid Epilogue.) The drawings - I'm not even sure I can describe how they make me feel. The kids are wonderful extrapolations from their fathers, but it's the way you draw Snape and Harry that really gets to me. You've got a devastating gift for expression that shoots right past my defenses. I love the use of the shocked, staring eyes as a glimpse into each man's sudden comprehension, how the sight of each child jars the other's parent into aching for what he's lost.

Your Harry is gorgeous, btw - so mature-looking, intelligent and warm. And his little chin-beard! Aw, sophisticated. My heart catches every time the frame pans from him opening the door to Snape's face - man, Snape's expression kills me. Such grief and longing. As if he's tried his damnedest to stay away. As if he's exhausted his resistance and he's here to ask Harry for forgiveness and doesn't know what kind of reception he'll get. The moment when Harry leans into his touch, followed by their fierce hug (and their children's jumpy surprise) is cathartic. What a perfect build-up and consummation.

There are lots of lovely bits strewn all through - like the panel where Snape caresses the photo of Harry and through the window we see the kids walk off together. I adore how expressive all the hands are; you truly have a knack for the telling emotional detail. Also, the song! It has the same tender, almost child-like qualities of playfulness and poignancy the story does. It's as if it were written expressly for it.

The word "beautiful" just keeps ringing in my head. This is brilliant from beginning to end: a homage to their fathers' epic love and a romantic epilogue all in one.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 185: The Deathly Hallows

James crashed into something so hard it might have made his hair go flat, he could have been bashed into another dozen stairs, but that wasn’t why he froze in pain as he rolled onto his side clutching his skull in the freezing cold snow creeping through his clothes. His ears were ringing slightly, the pain was there, he could feel the new lump he should be able to tap himself to vanish...but he still couldn’t see.

“Prongs!” Remus sounded quite distressed, he really should answer, but Merlin’s beard this was bad-

“James?” Sirius sounded so concerned he sat up on instinct and reached out, he knew that was Padfoot who snatched him upright first because his hands were rough like leather, same as his from all the times spent outdoors on brooms. He still stumbled to feel the deep slush all around and shivered for himself as he smelt the fresh air, his hip knocked against whatever he’d landed against, but he had to whisper, “Evans around?”

“Yeah,” the dread in Padfoot’s voice made him want to draw his wand on instinct even as he knew it was for him. James pitched his voice higher, trying to sound as casual as could be, “oi! How long was that stuff supposed to take to kick in?”

Her touch was gentle on his shoulder, her nails blunt and well worn from constant use of peeling and crushing and cutting in her favorite class, she never took the time to do anything like spruce up her looks she was always so focused on her work. He jumped in surprise she’d been in arms reach. He went colder she didn’t answer.

That was still Sirius who grabbed him roughly and began pulling him along, he went without complaint and asked in concern, “well come on then, tell me where we are now.”

“Maybe a kindness you don’t see that,” Remus said quietly, he could have reached out and smacked him he was so close.

“Oh, enough,” he sighed. He stumbled hard on a frozen patch of earth and Sirius’s grip went bruising. “Sirius,” he snapped in no uncertain terms.

Padfoot still sounded really messed up, he hoped he hadn’t hurt his arm upon relanding. “You and Lily landed right on your- well, we’re back in Godric’s Hollow mate.”

“Oh,” he whispered in understanding. Guess they hadn’t been abstained from the pleasure of finding their graves. This trip would truly find every way it could to wreck every part of their souls.

He heard the sounds of the other four approaching through the crunch of the frozen earth and Alice summoning the book. He bit back the smart ass remark if this would get him out of homework permanently when they got back, he didn’t think even Sirius would laugh at that.

The chapter title disturbed him greatly, the Deathly Hallows. Was Harry going to find them then, were they real?

Harry certainly believed so, he made quite a few logical leaps and valid guesses what and where each of them could be and he listened in fascination to each.

Sirius started pacing, just a small little back and forth of agitation without releasing him when the idea of that Stone was mentioned again. He suspected he still wanted to be trying to talk to Remus at the oh so casual news from Ron he went back to Tonks. He could practically feel Moony cringing in disgust away from all of them, hear how his breaths went shallow, the look on his face burned into his mind for how much he loathed every part of this future. He’d never heard Sirius so quiet in his life before at any rate and hoped it wasn’t worry for him and his grave in the distance keeping Sirius so uneasy in one spot. “Bet you I could find a wand of elder around here before you Pads,” he suddenly teased as he pulled his arm free and took a tentative step away.

There was a frigid moment of silence as he felt attention turn to his stupid comment rather than Sirius’s for once, but he took another step away and smirked when still nobody stopped him. “Fine, I’ll have all the fun myself.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Lily suddenly huffed, she even grabbed his hand! “I’m freezing just standing around here, let’s go find a magically oxymoron wand.”

He smirked in triumph and knew they didn’t walk very far, but he stretched and stuck his tongue out to catch little flakes and breathed heavily to still daydream the puffs of smoke that would come out all the same, imagining the results fine even if he couldn’t see them for himself as he sporadically ducked down and came up in triumph, pretending every twig he snapped under his feet was the famed stick of death.

Lily still wasn’t really laughing along, but at least she wasn’t calling him an arrogant arse as she held his hand carefully and occasionally pulled and steered him around from stumbling over anything too problematic. She was gentler in her grip than Sirius, but more forceful than him as she steered, he felt a bit like a show pony.

“I’ve got one of them on me you know,” he just told her in the same airy way he would any of his mates, as if they hadn’t known this for ages. She made a little clicking noise with her tongue of disbelief and he smiled grandly and couldn’t quite stop the flourish of his wrist as he waved empirically at himself. “Harry’s invisibility cloak, found it all the way back in his dorms. It’ll stop us from dying I’m sure.”

“Uhhu,” she muttered, still unimpressed. She might have thought he was just joking, though he wasn’t. He would have liked to pull it out and show her now, but he’d wait until they got back so he could all at once, though he had no reason to. He wouldn’t get to see the looks of awe on their face anytime soon apparently.

If it even would block one from spells, it’s not as if they were actively throwing curses at each other, and he couldn’t imagine what it would protect them from. It had still felt just marginally safer occasionally to still have it on him. “Will it stop Sirius from murdering me?” She interrupted his train of thought with a quiet plea.

James fumbled to a stop in surprise. “Lily nobody blames you for this, least of all him,” he almost laughed in surprise but held it back as he gestured to himself. “How could anyone be expected to make the perfect antidote without all the ingredients? It’s not like we’re able to do any better, we only learned the big stuff for Moony’s sake.”

He couldn’t see her still, he sighed with longing she was still being so quiet, and he couldn’t even see why. “Listen, I’m not freaking out about this because I’m positive Pomfrey can put me right when we get back. Until then,” he shrugged, putting a lot more nonchalance into his voice than he really felt, but he would not start freaking out about this until they’d exhausted all other options. “I’ll just let Sirius keep toting me around I guess. If he runs me into a wall, I can still smack him. It’s all I need to get through this.”

She finally laughed, just the smallest one on the edge of something else he couldn’t tell, but he smiled back all the same.

There was a significant pause from Alice, the chapter must be almost done. He tipped his head back in the direction out of pure habit and opened his mouth to say something else, like worry for what was going to happen when Harry said Voldemort’s name under the taboo like that and what it would summon, but then something fluttered, just on the corner of his vision. He twisted excitedly to get a better glimpse of the flaming red color and blinked excitedly to see.

It was wavering in and out like a bad, flickering connection, but Lily Evans was watching him. There was snow in her hair, the white flecks resting in the thick locks in a lovely pattern his hand automatically wanted to twitch and run through. She looked pale in the poor lighting as she stood shivering in place still in Alice’s light and loose clothing, surrounded on all sides by the headstones of their final resting place. Where they’d landed was even still visible in the distance.

Her green eyes were only on him. His breath caught in his throat for how sad she looked. He’d thought he’d seen every expression under the sun on that freckled face, he’d still been internally cataloging all of them as he watched each new one play out fresh as he freely interacted with her like some part of him still thought was a weirdly elaborate dream. He got to watch now, in person as he gazed at her watching him and blink while he said dazedly, “well hi there.”

Her breath caught, the mist of her warm exhale hanging between them for a sparse gust of wind before she threw her arms around him. He laughed in delight and automatically hugged her back, putting his arms carefully around her back like she was as fragile as an ice sculpture. “Guess it did take a few moments to kick in.”

She laughed for him, and it was the best noise in the world.

[eratosdaughter]

youtube vlogger falls in love with dead royal entertainer words: 3254

“Alright guys, so here we are at the- where are we?”

“Apple Crumble House.”

“What- No, it’s not.”

“Simon, what else could it be?”

“No Ethan. It’s…”

“The Appuldurcombe House.”

“Thanks Josh.”

The bearded man nodded with a smile, into Simon’s camera before he switched the camera back to his own face.

“Yeah so we’re here because it’s supposed to be haunted. We’re staying here for 8 days, so we’ve all got our bags,” he showed the rest of the group, all lugging suitcases and carry-ons up the stairs, creaking with the boys all holding their own cameras and doing their own commentary.

“Yeah and we got this old house to ourselves for 8 days, we’re going to be sharing rooms and we’ll be drawing lots later. I’ve seen some of the rooms, and I just want the first one, it’s huge. We’ll draw the lots first and then I’ll get back to you guys.”

♮♮♮♮♮

“Alright so I’m sharing the biggest room with Harry, we’re getting settled in, all our bags are opened but we’ll be sleeping in sleeping bags cause there’s no beds.”

Harry slammed his suitcase on the floor, causing the room to shake and the other to yell at him.

“Oh my days!”

“Yo! This was expensive. Harry, let’s not destroy it!”

“My bag’s heavy.”

“You’re paying if there’s a hole.”

“I don’t have that sort of money lying around!”

“Yeah, so we’ve just gotten settled in, Harry’s already destroying the house and we’ll see what happens at night.” He smiled to the camera, as Harry scratched his head, muttering over hoping the house was all okay.

He shut off the camera, placing it into his bag on top of all his clothes.

“Is the floor okay?”

“Yeah just… Nobody should step there for 8 days.”

Simon sighed into his palms, hoping they wouldn’t have to pay for damages after all this was over.

♮♮♮♮♮

“Alright so we’re supposed to be exploring the house one by one, one Sideman each night. Today’s my night and yeah, it’s freaky at night.”

Simon had a different camera out, one with night vision, as he crept through the house. The stairs he used to go down had been wooden, and the creaking had hurt his ears all the way, all sharp and loud and unstable with every step, he was almost afraid he’d fall through. Most of the floor was marble, dirt stained but cleaned as best as they could be since it’s been opened to the public. The walls had run their time, cracks with ivy evident through the bricks, paint chipping off and peeling in large patches, pillars barely holding up the roofs.

After the renovation works done before it opened to the public, it wasn’t all that scary.

Most of the house had been hollowed out, roofs removed and doors broken down to reveal most of the rooms. It was a skeleton of what it should have been, but there was a haunting air that sent a shiver through his spine. He made sure to capture what they could see, the open roof and the stars, and the walls that were empty and hollow in a different way.

It was supposedly haunted, and he figured the strumming of a guitar was all par for the course. There was a humming, soft and melodic, feminine and old-fashioned and calming and definitely should not be there in a home full of sleeping boys.

But as if entranced, he walked towards the voice as if he knew exactly where to find it. His camera flickered off, its red blinking light dying out, and his arms fell limp by his side.

He stopped in front of one of the preserved rooms, the dark oak wood clean and the brass doorknob seeming to glisten under the moonlight. His free hand reached out to twist it, and it opened surprisingly easily, as if it was brand new and well taken care of.

The door let him in easily, barely a creak or squeak as it opened in.

“I have learnt my lesson not to waste time on us

Told you I’m a winner, you’re a runner up

I have moved on to better things and better days

I’ve been working on a better me, stay out of my way”

It was the voice, the humming that was soft and feminine and so calming, and he stood like he was hypnotised.

The figure in front of him was sat near the windows with a guitar in hand, loose paper in front of her. The moonlight streamed in through the large windows, and bathed her silhouette in a cool silver, strawberry blonde hair catching the pale lights like magnets. Her tunic was loose over her, falling off of a relaxed shoulder and revealing bare slender, tanned legs, propped up against the cushioned window seat.

“Can I help you?”

She turned towards him, and her gaze felt more like she was staring through him than right at him and he wasn’t sure what was scarier. Her eyes were so warm, standing out against the silver that outlined her. Everything about her radiated warmth, and maybe that was what made her stand out against the cold background.

“Are you there? Anyone inside that head of yours?”

He snapped out of it when she stood up, discarding the guitar on the floor next to her and pen now laid nicely on the loose sheets of paper. She took a few steps towards him, and he hesitantly took a few steps back, shaking from his breath to his fingers. It was a strangely cold room, and stuffy and it honestly felt like it was closing in on him, but he still stood and stared at him as the only warmth radiating through the room.

“Yeah, it’s just… Why are you here?”

She laughed, loud and high and it wasn’t melodic by any means, but it fell nicely on his ears; it suited the glow and glimmer that the moon gave her.

“I’m writing a song, what else did you think it was?”

She pulled out a chair at the small table in between them, dark oak like the door though he could barely see it. He heard the dragging of the chair against the floor, heard her drag another one out like she expected him to sit there with her. It was as if her warmth casted a candle light over the room; everywhere she went she illuminated the way, her warmth lit up the table and chairs in front and around her as she looked at him expectantly.

“No I mean, why are you in this… building? A bit out of the way for a songwriter isn’t it?”

She kept her eyes on him as he walked towards the chair opposite from her, the one she didn’t pull out for him, and sat down. She tapped her fingers against the table, white and clean tablecloth dulling the sound as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. Nothing felt weak or squeaky, the chair definitely didn’t feel like it could collapse from under him at any second. The table felt stable when he rested his elbows on it, the glassware barely any cracks.

Everything felt brand new.

“Well, I died in this building. Can’t really leave it now.”

Oh.

“So, you’re… a ghost.”

She hummed and nodded, and he couldn’t believe he was falling for it. He wasn’t one to believe in ghosts and apparitions. Surely, she was just some girl one of the other guys planted there for him to discover on the first night. That could only be right, and weren’t ghosts who stay supposed to be vengeful and angry? She sure wasn't, with her warm hair and warm eyes and warm smile and-

She was beautiful, she must’ve been a model or something.

“What brings you around here? Curiosity, like everyone else?”

He shrugged, “Filming another Youtube video-challenge-thing. Me and my mates are staying here for 8 days, to see if this place is as scary as everyone says it is.”

She chuckled, and it was deep and soft and crisp and he’d love to hear that again.

“Like everyone else. But what is this… Youtube?”

Huh, a model and an actress.

She tilted her head down and towards him, brows furrowed and eyes sparkling with curiosity, like a kid about to be told a story. It was awfully endearing, and adorable, and she was already beautiful but this made her seem all the more cute.

“You don’t know what Youtube is?”

He was going to get her to crack somehow.

She shook her head, head still tilted down and looking at him as if still expecting a story.

“It wasn’t around before I died, are you going to tell me what it is?”

“It’s a- like a video sharing website. You film videos and then you can post them and people watch.”

“What’s a video?”

He spluttered. Surely she couldn’t be serious, was she really going to keep acting like she didn’t know anything? She must be getting paid some big bucks by one or more of the Sidemen if she was willing to act like this, all dumb but fascinated by ‘Youtube’ and ‘video’, like she’s never heard of them.

“It’s like, moving pictures with sound that people can watch over and over again.”

She hummed again, as if she didn’t believe him.

He scoffed, “Have you really not heard of video before?”

She shook her head, brows still furrowed as if she couldn’t imagine a video being played for people to watch.

“What’s a website?”

“What?”

“What’s a website?”

She stared at him blankly, eyes still sparkling and he had to blink to make sure she wasn’t messing with him. What did she mean what’s a website, was she really willing to go this far to pretend she was a ghost from the 18th century? He was starting to find it hard to believe that she’s be that desperate for a few dollars to act as dumb as this.

“It’s like… ah, how can I even explain what it is.” He scratched the back of his neck, lips twisted in a frown as he tried to figure out the right words. How could he explain what a website was? If she really was from the 18th century, she wouldn’t know what the internet was either.

“It’s like, a thing where you can share stuff with other people. So there’s Youtube where you can share videos, then there’s shops so you don’t need to go down physically to the shop to buy things. Then there’s some where you can just like, talk to other people.”

He supposed that was as best as he could explain it. It was hard without bringing the internet into it, but he really didn’t want to jump through another hoop to explain to her what the internet was.

It was like explaining to his grandparents but 100 times worse.

“And you use it a lot?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s how I earn money.”

“You earn money from making videos?”

“Yes…?”

He supposed being a Youtuber was still a foreign thing to a lot of people but to someone who just learnt the concept of video, it must be even more strange.

“I make videos where I play games and do… stupid shit for other people to laugh at.”

She stared back at him, blank and confused and the more he talked, the more he felt like he was sounding like an idiot.

“What about you, what do you do?”

“I’m a musician, I play for the family whenever they ask me to.”

“That’s it?”

“I also write music,” she gestured to the papers, pen and guitar lying next to the window.

“Can I listen to what you’ve written?”

“Yeah sure, I mean, you heard a bit when you came in just now but you can listen to the rest.”

He smiled, following her to the window seat and dragging a chair next to her, straddling the chair when he sat with the back of the chair facing her. She settled into the cushions, wrapping a thin sheet of cloth around her this time, making it look as if she was draped in the moonlight. She didn’t pick up the guitar, instead tapping the beat out with the pen against the paper.

“Better things, and better days

I’ve been working on a better me, stay out my way

On my own, I’m in a better place

Got you erased, out my brain

Too late to beg on your knees

Baby, you missed out on me”

It was a voice that could stop ships and lead men to their deaths. It was deep and smooth, like a chocolate fondue, yet sweet and sexy and absolutely hypnotic.

“It’s very… modern.”

“Yeah, it’s really different from what they usually listen to, but Freya likes it.”

“Freya?”

“She’s my best friend, basically. And the daughter of the house.”

“Is she still… you know, around?”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t come out very often. Maybe you’ll see her later.”

She looked down at the papers, fountain pen still tapping against like the song was playing in her head. Her hair fell over her ear, golden and brown and barely brushing against her collarbone. He reached out a little, felt his arm move like he wanted to touch her, but he stopped himself. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way but if he did touch her, could touch her, would he want to?

He did it anyway. His fingers brushed through a few strands of hair, tucking a portion behind her ear, brushing against the skin of her cheek for a moment. When she turned her head, he pulled away and gave an awkward smile, and she laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Do you do music?”

“Yeah, yeah I do but it’s…. It’s not what you do. At all.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Yeah, sure if you want to.” His fingers started knocking on the back of the chair, vaguely along to the beat that’s been buried at the back of his mind. She stared up at him, smiling as she waited. The beat was different to her, a lot faster and not at all what she’s heard, even when exploring lesser known musicians and underground music concerts.

“Now I think it’s time we switched up the scene

Picture Deji Olatunji and a drugged up teen

Now some of y'all fans might know who I mean

When I said that he met her in Bethnal Green

And how many times did she scream help me?

Your hairline is fucked, you look like E.T

The last time you almost died like this

Was the time you crashed your TT”

“Is that music in your time?”

“Yeah. There’s stuff like yours too, there’s a lot of different music in ‘my time’ I guess.”

“It’s just like… fast poetry to a rhythm.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of like that.”

She laughed again, looking down at her papers in her lap, “Must be nice, having so many different types of music.”

“Yeah,” he trailed off, “Too bad you’re dead.”

“That’s mean!”

“What- it’s true!”

“Yeah but,” she sighed, turning to look out the window. The moon had steadily gotten lower over the hours, and he noted the smell of musk around him. He leaned in a bit, the chair creaking under him, and reached out his hand to pat her head.

“Hey, it’s fine. You still have Freya.”

She shook her head, brushing his hand off of her head. “The sun will rise soon.”

“So?”

“I’ll be gone until night comes again.”

A silence fell over them, and he wasn’t too sure what to say. He placed a hand on her arm, rubbing up and down as they sat for a few minutes.

“I have to go back to my friends.”

“I know.”

She pressed her lips together, and turned to him with a hand reached out. Her eyes bored into his, and he could feel himself drowning in the honeyed brown, even when she rested a hand on his cheek. It was cold, not like ice but like stones that had just been rained down upon. Even for someone in England, it was unusually low, and that was the moment he could believe that she might have actually been dead.

She leaned in to him, and she had no smell but he could feel her icy breath against his lips as he watched her move closer. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, pumping hard and against his ribcage.

“Your eyes are the nicest blue.”

He nodded, and could feel it when she brushed her lips against his.

She pulled back slightly, and he stared at her in a strange sort of wonder. She smiled, all teeth and plump lips stretched, and he wanted to lean in again but how dumb would he look if he just passed through her.

“What’s your name?” He whispered, like the space between them would widen if he spoke too loud, like she would disappear if he didn’t.

“Talia.”

“I’m Simon,” he smiled. She nodded, picking up her papers and pen and the guitar, and gave a brief smile. With all her items, she stood up and started walking towards the door, footsteps silent and light and almost as if she were floating. He stood up after her, his weight making the floorboard creak, keeping his eyes on his figure in a daze.

“It was nice meeting you.” She stopped at the door for a moment, turning around to face him and gave another bright smile.

“Yeah, you too.” He nodded, returning the smile. She turned back to the door, turning the knob and opening it, and he saw her hesitant. He wanted to walk towards her, stop her maybe, but she stepped out before his thought translated into action, closing the door silently behind her.

He stood there for a few minutes, replaying what had happened in his head but all he could remember was the golden light she radiated, yet had the coldest of touches.

He made his way to the door, wood under him creaking and weak. The smell of grass and musk was starting to get overpowering, the night breeze started flowing in through the window and he turned to find the glass panes had been removed and all that was left was the rotting wooden sill.

The doorknob was rusted and rough, hard to open as if it hadn’t been used in decades and screeched when he finally managed to twist it. The door made a hollow screech when he pushed it open, the dark oak chipping and the engraving lost to time.

His video camera was sitting just next to the door, and he turned it on, only to find that the last few minutes of video captured was of him walking towards the door before it blacked out for the next few hours.

“Talia, huh.”

He could still hear her voice in his head as he walked back up to his room, ready to tell the rest of the boys that he hadn’t found anything interesting.

He’ll chalk it up to her being some sort of hallucination from lack of sleep, with her cold hands and icy breath and the voice of an angel. A hallucination that maybe, just maybe, he grew a bit more attached to than he was supposed to be.

A hallucination that made his heart skip a beat.

[recordslomo]

Play the game of life on line

Play the game of life on line how to#

The banker organizes the money, then gives each person $10,000. The same thing occurs with the Homeowner's Insurance Policies, Bank Loans and Automobile Insurance Policies.Ĭhoose one player as the banker. They go face down at any edge of the board. Separate the other cards into four piles: a Salary pile, House Deeds pile, Career pile and The rest of the tiles are for the draw pile. Next, mix up the Life tiles and take four (don't look at them) and place them near Millionaire Estates. $500 bills were dropped in the 1980s as were $1,000 bills in 1992.īefore you start the game, make sure that each piece is attached to the board in the correct spot. Other tangibles vary between versions of the game. Some "early modern" editions have eight cars.Įach game also includes a setup for a bank which includes play money in denominations of $5,000, $10,000, $20,000, $50,000, and $100,000 bills automobile, life, fire, and/or homeowners' insurance policies (depending on the version) $20,000 promissory notes and stock certificates. Playing pieces are small, colored, plastic automobiles which come in red, blue, white, yellow, orange, and green each car has six holes in the top in which blue and/or pink "people pegs" are placed throughout the game as the player "gets married" and has or adopts "children". The board also contains small mountains, buildings, and other three-dimensional objects. The modern game consists of a track on which players travel by spinning a small wheel (in the center of the board) with spaces numbered 1 through 10. In 1960, the 100th anniversary of The Checkered Game of Life, the first modern version of The Game of Life, a collaboration between Reuben Klamer and Bill Markham, was introduced. A player could gain 50 points by reaching "Happy Old Age" in the upper-right corner, opposite "Infancy" where one began. The object was to land on the good spaces and collect 100 points. The game board was essentially a modified checkerboard. (Dice were considered too similar to gambling.) Ives in 1843, it had a strong moral message.īradley's game did not include dice, instead using a te totum, a six-sided top. Like many games from the 19th century, such as The Mansion of Happiness byS. The game sold 45,000 copies by the end of its first year. This was the first game created by Bradley, a successful lithographer, whose major product until that time was a portrait of Abraham Lincoln with a clean-shaven face, which did not do well once the subject grew his famous beard. The game was originally created in 1860 by Milton Bradley as The Checkered Game of Life.

Play the game of life on line how to#

It later spawned a book, The Game of Life: How to Succeed in Real Life No Matter Where You Land(Running Press), by Lou Harry. It is now part of the permanent collection of the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History and an inductee into the National Toy Hall of Fame. It was created and co-designed by toy and game designer Reuben Klamer and was "heartily endorsed" by Art Linkletter. The modern version was originally published 100 years later, in 1960. Variations of the game accommodate eight to ten players. Two to six players can participate in one game. The Game of Life was America's first popular parlor game. The game simulates a person's travels through his or her life, from college to retirement, with jobs, marriage, and possible children along the way. The Game of Life, also known simply as Life, is a board game originally created in 1860 by Milton Bradley, as The Checkered Game of Life.

[pato-roldnart]

(;;;・_・) *sweats nervously* Well,  here they are! A little piece for @drarrily-we-row-along from one of their drabbles Tattoos.  It took more time than intended because I like to complicate things for myself, also my brain couldn’t handle Draco with pink hair and harry with a beard. 

[qqueenofhades]

The Green Knight and Medieval Metatextuality: An Essay

Right, so. Finally watched it last night, and I’ve been thinking about it literally ever since, except for the part where I was asleep. As I said to fellow medievalist and admirer of Dev Patel @oldshrewsburyian, it’s possibly the most fascinating piece of medieval-inspired media that I’ve seen in ages, and how refreshing to have something in this genre that actually rewards critical thought and deep analysis, rather than me just fulminating fruitlessly about how popular media thinks that slapping blood, filth, and misogyny onto some swords and castles is “historically accurate.” I read a review of TGK somewhere that described it as the anti-Game of Thrones, and I’m inclined to think that’s accurate. I didn’t agree with all of the film’s tonal, thematic, or interpretative choices, but I found them consistently stylish, compelling, and subversive in ways both small and large, and I’m gonna have to write about it or I’ll go crazy. So. Brace yourselves.

(Note: My PhD is in medieval history, not medieval literature, and I haven’t worked on SGGK specifically, but I am familiar with it, its general cultural context, and the historical influences, images, and debates that both the poem and the film referenced and drew upon, so that’s where this meta is coming from.)

First, obviously, while the film is not a straight-up text-to-screen version of the poem (though it is by and large relatively faithful), it is a multi-layered meta-text that comments on the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the archetypes of chivalric literature as a whole, modern expectations for medieval films, the hero’s journey, the requirements of being an “honorable knight,” and the nature of death, fate, magic, and religion, just to name a few. Given that the Arthurian legendarium, otherwise known as the Matter of Britain, was written and rewritten over several centuries by countless authors, drawing on and changing and hybridizing interpretations that sometimes challenged or outright contradicted earlier versions, it makes sense for the film to chart its own path and make its own adaptational decisions as part of this multivalent, multivocal literary canon. Sir Gawain himself is a canonically and textually inconsistent figure; in the movie, the characters merrily pronounce his name in several different ways, most notably as Sean Harris/King Arthur’s somewhat inexplicable “Garr-win.” He might be a man without a consistent identity, but that’s pointed out within the film itself. What has he done to define himself, aside from being the king’s nephew? Is his quixotic quest for the Green Knight actually going to resolve the question of his identity and his honor – and if so, is it even going to matter, given that successful completion of the “game” seemingly equates with death?

Likewise, as the anti-Game of Thrones, the film is deliberately and sometimes maddeningly non-commercial. For an adaptation coming from a studio known primarily for horror, it almost completely eschews the cliché that gory bloodshed equals authentic medievalism; the only graphic scene is the Green Knight’s original beheading. The violence is only hinted at, subtextual, suspenseful; it is kept out of sight, around the corner, never entirely played out or resolved. In other words, if anyone came in thinking that they were going to watch Dev Patel luridly swashbuckle his way through some CGI monsters like bad Beowulf adaptations of yore, they were swiftly disappointed. In fact, he seems to spend most of his time being wet, sad, and failing to meet the moment at hand (with a few important exceptions).

The film unhurriedly evokes a medieval setting that is both surreal and defiantly non-historical. We travel (in roughly chronological order) from Anglo-Saxon huts to Romanesque halls to high-Gothic cathedrals to Tudor villages and half-timbered houses, culminating in the eerie neo-Renaissance splendor of the Lord and Lady’s hall, before returning to the ancient trees of the Green Chapel and its immortal occupant: everything that has come before has now returned to dust. We have been removed even from imagined time and place and into a moment where it ceases to function altogether. We move forward, backward, and sideways, as Gawain experiences past, present, and future in unison. He is dislocated from his own sense of himself, just as we, the viewers, are dislocated from our sense of what is the “true” reality or filmic narrative; what we think is real turns out not to be the case at all. If, of course, such a thing even exists at all.

This visual evocation of the entire medieval era also creates a setting that, unlike GOT, takes pride in rejecting absolutely all political context or Machiavellian maneuvering. The film acknowledges its own cultural ubiquity and the question of whether we really need yet another King Arthur adaptation: none of the characters aside from Gawain himself are credited by name. We all know it’s Arthur, but he’s listed only as “king.” We know the spooky druid-like old man with the white beard is Merlin, but it’s never required to spell it out. The film gestures at our pre-existing understanding; it relies on us to fill in the gaps, cuing us to collaboratively produce the story with it, positioning us as listeners as if we were gathered to hear the original poem. Just like fanfiction, it knows that it doesn’t need to waste time introducing every single character or filling in ultimately unnecessary background knowledge, when the audience can be relied upon to bring their own.

As for that, the film explicitly frames itself as a “filmed adaptation of the chivalric romance” in its opening credits, and continues to play with textual referents and cues throughout: telling us where we are, what’s happening, or what’s coming next, rather like the rubrics or headings within a medieval manuscript. As noted, its historical/architectural references span the entire medieval European world, as does its costume design. I was particularly struck by the fact that Arthur and Guinevere’s crowns resemble those from illuminated monastic manuscripts or Eastern Orthodox iconography: they are both crown and halo, they confer an air of both secular kingship and religious sanctity. The question in the film’s imagined epilogue thus becomes one familiar to Shakespeare’s Henry V: heavy is the head that wears the crown. Does Gawain want to earn his uncle’s crown, take over his place as king, bear the fate of Camelot, become a great ruler, a husband and father in ways that even Arthur never did, only to see it all brought to dust by his cowardice, his reliance on unscrupulous sorcery, and his unfulfilled promise to the Green Knight? Is it better to have that entire life and then lose it, or to make the right choice now, even if it means death?

Likewise, Arthur’s kingly mantle is Byzantine in inspiration, as is the icon of the Virgin Mary-as-Theotokos painted on Gawain’s shield (which we see broken apart during the attack by the scavengers). The film only glances at its religious themes rather than harping on them explicitly; we do have the cliché scene of the male churchmen praying for Gawain’s safety, opposite Gawain’s mother and her female attendants working witchcraft to protect him. (When oh when will I get my film that treats medieval magic and medieval religion as the complementary and co-existing epistemological systems that they were, rather than portraying them as diametrically binary and disparagingly gendered opposites?) But despite the interim setbacks borne from the failure of Christian icons, the overall resolution of the film could serve as the culmination of a medieval Christian morality tale: Gawain can buy himself a great future in the short term if he relies on the protection of the enchanted green belt to avoid the Green Knight’s killing stroke, but then he will have to watch it all crumble until he is sitting alone in his own hall, his children dead and his kingdom destroyed, as a headless corpse who only now has been brave enough to accept his proper fate. By removing the belt from his person in the film’s Inception-like final scene, he relinquishes the taint of black magic and regains his religious honor, even at the likely cost of death. That, the medieval Christian morality tale would agree, is the correct course of action.

Gawain’s encounter with St. Winifred likewise presents a more subtle vision of medieval Christianity. Winifred was an eighth-century Welsh saint known for being beheaded, after which (by the power of another saint) her head was miraculously restored to her body and she went on to live a long and holy life. It doesn’t quite work that way in TGK. (St Winifred’s Well is mentioned in the original SGGK, but as far as I recall, Gawain doesn’t meet the saint in person.) In the film, Gawain encounters Winifred’s lifelike apparition, who begs him to dive into the mere and retrieve her head (despite appearances, she warns him, it is not attached to her body). This fits into the pattern of medieval ghost stories, where the dead often return to entreat the living to help them finish their business; they must be heeded, but when they are encountered in places they shouldn’t be, they must be put back into their proper physical space and reminded of their real fate. Gawain doesn’t follow William of Newburgh’s practical recommendation to just fetch some brawny young men with shovels to beat the wandering corpse back into its grave. Instead, in one of his few moments of unqualified heroism, he dives into the dark water and retrieves Winifred’s skull from the bottom of the lake. Then when he returns to the house, he finds the rest of her skeleton lying in the bed where he was earlier sleeping, and carefully reunites the skull with its body, finally allowing it to rest in peace.

However, Gawain’s involvement with Winifred doesn’t end there. The fox that he sees on the bank after emerging with her skull, who then accompanies him for the rest of the film, is strongly implied to be her spirit, or at least a companion that she has sent for him. Gawain has handled a saint’s holy bones; her relics, which were well known to grant protection in the medieval world. He has done the saint a service, and in return, she extends her favor to him. At the end of the film, the fox finally speaks in a human voice, warning him not to proceed to the fateful final encounter with the Green Knight; it will mean his death. The symbolism of having a beheaded saint serve as Gawain’s guide and protector is obvious, since it is the fate that may or may not lie in store for him. As I said, the ending is Inception-like in that it steadfastly refuses to tell you if the hero is alive (or will live) or dead (or will die). In the original SGGK, of course, the Green Knight and the Lord turn out to be the same person, Gawain survives, it was all just a test of chivalric will and honor, and a trap put together by Morgan Le Fay in an attempt to frighten Guinevere. It’s essentially able to be laughed off: a game, an adventure, not real. TGK takes this paradigm and flips it (to speak…) on its head.

Gawain’s rescue of Winifred’s head also rewards him in more immediate terms: his/the Green Knight’s axe, stolen by the scavengers, is miraculously restored to him in her cottage, immediately and concretely demonstrating the virtue of his actions. This is one of the points where the film most stubbornly resists modern storytelling conventions: it simply refuses to add in any kind of “rational” or “empirical” explanation of how else it got there, aside from the grace and intercession of the saint. This is indeed how it works in medieval hagiography: things simply reappear, are returned, reattached, repaired, made whole again, and Gawain’s lost weapon is thus restored, symbolizing that he has passed the test and is worthy to continue with the quest. The film’s narrative is not modernizing its underlying medieval logic here, and it doesn’t particularly care if a modern audience finds it “convincing” or not. As noted, the film never makes any attempt to temporalize or localize itself; it exists in a determinedly surrealist and ahistorical landscape, where naked female giants who look suspiciously like Tilda Swinton roam across the wild with no necessary explanation. While this might be frustrating for some people, I actually found it a huge relief that a clearly fantastic and fictional literary adaptation was not acting like it was qualified to teach “real history” to its audience. Nobody would come out of TGK thinking that they had seen the “actual” medieval world, and since we have enough of a problem with that sort of thing thanks to GOT, I for one welcome the creation of a medieval imaginative space that embraces its eccentric and unrealistic elements, rather than trying to fit them into the Real Life box.

This plays into the fact that the film, like a reused medieval manuscript containing more than one text, is a palimpsest: for one, it audaciously rewrites the entire Arthurian canon in the wordless vision of Gawain’s life after escaping the Green Knight (I could write another meta on that dream-epilogue alone). It moves fluidly through time and creates alternate universes in at least two major points: one, the scene where Gawain is tied up and abandoned by the scavengers and that long circling shot reveals his skeletal corpse rotting on the sward, only to return to our original universe as Gawain decides that he doesn’t want that fate, and two, Gawain as King. In this alternate ending, Arthur doesn’t die in battle with Mordred, but peaceably in bed, having anointed his worthy nephew as his heir. Gawain becomes king, has children, gets married, governs Camelot, becomes a ruler surpassing even Arthur, but then watches his son get killed in battle, his subjects turn on him, and his family vanish into the dust of his broken hall before he himself, in despair, pulls the enchanted scarf out of his clothing and succumbs to his fate.

In this version, Gawain takes on the responsibility for the fall of Camelot, not Arthur. This is the hero’s burden, but he’s obtained it dishonorably, by cheating. It is a vivid but mimetic future which Gawain (to all appearances) ultimately rejects, returning the film to the realm of traditional Arthurian canon – but not quite. After all, if Gawain does get beheaded after that final fade to black, it would represent a significant alteration from the poem and the character’s usual arc. Are we back in traditional canon or aren’t we? Did Gawain reject that future or didn’t he? Do all these alterities still exist within the visual medium of the meta-text, and have any of them been definitely foreclosed?

Furthermore, the film interrogates itself and its own tropes in explicit and overt ways. In Gawain’s conversation with the Lord, the Lord poses the question that many members of the audience might have: is Gawain going to carry out this potentially pointless and suicidal quest and then be an honorable hero, just like that? What is he actually getting by staggering through assorted Irish bogs and seeming to reject, rather than embrace, the paradigms of a proper quest and that of an honorable knight? He lies about being a knight to the scavengers, clearly out of fear, and ends up cravenly bound and robbed rather than fighting back. He denies knowing anything about love to the Lady (played by Alicia Vikander, who also plays his lover at the start of the film with a decidedly ropey Yorkshire accent, sorry to say). He seems to shrink from the responsibility thrust on him, rather than rise to meet it (his only honorable act, retrieving Winifred’s head, is discussed above) and yet here he still is, plugging away. Why is he doing this? What does he really stand to gain, other than accepting a choice and its consequences (somewhat?) The film raises these questions, but it has no plans to answer them. It’s going to leave you to think about them for yourself, and it isn’t going to spoon-feed you any ultimate moral or neat resolution. In this interchange, it’s easy to see both the echoes of a formal dialogue between two speakers (a favored medieval didactic tactic) and the broader purpose of chivalric literature: to interrogate what it actually means to be a knight, how personal honor is generated, acquired, and increased, and whether engaging in these pointless and bloody “war games” is actually any kind of real path to lasting glory.

The film’s treatment of race, gender, and queerness obviously also merits comment. By casting Dev Patel, an Indian-born actor, as an Arthurian hero, the film is… actually being quite accurate to the original legends, doubtless much to the disappointment of assorted internet racists. The thirteenth-century Arthurian romance Parzival (Percival) by the German poet Wolfram von Eschenbach notably features the character of Percival’s mixed-race half-brother, Feirefiz, son of their father by his first marriage to a Muslim princess. Feirefiz is just as heroic as Percival (Gawaine, for the record, also plays a major role in the story) and assists in the quest for the Holy Grail, though it takes his conversion to Christianity for him to properly behold it.

By introducing Patel (and Sarita Chowdhury as Morgause) to the visual representation of Arthuriana, the film quietly does away with the “white Middle Ages” cliché that I have complained about ad nauseam; we see background Asian and black members of Camelot, who just exist there without having to conjure up some complicated rationale to explain their presence. The Lady also uses a camera obscura to make Gawain’s portrait. Contrary to those who might howl about anachronism, this technique was known in China as early as the fourth century BCE and the tenth/eleventh century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham was probably the best-known medieval authority to write on it extensively; Latin translations of his work inspired European scientists from Roger Bacon to Leonardo da Vinci. Aside from the symbolism of an upside-down Gawain (and when he sees the portrait again during the ‘fall of Camelot’, it is right-side-up, representing that Gawain himself is in an upside-down world), this presents a subtle challenge to the prevailing Eurocentric imagination of the medieval world, and draws on other global influences.

As for gender, we have briefly touched on it above; in the original SGGK, Gawain’s entire journey is revealed to be just a cruel trick of Morgan Le Fay, simply trying to destabilize Arthur’s court and upset his queen. (Morgan is the old blindfolded woman who appears in the Lord and Lady’s castle and briefly approaches Gawain, but her identity is never explicitly spelled out.) This is, obviously, an implicitly misogynistic setup: an evil woman plays a trick on honorable men for the purpose of upsetting another woman, the honorable men overcome it, the hero survives, and everyone presumably lives happily ever after (at least until Mordred arrives).

Instead, by plunging the outcome into doubt and the hero into a much darker and more fallible moral universe, TGK shifts the blame for Gawain’s adventure and ultimate fate from Morgan to Gawain himself. Likewise, Guinevere is not the passive recipient of an evil deception but in a way, the catalyst for the whole thing. She breaks the seal on the Green Knight’s message with a weighty snap; she becomes the oracle who reads it out, she is alarming rather than alarmed, she disrupts the complacency of the court and silently shows up all the other knights who refuse to step forward and answer the Green Knight’s challenge. Gawain is not given the ontological reassurance that it’s just a practical joke and he’s going to be fine (and thanks to the unresolved ending, neither are we). The film instead takes the concept at face value in order to push the envelope and ask the simple question: if a man was going to be actually-for-real beheaded in a year, why would he set out on a suicidal quest? Would you, in Gawain’s place, make the same decision to cast aside the enchanted belt and accept your fate? Has he made his name, will he be remembered well? What is his legacy?

Indeed, if there is any hint of feminine connivance and manipulation, it arrives in the form of the implication that Gawain’s mother has deliberately summoned the Green Knight to test her son, prove his worth, and position him as his childless uncle’s heir; she gives him the protective belt to make sure he won’t actually die, and her intention all along was for the future shown in the epilogue to truly play out (minus the collapse of Camelot). Only Gawain loses the belt thanks to his cowardice in the encounter with the scavengers, regains it in a somewhat underhanded and morally questionable way when the Lady is attempting to seduce him, and by ultimately rejecting it altogether and submitting to his uncertain fate, totally mucks up his mother’s painstaking dynastic plans for his future. In this reading, Gawain could be king, and his mother’s efforts are meant to achieve that goal, rather than thwart it. He is thus required to shoulder his own responsibility for this outcome, rather than conveniently pawning it off on an “evil woman,” and by extension, the film asks the question: What would the world be like if men, especially those who make war on others as a way of life, were actually forced to face the consequences of their reckless and violent actions? Is it actually a “game” in any sense of the word, especially when chivalric literature is constantly preoccupied with the question of how much glorious violence is too much glorious violence? If you structure social prestige for the king and the noble male elite entirely around winning battles and existing in a state of perpetual war, when does that begin to backfire and devour the knightly class – and the rest of society – instead?

This leads into the central theme of Gawain’s relationships with the Lord and Lady, and how they’re treated in the film. The poem has been repeatedly studied in terms of its latent (and sometimes… less than latent) queer subtext: when the Lord asks Gawain to pay back to him whatever he should receive from his wife, does he already know what this involves; i.e. a physical and romantic encounter? When the Lady gives kisses to Gawain, which he is then obliged to return to the Lord as a condition of the agreement, is this all part of a dastardly plot to seduce him into a kinky green-themed threesome with a probably-not-human married couple looking to spice up their sex life? Why do we read the Lady’s kisses to Gawain as romantic but Gawain’s kisses to the Lord as filial, fraternal, or the standard “kiss of peace” exchanged between a liege lord and his vassal? Is Gawain simply being a dutiful guest by honoring the bargain with his host, actually just kissing the Lady again via the proxy of her husband, or somewhat more into this whole thing with the Lord than he (or the poet) would like to admit? Is the homosocial turning homoerotic, and how is Gawain going to navigate this tension and temptation?

If the question is never resolved: well, welcome to one of the central medieval anxieties about chivalry, knighthood, and male bonds! As I have written about before, medieval society needed to simultaneously exalt this as the most honored and noble form of love, and make sure it didn’t accidentally turn sexual (once again: how much male love is too much male love?). Does the poem raise the possibility of serious disruption to the dominant heteronormative paradigm, only to solve the problem by interpreting the Gawain/Lady male/female kisses as romantic and sexual and the Gawain/Lord male/male kisses as chaste and formal? In other words, acknowledging the underlying anxiety of possible homoeroticism but ultimately reasserting the heterosexual norm? The answer: Probably?!?! Maybe?!?! Hell if we know??! To say the least, this has been argued over to no end, and if you locked a lot of medieval history/literature scholars into a room and told them that they couldn’t come out until they decided on one clear answer, they would be in there for a very long time. The poem seemingly invokes the possibility of a queer reading only to reject it – but once again, as in the question of which canon we end up in at the film’s end, does it?

In some lights, the film’s treatment of this potential queer reading comes off like a cop-out: there is only one kiss between Gawain and the Lord, and it is something that the Lord has to initiate after Gawain has already fled the hall. Gawain himself appears to reject it; he tells the Lord to let go of him and runs off into the wilderness, rather than deal with or accept whatever has been suggested to him. However, this fits with film!Gawain’s pattern of rejecting that which fundamentally makes him who he is; like Peter in the Bible, he has now denied the truth three times. With the scavengers he denies being a knight; with the Lady he denies knowing about courtly love; with the Lord he denies the central bond of brotherhood with his fellows, whether homosocial or homoerotic in nature. I would go so far as to argue that if Gawain does die at the end of the film, it is this rejected kiss which truly seals his fate. In the poem, the Lord and the Green Knight are revealed to be the same person; in the film, it’s not clear if that’s the case, or they are separate characters, even if thematically interrelated. If we assume, however, that the Lord is in fact still the human form of the Green Knight, then Gawain has rejected both his kiss of peace (the standard gesture of protection offered from lord to vassal) and any deeper emotional bond that it can be read to signify. The Green Knight could decide to spare Gawain in recognition of the courage he has shown in relinquishing the enchanted belt – or he could just as easily decide to kill him, which he is legally free to do since Gawain has symbolically rejected the offer of brotherhood, vassalage, or knight-bonding by his unwise denial of the Lord’s freely given kiss. Once again, the film raises the overall thematic and moral question and then doesn’t give one straight (ahem) answer. As with the medieval anxieties and chivalric texts that it is based on, it invokes the specter of queerness and then doesn’t neatly resolve it. As a modern audience, we find this unsatisfying, but once again, the film is refusing to conform to our expectations.

As has been said before, there is so much kissing between men in medieval contexts, both ceremonial and otherwise, that we’re left to wonder: “is it gay or is it feudalism?” Is there an overtly erotic element in Gawain and the Green Knight’s mutual “beheading” of each other (especially since in the original version, this frees the Lord from his curse, functioning like a true love’s kiss in a fairytale). While it is certainly possible to argue that the film has “straightwashed” its subject material by removing the entire sequence of kisses between Gawain and the Lord and the unresolved motives for their existence, it is a fairly accurate, if condensed, representation of the anxieties around medieval knightly bonds and whether, as Carolyn Dinshaw put it, a (male/male) “kiss is just a kiss.” After all, the kiss between Gawain and the Lady is uncomplicatedly read as sexual/romantic, and that context doesn’t go away when Gawain is kissing the Lord instead. Just as with its multiple futurities, the film leaves the question open-ended. Is it that third and final denial that seals Gawain’s fate, and if so, is it asking us to reflect on why, specifically, he does so?

The film could play with both this question and its overall tone quite a bit more: it sometimes comes off as a grim, wooden, over-directed Shakespearean tragedy, rather than incorporating the lively and irreverent tone that the poem often takes. It’s almost totally devoid of humor, which is unfortunate, and the Grim Middle Ages aesthetic is in definite evidence. Nonetheless, because of the comprehensive de-historicizing and the obvious lack of effort to claim the film as any sort of authentic representation of the medieval past, it works. We are not meant to understand this as a historical document, and so we have to treat it on its terms, by its own logic, and by its own frames of reference. In some ways, its consistent opacity and its refusal to abide by modern rules and common narrative conventions is deliberately meant to challenge us: as before, when we recognize Arthur, Merlin, the Round Table, and the other stock characters because we know them already and not because the film tells us so, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. We are watching the film not because it tells us a simple adventure story – there is, as noted, shockingly little action overall – but because we have to piece together the metatext independently and ponder the philosophical questions that it leaves us with. What conclusion do we reach? What canon do we settle in? What future or resolution is ultimately made real? That, the film says, it can’t decide for us. As ever, it is up to future generations to carry on the story, and decide how, if at all, it is going to survive.

(And to close, I desperately want them to make my much-coveted Bisclavret adaptation now in more or less the same style, albeit with some tweaks. Please.)

Further Reading

Ailes, Marianne J. ‘The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality’, in Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. by Dawn M. Hadley (Harlow: Longman, 1999), pp. 214–37.

Ashton, Gail. ‘The Perverse Dynamics of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 15 (2005), 51–74.

Boyd, David L. ‘Sodomy, Misogyny, and Displacement: Occluding Queer Desire in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 77–113.

Busse, Peter. ‘The Poet as Spouse of his Patron: Homoerotic Love in Medieval Welsh and Irish Poetry?’, Studi Celtici 2 (2003), 175–92.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. ‘A Kiss Is Just a Kiss: Heterosexuality and Its Consolations in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Diacritics 24 (1994), 205–226.

Kocher, Suzanne. ‘Gay Knights in Medieval French Fiction: Constructs of Queerness and Non-Transgression’, Mediaevalia 29 (2008), 51–66.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 273–86.

Kuefler, Matthew. ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’, in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179–214.

McVitty, E. Amanda, ‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77.

Mieszkowski, Gretchen. ‘The Prose Lancelot's Galehot, Malory's Lavain, and the Queering of Late Medieval Literature’, Arthuriana 5 (1995), 21–51.

Moss, Rachel E. ‘ “And much more I am soryat for my good knyghts’ ”: Fainting, Homosociality, and Elite Male Culture in Middle English Romance’, Historical Reflections / Réflexions historiques 42 (2016), 101–13.

Zeikowitz, Richard E. ‘Befriending the Medieval Queer: A Pedagogy for Literature Classes’, College English 65 (2002), 67–80.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 169: Cocotte

(The word Cocotte has two definitions in Miriam Webster: 1. Prostitute, 2. a shallow individual baking dish usually with one or two handles. I'm challenging myself and using both! This part isn't Explicit but the next part will be, please enter with that knowledge.)

This was an absolutely terrible idea. It was honestly probably the worst idea that Draco had ever had. Although, in fairness, it had been Blaise that had set and booked the appointment for him and who had this disastrous idea.

He stood over by the window in the luxurious hotel room that Blaise had booked for him and the man coming from the "discreet" muggle company that Blaise held some sort of vested interest in. Draco certainly couldn't complain about the view at the very least, or about the thread count in the sheets on the bed.

The company still remained to be seen, however. He pulled his muggle pocket watch out of the pocket on his waistcoat, and checked it for what had to be the hundredth time since he'd arrived.

The man he was waiting for still had eight more minutes before their appointment technically started, but Draco had high standards for timeliness. He'd had to, one didn't move to the top of the potions business world without working hard, especially when he'd had so much to overcome from his past.

Shaking his head, he pulled the watch out once more but the door behind him opened. He spun around and couldn't help but be shocked by what he was seeing. The man closing the door looked like Harry Potter. He looked like a Potter who'd grown a few inches and packed on quite a bit of muscle, the bird's nest of riotous curls had been pulled back into a loose bun. The man entering had grown a short, tidy beard and wasn't wearing glasses, but something inside of Draco would have been willing to bet that it was him.

"Sorry I was running a bit behind," the man said, and yes that was definitely Potter's voice, "I hope you helped yourself to a dri-" he continued before cutting off abruptly when he caught sight of Draco.

"Potter?" he asked incredulously.

"Malfoy?" he asked at nearly the same time before seeming to recover, "Well this is unexpected."

(Read more below the cut)

"I'd certainly say so," he replied, drawing up to his full height and straightening his waistcoat, "I was told I was meeting a man named James Evans."

Potter rubbed the back of his neck, "It's what I go by in the muggle world, my dad's first name and my mum's last."

"Are you actually a-" he broke off and felt himself flushing.

At that all traces of discomfort dropped away from the other man's body and Potter grinned at him, sharp and a hint predatory. It did something strange to the pit of Draco's stomach. "A what?" he asked, advancing slowly toward him like he didn't want to frighten him away.

He flushed even deeper and Potter's grin only grew. Draco tipped his chin up, unwilling to be cowed, "someone who exchanges sex for money?"

"I am," he replied without any trace of guile or shame and that shouldn't have been as hot as Draco found it.

"Why?" he blurted.

Potter tilted his head at him, as though he was sizing him up.

"If the rumors are to be believed, you don't need the money," he added. "And with all of the things that were written when you disappeared four years ago, one would have believed that you were out hunting down dark wizards and horocruxes, or-"

"You're actually rather charming when you're babbling," Potter said and Draco felt himself flush an even deeper shade of scarlet. The other man traced a finger down his neck and just under the collar of his white button up shirt. "Suffice it to say that I'd had quite enough of saving the world. But," he said as he popped one button at the top of Draco's shirt out of it's buttonhole and traced his collarbone, "I found that I was quite good at sex," he said with a little shrug. "So here we are."

His fingers trailed ever so lightly over Draco's throat, then around the back of his head, scratching through the hair at the base of his head. Draco's jaw dropped involuntarily as his eyes fluttered shut.

Potter hummed, "You really are beautiful," he murmured as the fingers of his left hand came up and brushed across his cheek.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he took a step back, bumping against the window. When had Potter gotten this close? "What are you doing?"

Potter raised an eyebrow, this close his green eyes positively sparkled and Draco lost himself in it for a moment. Long enough that he'd almost forgotten what he'd asked in the first place until Potter asked, "Don't you want what you've come for?"

"You don't know what I've come for," he spat.

But Potter didn't seem to be offended or off put in the slightest, he smiled again, just a little dangerous and something fluttered in the pit of Draco's stomach. "Try me," Potter said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why not?" he countered. "Come on, darling," he said and a shudder slipped up Draco's spine, "say yes," he murmured, eyes flickering over Draco's face.

Draco stared at him and all he could think was that Potter's full lips looked unbearably soft. "Yes," he breathed.

Potter grinned at him and trailed a finger down his cheek before leaning into Draco's space and sucking on his earlobe.

He whimpered, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Potter's shoulders as the other man's tongue and breath on his ear turned his spine to goop.

"Take your clothes off for me," Potter murmured, soft but with an undeniable tone of command.

Something in Draco was already prepared to surrender, to give himself over to Potter's instruction. But the other part of him, the part that spent all day, everyday, being in control of every aspect of his life and business rebelled instantly. "Shouldn't I be the one telling you what to do?"

Potter laughed softly, a warm rumble that made Draco's toes curl in the bottom of his shoes. "That's not what you're here for," he replied.

"How do you know?" he asked, leaning his head back against the window as Potter's mouth trailed over his jaw and neck, his stubble scratching at Draco's sensitive skin.

Potter drew back and his green eyes searched Draco for a long moment, leaving him feeling open and a bit vulnerable. "I'm good at reading people," he said finally.

"So what do you read when you look at me?" Draco asked, lifting his chin in challenge.

"I see," Potter started as he tucked a curl absently behind his ear, and Draco immediately wanted to delve his fingers into the other man's hair, "a man who works really fucking hard."

Draco rolled his eyes.

But Potter continued before he could interject, "I see someone who spends every second of the day knowing that in the end everything is up to him. Because that's the way you've made it."

"What d-" he tried to interject, but Potter went on without pause.

"You've decided that you are the only person you can really rely on to ensure you get what you want."

"Is that so wrong?" he asked, feeling every wall he'd ever build snap into place around him.

Potter shook his head, "Not at all. I very much understand that sentiment," he replied. "But, I also know the weight of that burden," he said, his fingers toyed with the button at the bottom of Draco's waistcoat. "And so, here and now, in this room, I'm offering you the alternative. Give the control over to me and I promise," he murmured, voice low and seductive in a way that turned the blood in Draco's veins to molasses, "that I will make it worth your while."

He swallowed thickly.

"Let me take care of you for a bit, hmm?"

Draco found himself nodding before he could really finish processing.

"Good," Potter said, sending a shiver skittering up Draco's spine. "Strip for me," he repeated.

And this time Draco's fingers obeyed.

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Part 2