#like so many times I’ve seen an atrocious take that I assumed was someone being ‘pro-Palestine’

[suswous]

It’s sorta funny (not funny) sometimes you’ll see an absolutely atrocious take on Israel-Palestine, and not even know which side they’re supporting.

[therenlover]

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee​! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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                                    The University of Novi Grad

                                                 Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.  

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.  

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”  

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee​ because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ 

[bansept]

Ichihime Week | Day 1: Flowers

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ichigo scratched his head, his thoughts running wild in his head as he stared at the internet research. Once upon a time, he fell in love, started to date the woman who loved him back and all was well in the most beautiful of many worlds. Honestly, everything with Orihime, now that they were officially together, was marvelous. Waking up, while it was fastidious before, was oh so sweet now. Going to his work, taking a meal, hell, even walking in the streets was a source of unlimited happiness if his beautiful girlfriend was by his side.

Not everything was all shiny and butterflies though: with some occasional “fights” between them, and moments of silence that go with the dating experience, Ichigo was always left feeling guilty. Everyone assumed it was for no reason, since it was normal to chew a bone occasionally. But then, the same people had not been the greatest of help finding the perfect way to reveal his feelings for the auburn beauty, and the young man had to it alone, so, he’d rather not listen to unexperienced dead souls.

A few days ago, Ichigo had been a dick. An unpleasant one. After a long day of listening to nonsense sputtered by tiny kids, who did not want to obey the requests of “an orange top man” and stretch properly otherwise they would be in pain, having the same remarks from an older sensei about his lack of smile and being drenched to the bone because of sudden rain, Ichigo had been exhausted. So much he had grumbled at Orihime, and made her feel like she was bothering him by welcoming him with open arms when, quite exactly, it was the opposite. But, of course, with his greatest weapon – grumpiness – he had managed to push her away, shut this enlightening smile of hers. She had forgiven him later, shrugging it off as “it’s just a bad day, it happens from time to time”.

So now, ashamed of his behavior, feeling unworthy to even look at her without a proper apology, he was asking to google what to do. A few ideas popped in his mind, but one can never be too sure about them.

Flowers. They could mean someone carrying their courage and revealing the truth about their feelings. They could mean an apology, a vibrant “I’m sorry” as well as a desire to remain close. Very good.

.

.

.

It was stormy outside, once again. This time equipped with a large umbrella, Ichigo walked to the ABCookies bakery, frowning at how utterly impossible it was to hide the bouquet of bright white and soft orange flowers with the green herbs surrounding them. People glanced at him, mumbling about how he was either trying to be forgiven for something or trying to have a good night. He ignored them, stopping at the corner of the shop.

Deep breaths. He could do it. He had to. Orihime would forgive him for almost anything, because she loved him deeply, but he would man up and truly deserve forgiveness.

The door opened with the sound of a light bell, right above the door, and Orihime was not to be seen behind the counter. Ichigo frowned, the other worker stopping in his tracks to stare at a tall, orange-haired and clearly confused man.

“Can… I help you with anything?”

Ah. So that guy in the work clothes was obviously new. Great. Ichigo walked closer to the desk, the sound of his shoes in the silent room making it look like he was ready to fight someone.

“Could you tell me where Orihime Inoue is? I have to talk to her.” He requested, nicely and politely.

The man, shorter than him, obviously sporting fewer muscles, looked him up and down, then at the flowers, then at his face.

“Who’s asking her? I’m pretty sure those flowers won’t make you have a date with her.” He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest to look scary, Ichigo guessed.

That little… The Substitute Shinigami breathed in deeply, opening his eyes wider to not yell at the young man, who was probably just doing his job and protecting his co-worker from, maybe, yet another dude asking Orihime for something…

“I’m her boyfriend. Could you please tell her that Ichigo is here? It’s rather important.”

The man behind the counter squinted his eyes at Ichigo, not trusting him, but still going to the back to ask for Hisayo, the “boss” of the co-workers, eldest and responsible of the shop. Who knew Ichigo and shook her head when she saw him standing there like an idiot.

“Yeah, Hiro, he’s right. Orihime and he are dating. Let him through next time, otherwise he’ll scare the clients away.” She chuckled, but her face was unamused, remembering how complicated it had been to convince everyone that no, he wasn’t from a gang and yes, her clients were safe, a few months ago.

The orange-haired man nodded at her and walked at the back of the bakery, in the resting room. There, he saw Orihime enjoying a little snack she had made in the morning, licking her fingers to not waste a drop of wasabi and red bean paste.

“Hime…” He talked, surprising her and making her face him, face full of food. Ichigo tried not to laugh at the spectacle, walking up to her and lowering himself down, crouching to meet her incredulous eyes.

“Ichigo? What are you doing here? I’m supposed to get back to work in 5 minutes…” She wondered, raising her hand to touch his hair and caress it.

“I know, I’m sorry I’m perturbing your time off. But… Listen, I’m so sorry for snapping at you the other day. I was tired, drenched and pissed off, and while none of that excuses my behavior, it still is what happened. Because of my bad mood, I downgraded yours too. Made you feel bad… Which I swore never to.”

He placed the flowers in front of him, right under her nose for her to smell, and her eyes widened again, mouth gaping.

“Ichigo… Really, it’s fine! I told you I understood that you were in a pissy mood the other day. You didn’t need to buy those…” She tried to refuse them, but her eyes had left him to stare intently at the tiny blossoms of white anemones, dahlias and soft orange geraniums. Her boyfriend really was… so many things, from sweet, kind to caring and atrociously scared of hurting her feelings. She needed to reassure him, tell him all was fine.

The young man in front of her watched as she accepted the bouquet with a hand and taking his in her left hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“I know I might be overdoing it… But everyone and everywhere, people say that one tiny thing can ruin a relationship if it’s not tended to, so I want to apologize for every time I’m a dick to you. I… Don’t want to lose you because of my bad temper.” He admitted, blush on his cheeks as if he was mortified to admit this out loud.

Orihime smiled gently, sniffing the flowers for a bit before lowering the bouquet on the table, far from her leftovers, to take Ichigo’s face in her hands, kissing him on the cheek.

“You won’t lose me because you grumbled. Or because you don’t talk to me for an hour. Or something close to that. I’ve known you for years and years, and that behavior is part of who you are, and I love it as much as I love your eyes, your hair or your hands. It’s part of you, and I would be a terrible person to ask you to change that. So… Everything is fine.”

Her eyes were shining like two gems, tiny droplets shaking in them as he nodded his head, hugging her close.

As the two enjoyed their time together, the feeling of being understood and cared for, the other workers left them have their sweet moment together. Ichigo thought, with a smile, he had done a good job bringing flowers with him, if Orihime’s attempts to touch them over and over again was a sign to take into account.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, well, well. Here it is! Day one of IH week 2021!

I decided to pick “flowers” because I wanted to write something cute but realistic. I think a lot about the thoughts and little scary moments Ichigo can imagine in his big head about his girlfriend, and how insecure that might make him. He might be Soul Society’s savior, he’s still a human boy that never got any kind of indication on how to act around women his age, and certainly not around his own girlfriend.

Flowers can be something cute, romantic, erotic, sad, desperate and so many more things. I decided to go with the meaning of the three flowers I chose: anemones, dahlias and geraniums. Go look them up on internet lol

Thank you for reading this! See you tomorrow for Day 2 hehe

[whirlybirbs]

all I can think abt is how cozy obi looks in that one gifset in his robes in rots & now I’m thinking about sith!obi just looking like a cute lil thing in his huge dramatic sith robes.,

a/n: this spurred the next installment in “fortem is tiptoeing around his feelings while the senator leaps around them”, read the whole work on ao3!

He wakes to sound of something sizzling in a pan on the oven, the smell wafting over to his perch among the cushions on your sofa. 

The Sith inhales long and slow, pulling his eyes open as he shifts in the small nest he’d burrowed himself into throughout the night -- the two blankets you’d provided, plush and soft, are around his legs and his robe is balled up beneath his head, making him look like he’s drowning in a river of bedding. He can feel a crick in his neck from the odd angle he’d dozed off in, having been guarding the apartment with more seriousness than he’d originally anticipated. 

He couldn’t help it, though, after you’d ambled from your room at an odd hour with anxiety painted over your usually stoic features. It was... out of character for you. Though, the Sith couldn’t blame you. There’d been an attempt on your life earlier that night. Sleep, for many, wouldn’t come easy after a threat to that degree. Even for an icy, powerful, young Senator who has a Sith Lord wrapped around her very thumb. 

Fortem exhales. He pulls himself upright and blinks blearily over the back of the couch at the morning sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. 

When in the seven hells did she pull the shades up? Had he really slept through that?

The morning traffic has already begun, the sound of the air-lanes humming by. It dances on the plush, maroon carpet. The light is soft, warm and sweet -- the exact opposite of how Fortem looks right about now. 

He has to fight the temptation to fall back into the cushions. 

Fortem’s hair is strewn about, with his auburn cowlick pointing straight up, yet simultaneously in every direction possible. His black under-tunic is the only thing around his shoulders. After all, he’d hucked his top robes off his body in a flash of heat in the middle of the night. Your apartment had been freezing one minute, then unbearably hot the next. He was trying to get comfortable. 

Fortem scratches his beard as he swings his legs off the couch. Woolen socks meet the carpet and he cracks his neck, rubs his face, all before being greeted with a soft laugh from your direction.

You’re slipping a prevva egg omelette onto a plate for him as you speak, gaze lingering on the sleepy Sith from your spot at the kitchen’s island.

“I was worried you’d gone and died in your sleep, Darth Fortem.”

Fortem groans and stands, moving to snatch his tunic and tug it over his head. As he does, you spy the hem of his long-sleeve lift, showing a trail of hair up his abdomen that matches that of his beard along with dark Dathomirian tattoos -- you pretend having not caught the sight, lowering your eyes as you fix yourself a plate for breakfast while he clears his throat and moves to fix the mess he’d made of the couch in his sleep.

And his hair. Gods, his hair is a mess. Atrocious. He fusses it down.

His is hoarse with sleep when he finally speaks. “I might as well have. How long have you been up, then?”

“Not long,” you tut, switching off the oven and gathering the two plates. You move gracefully across the apartment, dropping the plates at their spots on the dining table outlooking the air-lanes of Coruscant’s morning traffic. It’s practiced, and Fortem wonders if you’ve made breakfast for many overnight guests before.

He steps from the sofa, moving towards the table that you’ve settled at -- you sit unlike he’s seen before. One leg pulled to your chest, arms leaned around to dig at the omelette on the delicate china plate. Your fork and knife tinker softly against the setting as you drop a bite into your mouth and chew.

You look softer -- less... dangerous. Fortem wonders if it’s the warm light of the morning, or the domesticity radiating from your actions. He settles down at the table without a word, golden eyes glued to you the entire time he moves.

You shift in your seat as Fortem chews, happily realizing you are a good cook; he spares you a sheepish look as he digs in for another bite. 

“Hungry?” you ask softly after swallowing your mouthful, a polished example of etiquette even in the informal setting of a hit-man and his employer eating breakfast together, “There’s another carton in the fridge --”

“You didn’t need to feed me.”

“I don’t have guests often,” you shrug, “It’s rare I cook for someone aside from myself -- and you did pluck me from a free-fall last night. This is the least I could do for saving my life.”

You gather your napkin from your lap, placing your fork and knife down as you stand -- Fortem continues his endeavor on finishing his plate, stealing a side-ways glance as you move across the apartment. You snatch something from the counter, then sit back down. 

You’re still in your robe from the night before, hair relaxed and face bare -- he spies a glimmer of gold along your neckline and tries his best not to stare at your décolletage as you slide a platinum card his way. 

Manicured nails recoil as his face warps in confusion.

“Your payment.”

His mouth is full. He chews quickly, eyeing you and the card and you again, before snagging the credit crypto-card with a measured level of scrutiny. 

He’s only seen these a handful of times before -- but it makes sense. It’s an account, essentially, operating off your usual banking chain-code and heavily encrypted. Maul had once copped a collection of these little beauties; not even the best cryto-pirates in the guild had been able to slice the binds off the credit transfer system. 

Reliable, clean, secretive. 

Perfect payment for a man of Fortem’s caliber.

His brows are knotted. “I’ve not delivered my end of the --”

“The deal has changed,” you mutter, “I think it’s fair to say.”

His fork wavers in the air. Golden eyes blink at you. 

“I’d like to keep you around,” you say finally, digging around your omelette and pushing the egg about on your plate, “Until this is sorted and I find out who is trying to ensure I end up dead... For the price of triple our original agreement, if you agree.”

“Forget the price.”

You balk. 

He doesn’t even look up, just forks another mouthful and chews. Fortem’s jaw tightens as he does which gives you a better view of the tattoos along the column of his throat and neck. They’re jagged and puzzle-like, running like deep rivers across his skin. They disappear beneath his collar and the stubble of his beard. You wonder if they’re everywhere; his chest, of course, but his arms? Legs? Back?

You can see the edges of some peeking out from the hem of his under-tunic’s cuff, darting up his wrist. Typically, his hands are hidden beneath jet-black, leather gloves. But now, in the morning sun, you can see the callouses and scars alongs his knuckles from years of fighting.

His gaze meets yours. “I am serious, stop looking at me like that.”

“... Why?”

A shrug. He tosses his napkin onto his now empty plate and sits back. He crosses his arms and shrugs. Fortem speaks slowly, ignoring the annoyed wane of his heart and mindful logic as he does. 

“Wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to take advantage of a kind Senator in need, would it?”

You narrow your eyes, albeit playfully. “And what of serving your best interest?”

Fortem shrugs. “You said it yourself; things have changed.”

His lips quirk and your face plays at something just as amused. Your lashes flutter, a scoff on your tongue, when suddenly, there’s a call at the door. 

A sharp knock, followed by the buzzer announcing loudly:

“-- Senator, Sir Praze from the Financial District is here for you.”

Your head whips up from the meal. 

Fortem makes a face.

Instantly, you’ve sprung up; your eyes are wider than ever, face contorting into an expression that fleets between worry and fear and anxiety all at the same time. Fortem screws his brow as you usher him up with hushed words and gentle hands.

“Get up,” you hiss, “Into the bedroom.”

“What?”

You move quickly across the room, hands pressing the buzzer as you speak cooly into it. “One moment. Send him up.”

Fortem is confused -- but suddenly realizes that you’re about to receive a guest... and can’t help but snort. You swat away any remarks he’s about to croon your way with your hand, opening the door to your bedroom and nearly shoving him in. 

“Stay here and,” you bite your tongue, “Just... be quiet, Fortem, please.”

He leans on the door frame. 

“So ashamed of me, dear?”

“Terribly,” you bite, smacking his arm away as you close the door, grumbling as you do, “Please! This... of course he’d show up --”

Fortem is then left with the sight of your door as you hurry away and slam it quickly in a haze. 

From the other side of the door, he hears you greet someone -- this Sir Praze character, he assumes -- rather stiffly before a moment of silence washes over the room and Fortem has to lean his ear to the door to get a good listen.

“My love, I’d been so worried.”

... Oh. How curious. 

[heystephwrites]

The Peace Referendum

Originally published on October 13th, 2016 I wrote this blog post to answer questions I received about the peace referendum in Colombia.

The week before last, in the midst of the SENA strike aka the impromptu and undesired holiday, I began to write a blog post titled COLOMBIA SIGNS PEACE DEAL. Well, two weeks after the referendum I can say that someone certainly signed a peace deal but it wasn’t Colombia.

President Juan Manuel Santos, a man of polarised opinion, was seemingly making good on his pre-electoral promise of peace since, three weeks ago, he signed a historic peace deal with the FARC rebels. The FARC, whilst not the only rebel group involved in the 52-year conflict, are by far the largest and most influential. It was assumed that if this deal had been accepted by the Colombian population other groups such as the ELN would follow suit in the coming months and years. Alas, they did not and thus it’s back to the drawing board for the peace talks.

The decision against the peace treaty has left many, Colombian and extranjero alike, scratching their heads in confusion. Why would the people vote no? Are Colombians not interested in resolving the longest-running armed conflict in the Americas? The answer, as always, is it’s complicated. Nothing here is straightforward; not the conflict; not public opinion; not even the referendum itself.

In theory, referendums seem like a wonderful avenue of direct democracy in an otherwise imperfect system, in reality, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Referendums are extremely rarely used, although 2016 does seem to be the year of the referendum (here’s looking at you Brexit, Thailand, and Italy among others) because alongside other flaws they have the tendency to be incredibly unpredictable. In this case, up until the day of the vote the polls had forecasted solid support for the ‘yes’ camp but it was not to be. To determine why this was, one must look at what drives voters in a referendum. Is it a carefully deliberated conviction based on clearly explained facts? Probably not.

In this and other referendums, the voting public was not sufficiently informed to make decisions on such a complicated and technical issue. This wasn’t merely a vote for peace (to which all would agree) but on a specific peace treaty, one that the details of which were not made abundantly clear. There was a sense of secrecy about it and secrecy always breeds mistrust. What we do know about the peace treaty is that it was particularly lenient towards the FARC. It was extremely lenient in fact, no-jail-time-and-10-seats-in-parliament-to-a-diminishing-and-discredited-rebel-army lenient.

This should really have been foreseen, however. Santos is still in power because of his promise to do what his predecessors could not and secure lasting peace. His second term of presidency was secured by the skin of his teeth, just 50.95% of the vote as opposed to 68.9% in 2010. Many of his supporters that tipped the scales were those among the left that hoped for peaceful negotiation with the FARC. One can assume this is what drove his tactic of peace “at any costs" - a tactic criticized by his old buddy and former Colombian president Alvaro Uribe.

That said, buddy mightn’t be the best word to describe their current relationship as although Uribe helped win the presidency for Santos in 2010, the two later split. Uribe’s campaign against the peace deal is thought to be one of the principal reasons that the no vote prevailed.

The basis of Uribe's campaign was that the FARC should be punished harshly for their crimes.

“Peace is exciting, but the text of the Havana deal is disappointing,” said Uribe

Uribe’s campaign took advantage of the widespread hatred of the FARC. Honestly, the phrase widespread hatred might be an understatement. For many Colombians, there is a special place in hell for members of the FARC as the most recent period of violence was started by the FARC’s insurgency and the violence has been pretty horrific. The numbers reported vary but most agree that it has left; more than 260,000 dead with the large majority being civilian; 6.9 million people internally displaced (which, for reference, is even more than Sudan and Iraq combined), and over 75,000 people have disappeared or been kidnapped. Somewhere in the region of half of all Colombians have lost a family member to violence over the years and many understandably lay the blame at FARC's door. Yet, when looking at the evidence that doesn't come directly from the Colombian government, one can't help but feel the hatred is, in some cases, misplaced. If you read nothing else in this post please read this:

“The United Nations has estimated that 12% of all killings of civilians in Colombian conflict have been committed by the FARC and ELN guerrillas, and the rest, 80%, by government forces and paramilitaries.”

So yes, the FARC have undoubtedly done some atrocious things but the Colombian government also have A LOT to answer for.  

This has obviously never been mentioned. In the same way that many voters in the UK were swayed by xenophobic propaganda, strong personalities such as Nigel Farage, and expensive advertising campaigns during the Brexit movement, the hatred of the FARC was a much more beneficial political tool for Uribe’s campaign. In the UK, voters were lured with falsified promises, all of which have fallen to the wayside, leaving many regretting their decision. Whether this happens in Colombia remains to be seen.

In addition to hatred, many citizens mistrust the FARC. This, as has been mentioned, is not the first attempt at peace or a peace deal. In previous endeavours, the FARC have gone back on their word and this also played a major factor in the outcome.

Interestingly though, the areas in which one would expect people to have the most hatred towards the FARC voted for the peace deal. It seems the area’s most affected by the violence just wanted it to stop. They were not interested in vengeance, just peace.

For this reason, the phrase "tyranny of the majority” is often associated with referendums. This situation is an example of the worst kind because the whims of the majority have superseded the needs of the minority. Although in this case, "the tyranny of whoever bothered to leave their house on that rainy Sunday" would be more apt.

Referendums are only direct democracy if people bother to take part in them. Turnout for this one was a disappointing 37%. Reasons for this low turnout vary from the weather to general indifference. Another thing to remember is that unlike Europe most Latin American countries are new to direct democracy (the exception being Uruguay) and Colombians especially, weary from years of violence and disappointment, are particularly politically apathetic.

Another difficulty that plagued this referendum was a problem with separability. This is the inability to separate the facts before them from other issues. There were a few somewhat direct issues; others were completely unrelated. One less related issue was Santos and his government.

Everywhere except Colombia Santos’ popularity is soaring but here in the country itself, it’s at an all-time low. Colombia’s economy has been struggling of late and unemployment is at 9 percent. He has made some highly questionable moves during his presidency but this isn’t all Santos’ fault; the low prices for oil and trade relations with China have a lot to do with it. Regardless there are many Colombians that believe he has been far too preoccupied with peace negotiations to really deal with the economy. Peace should bring eventual prosperity to the country but for now, the Colombian peso has fallen sharply against the dollar since the talks began in 2012. Although before the referendum a yes appeared certain to anyone paying attention, nationally or internationally, it seemed to many nationals that his interest lay more in international public opinion. This only fortified the perception within Colombia that, now nearing the end of his time in political office he was pursuing other honours and that his haste for a deal was not for the good of the nation, but to secure the Nobel Peace Prize.

Whilst campaigning overseas Santos made the Secretary of Education, Gina Parody, the face of the yes vote in Colombia. No one is sure why, Parody is even less popular than Santos, but we can be sure that this backfired on him. One of the ideas that Parody tried to push was gender-specific care for victims of sexual violence, however, because Parody is openly gay, right wing activists twisted this when it was reported to the general public. Somehow it ended up being explained to already concerned Christians as a “gender ideology” that sought to promote sexual diversity. Many voted no because they believed the treaty to be a threat to the nuclear family. Sadly after months of having her sexual orientation used to sabotage her work, Parody has since resigned.

Already you can see that the situation is very, very complicated and if I’m honest I’ve barely scratched the surface. The more important question is “so what now Colombia? Where do we go from here?” Back to the drawing board, it looks like. Let’s just hope there are no casualties while we wait.

[hisarchives]

secret lover : h.s

Harry is a quiet man, choosing the comforts of his diary and Mother’s flower store over the outside world. Within the shop he meets who he can only describe as an angel, a woman who comes by every Monday to pick up a bouquet of flowers for her sick friend. He lives in his own reality but, a rainy day and an absent Mother creates the perfect opportunity to step out into her world.

this is my first piece for Harry and the first piece i’ve written in over a year so i apologise if it’s rough ! i hope you enjoy it however xx

Dear diary,

The day is the twentieth of August; the weather is fucking horrible, raining for the third day in a row. The shop is empty; apparently, no one urges to buy tulips when the weather is so macabre. I am hoping this is not true for everyone. There are five minutes left before she is meant to be here, to buy a bouquet of daises and forget-me-nots for her friend who has been sick for the past five months. She never misses a Monday, always coming in at 11:26 am during her lunch break. Mum always has her flowers ready for her along with a chocolate from the bakery next door. Her favourites are the dark chocolate ones. I pay too much attention to her.

The flower store, better known as Sunbeams with the fading smiley face on the shop window, was empty. The world around it was filled with a grey colour yet inside the shop was its own rainbow made up of petunias, pansies and many more flowers. In one corner of the shop where all the succulents and hanging plants were kept sat a young man, tatted arms covered in a sunshine sweater, staring down at a leather bound diary. He can always be seen writing in the old thing with ear buds in, neglecting the world around him.

He was an enigma to the people of Holmes Chapel. Everyone knew of him but no one knew him. Harry, that was his name, he was a weird one. Despite his Mum, Anne and his sister Gemma being the most adventurous and charismatic people in all of Britain, Harry was the opposite. He hid behind his long ringlets and enormous sweaters, eyes downcast as if to make eye contact with someone was a death wish. His posture was quite atrocious, constantly hunched over in attempts to protect himself. In spite of his obvious need to hide from the world, he still caught the eyes of some of the people in Holmes Chapel simply because despite the walls he built around him, his beauty was radiant. A sort of beauty that felt like the softness of sunshine yet held the abrasive nature of a Nirvana song. He held no evident love for anything else besides his Mum and the comfort of his book.

At exactly 11:26 the first customer of Sunbeams stumbled in, body trembling as the rain soaked into her skin. She rubbed her arms with a vigorous nature trying to bring them back to life as she walked towards the counter. As always, her small bouquet sat on top the counter, wrapped up beautifully besides a small homemade chocolate. A smile warmed her face and created an inferno within Harry as he admired her. Harry had decided that in this moment that maybe she was the reason for global warming. He saw her awkwardly look around for Anne to appear to serve her and Harry cursed inwardly as he remembered that his Mum had left to drop off lunch for his sister. He would have to serve her, but how could he do so when he has never even held eye contact with her?

Yes, Harry had not shared a word, a glance or a touch with the woman but had conjured such a deep infatuation for her within his heart. It was at this that he was reminded that he did not even know her name. He had the heart of an old romanticist poet or a twelve-year-old boy, in love with everything at first sight.

“Hello, you’re Harry right?”

Harry did not have to look up to know she was looking at him, he could feel it on his skin. He stared at the pages covered in barely legible writing and small drawings with wide eyes. She had known his name. This was no amazing discovery, the town was small enough to know everyone on a first name basis, but this was still memorable for him. Never had his name sounded so good but the soft confidence that came from her lips made him fall in love with his name. Harry, Harry, it echoed in his mind.

Harry was so caught up in his mind that he did not see her coming towards him so he was incredibly unprepared for the gentle tap she gave him on his shoulder. His head shot up towards the women and for the first time he had looked into her eyes. They swallowed him like a motherly hug. He found a comfort inside her eyes that he had never found before. Harry was unprepared for how much of an artwork she truly was.

His lavender lips parted but no sound could come through. She let a small smile find home on her face and finally spoke again.

“Sorry for interrupting but, I’m just here to buy this bouquet of flowers” she held up the familiar pairing of flowers to his face. I know, Harry thought. “Your Mum is normally here but she must’ve ducked out to drop some lunch off for Gemma I’m assuming?” Her voice was so charming; he could finally understand all the metaphors writers made when saying love was like magic. She had definitely put a spell on him.

Harry just nodded at her question to verify her statement and stopped breathing yet again when she laughed.

“Your mum always talks about how Gemma forgets her lunch, she’s lucky that your Mum is so generous” The woman stepped back and began to sway in her spot.

He took the time to take her in because she simply could not be consumed in seconds. No, she needed to be admired in bites, each savouring the delicacy that is she. Her face that shun in place for the sun, her eyes that Harry noted were reminiscent of an Emily Barrett-Browning sonnet. She was snug in a large earth brown coat and one of those beanies that covered the ears, just like Holden Caulfields’. Did she have to be adorable in every single way?

“I’m l-lucky to have my Mum” His voice pierced through the air as its huskiness opposed her smoothness.

To most in Holmes Chapel, it was a luxury to hear the ever-quiet Harry speak. He rarely ever spoke and when he did, it was only to say a few words, maybe a muttered thank you or a quick yes to a question. Whatever it was, hearing his voice was a gift.

The flaps of her beanie whipped against her ears as she turned to look at him, a mixture of surprise and delight on her face. She quickly nodded and her smile grew now showing of her teeth.

“You definitely are, Harry”

A silence enveloped the two and normally Harry never felt safe in the shared quiet, but this one felt comfortable, as if he had lived within it his whole life. He was quite pleased with himself for speaking to her and her response made him feel belated. Harry was achieving more feats within five minutes than he had ever done in his twenty three years of life. His Mum is going to be extremely proud of him.

He saw her look down at her watch, one that looked on the verge of falling apart on her wrist, and heard a small sigh escape her.

“I need to head out now sorry, running a bit late” she shuffled back towards the counter with her right hand stuffed in her pocket evidently looking for money.

Before she could find any Harry had begun to shake his head causing his locks to bounce around his shoulders.

“It’s on the house” yet again his husky voice sparked a sharp reaction from her as she immediately stopped what she was doing to look at the man in front of her.

His hair was slightly messy after the rapid shaking of his head, hands wrapped up in the bottoms of his sleeves. His appearance was a contrast to the voice that escaped him earlier, the overwhelming brightness of his outfit juxtaposed the deepnees of his voice. It shook the woman in front of him to her core. Before she could speak again he cut her off with another shake of his head.

“Don’t forget your chocolate” these few words made her smile sprout on her face again.

She began to walk out of the shop backwards, eyes still staring into his and smile still growing. He was scared she was going to trip and stumble but she walked with an elegant confidence that astounded him. Before she opened the door to leave, she gave him the prettiest of nods and went off into the rain soaked world again.

Harry was left breathless, lifeless and for the first time in this life, thoughtless. After her departure, it was as if he forgot how to function, body falling apart without her presence around to keep him stitched together. He knew he would have to write about this day, document every detail about her, each in their own miniature essay. He reflected that maybe this was weird, that no normal person would write about some girl in immense depth. However, she was not just ‘some girl’, she was the closest a human would ever get to the heavens. She was comfort, warmth, a sense of belonging wrapped up in a coat too large for her.

This day had forever been etched onto Harry’s heart. It was the first time in his life he felt home, safety and acceptance within someone, besides his mother of course.

[ardent-musings]

The Girl Who Vanished (Part 1)

Chapter 10: An Unlikely Match

After being away for months, Ana wanted to spend every moment she could with Draco. For the rest of the break, the two of them were chasing after the golden snitch that he got as his gift from their mother. Draco caught it every time, no matter how hard Ana tried to get it. She pleaded for Draco to come along with her when she was going back to King's Cross Station, but the idea of him having to say goodbye again was almost too much for him. He was upset until she told him that the next time he'd be at the station, they would be going to Hogwarts together, and that was enough for the boy to give in. If Ana thought leaving Draco behind was hard before, having to leave him to his lonesome in that big house for a second time made her stomach hurt.

But being away from Draco wasn't the only thing Ana was dreading. She knew that the twins' mercy had expired and she assumed that they would've pranked her as soon as she stepped foot in the castle. They were probably putting something elaborate for her given it had been so long since their last prank, she figured. The thought of having to bear another cake explosion or something similar did not seem exciting in the slightest.

Yet her biggest grievance was that because of her poor attention span in history of magic, Professor Binns was going to be introducing to her tutor her next class. It was at the end of the day, which meant that paying attention to any of her other classes or listening to her friends during meals was an impossible task. She felt bad for not being there for them, but her mind was reeling with anticipation.

Her leg was bouncing in worry which earned her a few annoyed glances from the Hufflepuff beside her. But she couldn't stop. Her body had to expunge some energy before she exploded and this was the only way she could do so while sitting in the most boring class of wizard kind. The class went by agonizingly slow, the professor mumbling about an old rebellion that took place years ago that no one even talked about even more. Needless to say, Ana was not entertained.

Time stood entirely still, up until the point when the ghost dismissed the class, and she tried her hardest to keep out of his sight and sneak out of the room. She figured she could duck down, roll out the door and pop back up like all those spy movies Calista had told her so much about. But that fantasy was pointless as the professor phased through the other students and made a beeline towards her.

"Not so fast, Ms. Malfoy," he groaned tiredly. "You know what time it is."

Oh, she knew. That's why she tried to sneak away, she thought. Her head dipped in defeat as he showed her to his office. Her feet felt like they were weighed down with bricks as she trudged after the ghost. After ascending a few stairs, she stepped into a simple, dusty office to see someone already seated in front of the professor's large desk.

"Ana, meet your tutor."

Her nervousness quickly drained and was replaced with aggravation as she looked into the face of the person who was supposed to help her. This was it. This was the worst case scenario.

"Your tutor is Wright?" Alex howled, all the girls were sitting in the common room discussing Ana's situation.

Ana eyes popped at how loud the girl yelled his name. Sure he wasn't very popular among the Slytherins, mainly because he didn't talk to many people, but Ana wouldn't want any eavesdroppers to be listening in to them right now. From what she could tell, every other student was minding their business, but Ana didn't want to take any chances.

"Yes," Ana sighed lowly, "and apparently Aeron is the best student in his class. How that happened I have no idea." Even saying his name out loud felt like a curse and it felt wrong on her tongue, like an acid pop that was so sour that it burnt a hole through it. She made a mental note to stick to referring him by his last name; maybe she could convince herself that it wasn't really him if she refused to say his name.

Ana was laying down on the long suede couch that faced the fireplace with her head in Calista's lap. The girl played with Ana's silver hair, brushing through the long locks gently. The position reminded her of when her mother used to play with her hair, and the memory made her smile tiredly.

"I mean, if there's going to be anyone who knows a lot about wizard history it makes sense for a Pureblood to know a lot about it," Alex guessed. "I'm surprised you're having so much trouble with it."

Ana whined "It's cause I can't stay awake for the life of me. How come the professor can be dead but I can't be asleep? Sounds pretty unfair to me."

Alex snorted from her seat on the ground, her back to the couch the other two were sitting on. She was reading a copy of some magazine that Ana had never seen before. It was called The Quibbler which Ana thought was a strange name for a paper. "Well what are you going to do?"

"Don't suppose I can just cheat the rest of the time can I?" Ana sighed in defeat.

"Sure you can, but you'll bomb the final once that comes around."

She hated that Calista was right. Cheating would help in the moment, but when it came to proving herself with the final exam, she knew she would just end up failing. It pained every part of her to know that she was going to be spending the unforeseeable future with the boy. And that he was her best option.

The slamming of the common room doors startled the girls, and coming down from the large staircase was the boy in question. When she laid eyes on him strutting down the stairs, Ana sat up and adjusted her posture quickly. She could hardly remember why all the girls started disliking the boy, but as soon as she caught his expression it all came rushing back. He was walking with his head high like he owned everything in sight as he sneered and made his way to the girls.

"I need to talk to you, Malfoy," his face was pointed and Ana figured she should make this quick, like ripping off a bandage from an open wound. She got off the couch and gave the girls a sad glance while she met the boy at a table that was situated away from everyone else.

"What do you need, Wright?" she snapped while crossing her arms. He chuckled in response.

"No need to be snappy, Malfoy. Just wanted to ask when you were available to study," his voice softened a bit. "Professor Binns said you were really struggling."

The boy's face was kind and curious as he waited for her to answer. He wasn't making any quick snips or making her feel uncomfortable, which was surprising to her. She took a deep breath and figured she should be honest with him, he was doing her a favor after all.

"I am struggling," she revealed with a sigh.

"That's okay. I can help with that. History is my strongest subject."

"Yeah, how is that?" Ana decided to play along with his strangely upbeat mood.

"Pick a day and time for studying and you can ask me all the questions you want," he replied with a yawn. It was their first week back and getting back into the rhythm of their routine was also tiresome to everyone. She noticed how his dark under eyes seemed swollen with exhaustion and figured he was having a hard time adjusting too.

After going back and forth, the two came to an agreement about when they would make the time to study. She wasn't looking forward to being tutored, but in the long run it was what she needed. And for some reason she believed Aeron when he said he would be able to help.

~

Time's up, blondie. Do your worst.

Gred & Forge

"Well that was nice while it lasted," Ana laughed as she flung the boys' note onto the Slytherin table during dinner one night in late January. She knew the twins were going to be back to their old ways but they didn't even give her much time to wind down from the holidays. They were awfully impatient. But she never figured they were the waiting type.

"You're not going to prank them back are you?" Calista asked worriedly.

"No! Definitely not," Ana laughed as she munched on her dessert. "I'll let them think I'm planning my attack meanwhile I'm buying myself more time before they eventually catch on and prank me anyways."

The group gushed over their holidays and Alex's eyes glowed whenever Calista talked about all the muggle traditions she and her parents did. Her favorite was the making of little houses out of gingerbread. Ana knew that would never happen at the Manor, but she found the idea of Draco making a tiny house with food adorable. Somehow she'd have to make that happen next year.

They continued their meal excitedly until Aeron walked up to the group, looking like his normal serious self. Immediately, all the fun chatter and jokes stopped and Ana looked up at the boy who was holding a history of magic textbook. He asked her if she was ready to go as he braced the stares from her and her friends. She wasn't, but she was going to honor their agreement no matter how painful he or the class was.

If actual class wasn't torturous enough, sitting in the library for two hours while Aeron went over everything Professor Binns instructed him to review proved to be even worse. Ana still found herself unable to focus. For the first time she felt bad for Aeron, because she didn't want to waste either of their time. But her eyes would drift to the other people in the library, finding them far more interesting to observe.

"Okay, clearly this isn't working," Aeron huffed as he slumped back in his seat. "Have you remembered a single thing I've said?"

"No," she sighed and he threw his head back in frustration. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm getting distracted."

Aeron rolled his eyes at her and it only made Ana feel worse. She wasn't trying to go out of her way to be horrible; it just turned out that history was atrocious no matter who taught it. Her hands defaulted to playing with her hair, just to ignore his harshness.

"Distracted by what?" his voice was growing frustrated. "We're in the library, the quietest place in the castle. What could be distracting you?"

Ana's cheeks began to heat up, she felt embarrassed for not being able to keep up her end of the bargain. He was helping her and asking for nothing in return, just for her to pay attention.

"I don't know. Maybe a change in location could help me," Ana wondered, tapping the top of the library table with the ends of her hair like a paintbrush.

"Like what? Where would you like to go?"

He stared at the girl, half expecting her to just walk out of the library and call everything off. Aeron began to think that agreeing to this was a mistake, he should just let the girl fail on her own terms. He wasn't expecting her to be a star pupil, but he at least expected her to be a participating one. She wasn't known to be a bad student, she was actually one of the best students of their years from what others of said. So why she was doing so poorly right now was beyond him.

But Ana was not going to let him down. She was going to make this arrangement work.

"I know just the place," Ana said excitedly, as she launched out of her seat and nearly skipped out of the crowded library. He looked at her with a pained face, she was making this far more difficult than it had to be. And yet, he knew that he was going to follow her wherever she would run.

He refused to run throughout the halls, but he kept up with the girl as she weaved and rounded the corridors of the castle, nearly knocking herself over. She had a smile on her face, which he wasn't used to seeing when he was around. He didn't hate it, but Godric, he just wanted to help her study and be on his way.

Aeron trailed behind her as she led him to the Astronomy Tower where she came to a halt. The snow was softly falling and it covered the landscape of the grounds like a fluffy blanket. Her features softened as she stared out into the sky that was slowly growing darker as the sun began to set. She sat down with her back to the view, nightfall was on the horizon.

"You come here often don't you?" Aeron asked with a raised brow. He took his spot across from her and opened his textbook again. He had to admit, it was far quieter and less busy than the library. Maybe she was onto something.

"I come here sometimes when I can't sleep," she admitted as she sat with her legs crisscrossed and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.

"And how often can't you sleep?"

Ana never figured Aeron would ask so many questions about herself, but she didn't want to ruin the situation in anyway. This was the longest they had gone without making a snide comment or rolling their eyes at one another, "I have nightmares a lot of the time and it keeps me up."

"What's the nightmare about?" He stared at her a bit of kindness which made her smile. Despite the boy being nice to her, she wasn't sure what the nightmare meant herself. That wasn't something she wanted to dive into with someone she wasn't exactly friends with.

"I'm not quite sure," she shut the question down gently. "But I do know that I will fail this class if I don't get studying."

Aeron smirked and nodded his head at her comment. And for the first time of the night, when Aeron began to go over the last lesson, she was able to close her eyes and absorb some of what the boy was saying. They spent hours together at the top of the tower with him quizzing her and testing her on the material. After every correct answer, she beamed with excitement; her blue eyes would glow despite how dark it was getting outside and Aeron was beginning to enjoy her reactions.

While the two of them spent their time together, a boy was staring at a bit of parchment, wondering why the two were spending so much time in the tower by themselves. He found them being together unnecessary, especially since he noticed how the two would butt heads during meals a lot of the time. It didn't make sense.

"Hey Gred, take a look at the map," George said, as he passed the faded and aged bit of parchment to his brother from his bed. Fred was about to go to sleep, but his sleepy eyes focused quickly when he took a look at the paper. He noticed the two names together and wondered what in the world they would be doing there at this time of night. His ears began to feel warm and they started to match the color of his hair.

"That's quite strange, Forge," Fred agreed with his twin who was watching him, suddenly feeling more awake. After a moment of staring at the paper, his face twisted into a mischievous grin. "Perhaps, we should pay them a visit."

"Tonight?" George whined. He had just gotten settled into bed and his eyes were barely staying awake. "No, not tonight, Fred. Come on."

"You really feel like passing the opportunity, Georgie?" Fred got out of his bed and sat at the edge of George's. He began to furiously tap at the parchment. "This could be the easiest sneak attack of history!"

George rolled his eyes at his brother, of course he wanted to ambush them. Meanwhile, George was only interested in sprawling out on his bed and falling asleep. And so he did just that; he turned away from his older twin and ignored Fred.

But that wasn't going to stop Fred from investigating what the two Slytherins were up to, so he grabbed the pile of parchment and his wand, marching out of the dorm room like he was on a mission. After making sure no one was in the common room, Fred navigated his way through the dark corridors of the castle. His mind wasn't focused on his surroundings though. He was wondering why in the world she was hanging around that bird-looking boy. It wasn't like the two of them got along; Fred had caught sight of them bickering multiple times in the Great Hall and one of Ana's friends always looked ready to fight. So there was no good reason for them to be together at the Astronomy Tower right now.

His hands got clammy as he climbed the winding staircase that led to the lower level of the tower. As he continued to climb, he could hear Ana's voice clear as can be. It had been so long since he'd heard it and a small smile spread across his face. Fred slowly walked along the wooden platform that was situated under the highest point of the tower and it creaked quietly. But his sounds were getting drowned out by the high pitched squeals of excitement Ana made.

She was bouncing up and down cheerfully; Aeron had been quizzing her for an hour and she was finally down to her last question. She just needed to get one more correct.

Aeron smiled as he sat on his knees, getting ready to celebrate if she were to get his final question right. "What year did the Goblin Rebellion start?" His voice was more excited than she'd ever heard it before and even Fred found the boy's tone unfamiliar.

Ana racked her brain for the answer, not wanting to let the boy down after all she put him through that night. "1612?" she answered uncertainly.

Fred took a deep breath when it became clear to him that they were just studying, his shoulders relaxed at the revelation. He didn't know why he was so unnerved by the idea to begin with. They were simply preparing for a test or something silly like that.

"Yes! Yes, Ana!" Aeron yelled proudly as he slammed the textbook closed and jumped to his feet.

For the first time all year, history was beginning to make sense to her and she hated to admit it, but she would still be struggling if it weren't for Aeron. And strangely, she found that he was patient with her even though the tutoring started off pretty rocky. Maybe studying with him wouldn't be as disastrous as she imagined it would be.

Ana got to her feet and laughed excitedly, matching the boy's energy; it was a moment to celebrate for the both of them. But when Aeron went in to give her a congratulatory hug, Ana jumped back and shielded herself off with her arms. Aeron chuckled as he turned away from her to collect their textbooks, not noticing how she guarded herself. But Ana's face flipped from joyful to distant, which didn't go unnoticed by the red head that was situated beneath the two Slytherins. Fred remembered how she flinched when he went to tap her arm on the train, and she repeated that same action today with Aeron. At first, Fred thought that he just startled her that day, but now he was wondering if she was always so jumpy.

But he couldn't dwell on it too long, because the sound of their pattering footsteps grew closer to him. He hardly had enough time to duck behind a pillar before they descended the iron staircase and passed right by the boy. The two of them were chatting about when they'd meet next and Fred grimaced at the thought of them becoming friends. Something about Aeron didn't sit well with Fred, and the boy knew that he would be keeping a close eye on his map. He wasn't going to miss out on their next meeting.

[berniesrevolution]

In Dilley, Texas, there is only one grocery store, and that grocery store is Lowes. (It is not a Lowes, like the home improvement center. It is a totally different and legally distinct store that also happens to be called Lowes.) Lowes is a place of many mysteries. I once went there to buy vegetable broth for a sick coworker, and combed the soup aisle for nearly 20 minutes before being forced to admit that no, Lowes does not carry vegetable broth. The closest thing they had was a can of something called “vegetable beef.” Lowes does, however, carry bacon-flavored pancake syrup, quite a lot of animal pheromones in spray cans (including such choice selections as “raccoon urine” and “sow in heat,” which I assume are for agricultural rather than cosmetic purposes), and a large selection of devotional candles in glass cylinders.

I had never paid much attention to the candles, but a friend of mine was in town, volunteering at the child internment camp where I work as an immigration lawyer, and he wanted to bring back a candle for some eclectic ofrenda-type situation he had set up in his D.C. apartment. He is a meticulous and thoughtful sort of person, and took a long time debating between various candidates. I had come to Lowes primarily to buy Cheez-Its, and was getting impatient. I picked up a candle at random. “How about this one?” I said.

The candle had a picture of a Little Lord Fauntleroy-type in a plumed hat and a white ruff, with a pink seashell pinned to his cloak. I glanced at the label on the back. Glorioso Santo Niño de Atocha, it said, patrón de las que están injustamente en prisión, protector de viajeros y que das la mano al que se encuentra en peligro…

I didn’t know anything about this saint at all, despite having grown up Catholic, so I looked him up on my phone. I soon discovered that he was not really a saint, per se, but a special Limited Edition version of baby Jesus. Wikpedia offered up the following backstory:

In the 13th century, Spain was under Muslim rule. The town of Atocha, now part of Madrid’s Arganzuela district, was lost to the Muslims, and many Christians there were taken prisoners as spoils of war. The Christian prisoners were not fed by the jailers, but by family members who brought them food. According to pious legend, the caliph ordered that only children under the age of 12 were permitted to bring food. Conditions became increasingly difficult for those men without small children. … Reports soon began among the people of Atocha that an unknown child under the age of twelve and dressed in pilgrim’s clothing, had begun to bring food to childless prisoners at night. The women of the town returned to Our Lady of Atocha to thank the Virgin for her intercession, and noticed that the shoes worn by the Infant Jesus were tattered and dusty. They replaced the shoes of the Infant Jesus, but these became worn again. The people of Atocha took this as a sign that it was the Infant Jesus who went out every night to help those in need.

This all got me rather excited, because I am very fond of medieval history, and regularly drive around rural Texas blasting 13th-century Spanish pilgrimage music. Who would’ve thought that a little vestige of the medieval world would turn up in my local grocery store? Secondly, what better patron for someone who works at a jail for child refugees than a child-saint who defends both travelers in peril and the unjustly imprisoned?

And that was how I first ended up buying a Holy Infant of Atocha candle for my kitchen table.

Later, when I researched the matter further, I found out that the Wikipedian history of the Holy Infant was—shockingly—likely incorrect. The medieval origin story was a post hoc invention, an attempt to give an older European pedigree to a wholly Mexican tradition. The Holy Infant’s mother, as it turns out, was an authentically medieval character: Holy Mary of Atocha appears in several of the 13th century Cantigas de Santa Maria (a.k.a. the sick beats currently blaring from my Kia Forte), mostly as a patroness of field workers. When her shrine at Atocha was selected for special favor by the Spanish monarchy in the 17th century, she was transformed from a saint of the people into an emblem of Spanish governance. It was in this capacity—as a defender of Spanish colonial might—that Mary of Atocha found her way to Mexico. Sanctuaries in her name were built in the state of Zacatecas, in Fresnillo and Plateros.

But through some obscure evolution of local devotion, it was the image of her child, the Holy Infant, that became the primary locus of worship. The Holy Infant of Atocha eventually came to be revered as a protector of ordinary people, especially of miners, travelers, and prisoners. An 1848 novena written by one Calixto Aguirre was instrumental in popularizing the cult of the Holy Infant, and the cover illustration of the printed pamphlet version was the first to show him as a pilgrim rather than a prince. Instead of a crown, a globe, and a scepter—the traditional iconography of power—he had a big hat, a food basket, and a traveler’s staff with a gourd hanging from it. The first episode of the novena tells of a legal miracle.  It begins with the tale of a poor woman by the name of Maximiana Esparza, who wanders to four different cities, seeking succor. In each city, she is imprisoned for her malas costumbres—some unspecified bad manners—and, having no family or other advocate to speak on her behalf, she languishes for years in prison in each place. At last, after being in prison a year in Durango, she prays to the Holy Infant of Atocha:

…who listened to her kindly and took her out of her captivity; for in all the time that she had lived there, there was nobody who would defend her, until the Holy Child of Atocha, dressed as a handsome youth, visited her in that prison and gave her some bread in the name of his mother, saying to her that same afternoon she would see the judge and he would take up her case, which caused no little amazement among the rector and the other inmates; and when the time arrived that the Child had named, she was set free.

Mary of Atocha, the former people’s saint, may regrettably have become more conservative in her waning years, but she nonetheless succeeded in giving the world an even more radical son. We should all be so lucky!

It’s actually pretty absurd that I knew nothing about the Holy Infant of Atocha until a few months ago. Once he was on my radar, I soon realized that he’s a pretty standard figure in Mexican and Chicanx Catholicism. But I stumbled into immigration advocacy three years ago knowing next to nothing about Latin American cultures, and even now there are huge gaps in my understanding. My Spanish, too, is still pretty atrocious. I have been working at it for three years, but it’s like speaking through a mouthful of broken glass. I muster my words with pain, and my meaning comes out all mangled. I now feel a strong affinity for all those immigrant grandparents who understand English perfectly and never learn to speak it; I am sure I would be just the same if I were ever to immigrate to a non-English-speaking country. I often feel that any bilingual person, with or without a law degree, could do most of my work a lot better than me. But I am here, so I do my best.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings very anxious, usually when I have to draft a big court filing or an important request to the asylum office, to try and stop a detained family’s deportation. I come up with soothing little rituals to ease my transition from fretful sleep to focused work. I put on some music. I make a big pot of coffee. I light my Holy Infant of Atocha candle. It’s really because I like the way the candlelight makes me feel, not for superstitious reasons. I’m really not one for good luck charms, astrology, or premonitions. I remember that shortly after Trump first announced the family separation policy this summer—this was when I was still in Massachusetts, getting ready for my move to Texas—I was walking down a familiar street near my home, feeling very disturbed and heartsick. All of a sudden I saw a rabbit on the sidewalk a few feet ahead. It was standing quite still, and it let me walk up close. For a moment the encounter felt almost magical. Then the rabbit loped off, and where it had been, I saw two small baby bunnies lying dead on the pavement. When I bent to look, a little cloud of flies dispersed, then settled again. As omens go, that was some Roman-level bullshit. But I don’t think it was anything but coincidence.

The area of south Texas where I live now is teeming with strange sights, and sometimes everything I see feels pregnant with meaning. The drive from my apartment to the internment camp is only four minutes, but the road is always strewn with strange corpses. A dead dog or house cat is an everyday casualty; but I have also seen bodies of armadillos, bobcats, and javelinas, all mowed down by a speeding truck, or a passenger-bus of incoming detainees, or one of the heavy tankers that barrel continually to and from the nearby oilfields. No waste collection service ever disposes of the animals, so I watch their corpses bloat and distend and then disintegrate over a period of weeks. I have heard a rumor too that there are zebra on one of the ranches around here, flown in and kept in captivity so that deer-weary hunters can have something exotic to shoot. I’ve yet to see an escaped zebra lying dead by the side of the road, but give it time.

Also on the same road as the child internment camp, if you can believe it, there is a Texas state prison. It lies alongside a large ranch, and in front of the jail there’s a field of watermelons. Sometimes in the early morning, on my way into work, I see a group of prisoners in white jumpsuits and white caps, working the watermelon field. Ringed around them are three or four heavily-armed officers on horseback, in case anyone tries anything. The thing is so ludicrous it’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry. It’s as if this tiny town has been selected as a kind of roadside showcase of human cruelty.

(Continue Reading)

[babyitsacrime]

1, 22, 23, and 43 for the OC asks.

First off, I apologize for my absolutely atrocious grammar here and also the fact that I just can’t seem to put things into words.

Secondly I wrote this in a different app and then copy pasted so the formatting is a little whack.

1. Your first OC ever?

Oh gosh this one is a little hard to answer. I think Natalia’s my first OC that I ever fully wrote well but me and my friends used to write a lot of stories/fanfiction in middle school so I have some characters from there too that might be older than Nat. Also there’s like three different versions of Nat (Quizup, Next Gen, and the Nat I have now) , and again the one I have right now is by far the most developed/closest to a whole character.

Okay but I talk about Nat a lot so even though I’m not sure which one actually came first I’ll talk about a character I had in the Homestuck fanfiction my friends and I wrote in middle school. (before you ask, yes it’s the 100 page one I’m pretty sure) (also I’m ignoring the self inserts me n my friends made for our other stories bc those don’t count as ocs and I refuse to accept them as characters dhdksjdjs) But basically she’s a troll named Ninmah Aurora. She was heavily based off of Kanaya Maryam, the iconic Homestuck vampire fashion designer lesbian character so that was interesting. And even though I didn’t actually write that much for her she’s one of my favorite characters because I had so much fun writing her with my friends. Anyways can’t believe I just exposed myself as a Homestuck stan on main but you know what it’s fine.

22. Is there any OC of yours that people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Okay there’s a couple and most of them are small things so I’ll just go by character.

Natalia -

let me just start by saying this: it still baffles me why y’all think she’s cool cshdjsj. She’s kinda a dumb bitch if I’m being honest. Like, don’t get me wrong, she’s super smart and could easily outwit me and honestly any of us, but she’s also plain stupid sometimes in other ways. But like, on the other side of the coin I feel like she almost doesn’t get taken seriously sometimes? I feel like that’s a little on me for usually making jokes at her expense but while she is clueless as to how people function she’s also not plain dumb. A lot of what she says and does is well calculated and even when she does something in the spur of the moment it’s always something logical to her. Hn I don’t know if I’m explaining this right but 🤷♀️. But basically she’s not really cool but also she’s not stupid. (Okay ig being good at Quidditch is pretty cool but that’s not my point)

Also I don’t know why but some people (very few people but it’s still annoying to me) seem to think that her being bi is a huge part of her personality when it’s really not. While she is bi, not everything she does is motivated by that fact if that makes any sense. Like for example, if she’s wearing be a rainbow dress it’s not because she’s (and I quote) "team gay" it’s because she liked the damn dress. Okay I’m rambling now but all I’m saying is that it kinda annoys me when people see her being bi as a hugely defining personality trait. Also she isn’t the only character I notice this happens to.

Ishaan -

Similarly to Nat, whole he does enjoy pranking and such, he’s actually a serious person most of the time. Think of him as more of like a serious and skeptical person who also has a good sense of humor. Although I will say that he does sometimes go out of his way to make a joke sometimes, that’s only sometimes and mostly just to annoy Priya.

Lysander -

Another case of the being gay isn’t his personality. Also??? He’s not gay??? I don’t really know where that came from (like I know who mentioned it to me but I have no clue where she got that from aside from just assuming?) for the record, he is also bi and has a slight preference for girls (mostly bc he likes having an s/o shorter than him but we won’t go into that rn). *slams fists on table* jUST BECAUSE HES FUNNY DOESNT MEAN HES THE TOKEN GAY FRIEND OKAY (okay okay I’m done ranting time to continue)

I also feel like his joking nature is often seen as a sign of him not being as a lack of intellect, but that is in no way true. While he isn’t a genius or anything, he’s a little smarter than average, yet still prone to making dumb decisions because he is still a child. But with more life experience he’ll make smarter decisions while still retaining a joking demeanor.

Priya -

I’m going to keep this one short, but she isn’t as cold and cruel as I sometimes make her seem when I talk about her. I feel like this one’s mostly on me but yeah, she’s a caring person for the most part, just a little misguided and/or dramatic at times.

~I think that’s all of them but I might be wrong? Also none of those explanations make a lot of sense I’m sorry 😔~

23. Introduce an OC that has changed from what your first idea considering what the character would be like.

*drags Nat out again* Here you go.

So I mentioned earlier that there’s like three different versions of her, but in all reality they almost feel like different characters with the same name. However I will say that Next Gen Nat and the Nat I have now (I like to call it her final form bc I think I’m finally happy with her) are similar in many many aspects. But I’ll talk about this Nat because I like her the best and she’s the only Nat I actively use. She was originally intended to be a lot colder/closed off than she is. (Think a lot closer to Aster, but I think pep also had a similar thing with him.) She just ended up becoming a lot softer and a little friendlier than I intended her to be. I’m not exactly unhappy with that though, I feel like this actually added a bit more dimension to her character and it actually gave me a little more room to improve her. It was also bound to happen anyways, especially with the characters she’s friends with/will be friends with. So yeah, it’s interesting and honestly I feel like I’m happy with the changes from what I originally intended her to be.

Hm while I’m here I guess I should also talk about Taemoon.

I don’t know that his personality changed much from my original intent, but his story and intent definitely did. He started as a character that exuded a lack of hope. I don’t know if that sentence makes a lot of sense, but he was originally going to have no chance at happiness in the end. He was supposed to let all of his anger and hurt consume him, making him hell bent on revenge, which would only push him further from anything that could make him happy, but I feel like the end of his story is a lot more hopeful now. I don’t know exactly what it is, but ever since pep asked if Jae Hong could adopt him Taemoon’s life story has become something a lot less disheartening. Now I’ve given him a lot more to live for, and a lot more to make him happy. First off, instead of being alone he now has a family that he quickly grows to trust, and a group of friends with similar experiences that basically become family as well. While he is still very revenge driven, he has a lot more to his life than just that; most importantly he has people he trusts that will keep him from becoming consumed by all of his anger. But yeah, he has become a much more hopeful character as a whole and honestly. I feel like that’s what I really needed. Idk about everyone else but I feel like changing his story to the way it is now really has helped me to feel a lot better in general.

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favor certain traits or looks?

Oh god it’s time to confess 😔🤙

So, as most of you have figured out, most of my ocs tend to be very attractive and very capable (and willing) to step on me. If they’re not that then they’re in the minority.

Aside from being physically attractive as a whole, I’d say that in regards to looks, the more they look like they haven’t slept in weeks and are ready to kill a man, the better. If not that, then it’s an oc that looks like I could cuddle with them for hours on end. There’s no in between.

As for traits I tend to favor, probably the most popular is a bad attitude. If you take a look at some of my most used and/or favorite characters, you’ll find that in most cases the snarkier the better. Honestly this is true of characters that aren’t even mine, I just really have a type. At the same time though, I like these characters to have a secret soft side even if it’s only for one other character they care about. On the flip side, I also like writing characters that are genuinely the nicest people you’ll ever meet. I don’t know why but I just love them so much they are truly my children.

Also. Characters that grin in the face of danger? *chefs kiss* I like characters where you question if what they’re doing is out of courage or a death wish. For this reason so many of my characters play some kind of dangerous sport or enjoy dueling, you get what I mean. This goes for both my Edgy™️ characters as well as my soft characters.

Additionally, I do have a lot of characters that are wealthy. Uh. I think that mostly speaks for itself so I’m not going to comment on it any further than this.

Also. Flowers. For some reason I go for faceclaims that eat flowers. It’s not even something I actively seek out??? Like I’ll find someone cute and I’ll be scrolling through pictures and there they are. Eating a flower. This mostly goes for my guy fcs but yeah. Idk how it happens but it just does and I’ve come to accept it.

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Pirate Au

(Drabble 4)

Please do remember the drabbles do follow on from each other.

So this is the fourth drabble but set between the second and third.

It was late evening, oil lamps burned dimly and Hat sat there at his dining table, fingers laced, eye and patch peering over the top of his hands as elbows rested on the surface.

Soft hues of yellow, warm like honey, lights from the candles flickering making empty plates shimmer, a cloth neatly folded by their side, his belly full even if food was not something he required he enjoyed the many flavours of human cuisine...but he still felt empty as he watched Flugs curled up form in that tank, the merman had not moved in hours, was he still sulking?

It would not surprise Black Hat if he was, the old demon had kept his room dark to try and placate him, why was Flug still ignoring him?

It was not as if he'd hurt him in any way, if it were perhaps White Hat, that supposedly goody two shoes...that bastard would have tortured this creature for answers, kept his tank shallow so the merman would be in a constant state of half suffocation despite being one who lived in the sea himself.

(small reminder Acylius is the first name I've given au Flug ♥ )

Acylius could feel his eyes on his back a part of him wanting to face his captor and glare at him, how dare he keep him in this glass prison, without anything to do, nothing for entertainment apart from aggravating that idiot.

Black Hat was free to roam the ship, eat and probably have a five minute affair with a crew member when he felt like it, no doubt The Pirate King had left his cell empty on purpose, if he had nothing to do he might eventually speak, what ridiculous logic.

Well Hat was not going to get what he wanted, he ate in front of him without so much as offering to share, a custom important to all merfolk, the demon had completely disregarded it, after all he had to know about that right!?

He'd talked so proudly of knowing about merfolk, ha the only thing this fool had done was educate himself on them was what parts tasted and were best served for dinner.

The blasted king would have no doubt made some crude joke at that thought, just last night Black Hat had thought him asleep and pleasured himself quietly, but his highly attuned sense of hearing heard...everything.

He'd recognised the soft pants, sensed his eye on him, even a whispering gasp of his name.

It wasn't fair, the scent had become Intoxicating, shifting he actually sensed Hat stopping a moment, was he actually concerned with being caught?

All he'd wanted to do was invite him into the waters, not that his home had much to impress a mate but it appeared Black Hat did not mind as he resumed his...activities.

Yes last night had made him feel flustered and had taken the will of a god not to show any visual displays of interest.

Anyway it seemed Black Hat was possibly courting that funny girl, Demencia, indeed she was quite the character and while three party relationships might occur under the sea, landwalkers could vary and change their customs on a whim.

Of course he could ask for food or perhaps something for his prison but he was still well and truly pissed at the Pirate King, he refused to talk to him after being trapped in this tank like some common pet, HA even house fish were fed and given items to decorate their homes!

Black Hat was watching the elegant swaying of his fins, veils floating back and forth, hypnotising really, standing up and walking over he came and sat on the floor by the tank, glass reflecting in candle light with small shimmers where scales had shed soon to be washed away like starlight in the rising sun.

His shoulder resting against Flugs tank, legs crossed he let out a sigh.

The demon would have loved nothing more than to have a conversation with him

"Will you not even speak, just to tell me how much you hate what I have done to you?"

The merman held himself tighter, that was the thing he didn't hate him, he was just really, really angry...perhaps even a little scared after all he could still end up in pieces on one of those plates.

Black Hat's voice sounded genuinely disheartened, listening to the sound of his claws lightly scratching over glass as he continued

"I do not know what it is about you my pet, but you fascinate me, I wonder throughout the day what stories you might have to share, what secrets you keep...one mythical creature to another...Just how old are you?"

Flug however did not answer him, he just continued his stubborn silent treatment.

"Do merfolk like companions to sleep with?"

His voice still soft as he looked him over, seeing his spines bristle and blue rings beginning to appear he thought over his words and realised how that must have come across and rephrased

"I mean do merfolk like someone to sleep next to?"

Flug's kind did in fact like companionship, he had a catfish in his home cave deep in the ocean, half cat and fish with the cutest chubbiest belly with such soft paws, she was named Mew Mew Loaf, he knew she'd be fine but no doubt worrying about him and he missed her to.

Hat saw Flug's display disappearing, slightly moving as if he'd almost considered turning to face him or had he been merely shifting?

Still, his breath stayed in anticipation but it was not to be as minutes slipped by and his pet kept his back to him.

"Well maybe you do, otherwise you would have been screeching at me to get away from your tank, heh or are you perhaps you are so insistent on your silent treatment that even now you choose to ignore me?"

A warm chuckle filling the air as he removed his coat and used it as a cover, cheek on the cool surface and yawning as it had been three days since he'd last slept and sleepily wished him goodnight before drifting off.

Flug waited a while, making sure Black Hat was asleep, it was easy to tell as there was a shift in the atmosphere, all the world now seemed calm, the buzzing of energy not quite gone but soothed as if you could hear gentle waters lapping at a late night shore.

Rolling over, gliding closer to him, glass the only thing between them, he could have let his gaze wander over the captains room but honestly he did that enough when Black Hat wasn't there, always turning away from him and focusing on either nothing at all or Demencia with a playful splash of water, it was fun sensing the demons jealousy rise even if not shown entirely, sometimes Hat's hand came down too hard on his desk or a huff as he folded his arms assuming he was hiding the pouting, of course he was not.

He was...well you would be a fool if you called him ugly, how peaceful he looked even if it was amusing to see his cheek smooshed up against his tank and top lip pulled up, revealing mint green fangs ever so slightly.

Lowering himself to better look at them he thought about how Thaddeus had such blunt human teeth compared to him...just like the other merfolk who lived in higher waters in their Pearl City where everything was just...perfect.

So Black Hat had sharp teeth, it had been a long time since he'd seen another of his own kind, deep sea merfolk were dying out and he knew it, could it be that right now he himself was living on borrowed time?

Why was this demon so fascinated with him?

Yes he knew who Black Hat was, you would have to be completely out of the loop not to...king of both land and sea, a being who had never particularly shown interest of taking affairs of the underwater world seriously, who instead chose to adventure than taking any real action, was he incapable of being a leader...was he leaving everything in the hands of those who had some actual experience?

Resting on his hip, hands on the glass, Flug pressed his forehead to where Hat's cheek was and sighed...for someone showing interest in him he also certainly showed displays of affection towards Demencia, what was his game...was he going to be used just like Thaddeus had used him, well it was not as if this one before him exactly needed a power step, but his heart and body could still be seen as game.

Anyway, it was usually a case of ugly things wanting something beautiful to make them feel like they meant something...to be beautiful themselves...oh compared to Black Hat he was atrocious, this landwalker was so elegant, sleek and perfect as they could come, what would the Pirate King think if he did ever see his face, no doubt his interest would be lost and that would just be another notch in the truth the King of Pearl City had told him.

Fingertips lighting up, each line an intricate pattern, a maze of prints as hands formed out of a soft glowing blue hue fading off into their forearms, now tenderly touching Black Hat's face.

(Yes realistically I know He'd wake up but....he doesn't because of reasons...aka XD the writer said so)

Flug's eyes could be seen glowing an intense sky blue through the holes in his mask, under the caress of these made hands he could feel how warm he was, stroking along his cheek, purring slightly as the demon leaned into his touch.

The merman couldn't help but smile a little, he looked, well it was peculiar to see him looking so soft considering what everyone knew he was capable of.

A thumb carefully drawing down his bottom lip to look over his gorgeous fangs, this mouth looked so much smaller compared to his own where it practically split his face in half with rows of fangs that were only shown when threatened.

(Of course he doesn't know yet just how wide Hat can open his maw.)

Thaddeus and his partner Edward had certainly made a point of telling him he'd never hold the beauty of those who lived in their city, no one would accept him apart from them.

That his mask should only be off in the privacy of their company for they were the only ones who could bare to look upon his features...an act of control, one that had whittled away at him and he'd come to believe was true.

Caressing his cheek, his smile was a sad one, look at this idiot who had no idea how to look after him and yet grew envious when he gave others attention, it was endearing really, silly grumpy old man.

Eventually Flug would stop being so stubborn...tell him a story but Black Hat needed to ask him what he wanted, not just stare at him as if that will would just make him speak, though the merman figured if Black Hat wanted to make him he could.

With hands made of magic and stardust, finger tips caressed along his jaw, down over his neck before wrapping around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Yes his deep sea kind did like to have companionship in their rest, they usually had pets to do this with but he'd take this, of course Black Hat would have a stiff neck in the morning but it was surprisingly sweet that he'd opted to sleep here instead of his comfy warm bed.

Coaxing him to lay at least on his side Flug laid on the bottom of his tank facing him.

The hands disappearing as he curled up, his smile growing just a little more.

"Goodnight...Black Hat."

(also if anyone draws a cute pic of mew mew loaf, if you like I can do a character mention or have a character of yours briefly talk to one of the crew members for the one I like the most 💖)

[damienthepious]

Co-stars AU Megamind - Roxanne

caveat that i know very little about the actual practicalities of how making movies actually works with a real budget and shit, or how acting contracts/agents/etc work. but i liked how this turned out regardless, and it actually felt long enough for a title. bless

Typecast

There wasn’t any netting or padding below Roxanne, which was kind of terrifying considering that the outfit the costume department had dressed her in allowed exactly zero room for a harness underneath the fabric. She was pressed back against the window of a fake high-rise, the ledge beneath her heels slightly wider than it appeared from the angle of the camera. Theoretically, all she had to do was stand and press herself against the glass and call for help. It wasn’t the best role, obviously, but at least some of the other scenes gave her a bit of interesting dialogue, and if she could just nail this, then maybe- maybe the next role-

Her heel wobbled and she jerked back in alarm, and the director swore and called cut. Roxanne let her shoulders sag. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just starting to get a little- slippery up here,” she said, hoping the laugh that came with the words didn’t sound too forced.

“It’s whatever,” the director said, which was discouraging. “Reset, reset all of it and we’ll go from the start again. Just- try to angle yourself more, yeah Roxie? We gotta see your face and if the wind is blowing the hair-”

“Can’t you move the fans?” Roxanne tried again. “If you want me to be looking at where-”

“I think I know what I’m doing, Roxie.”

Roxanne smiled with bright fury, an automatic response at this point. “Of course.”

Another take, the ‘wind’ buffeting her against the glass as she tried to make whining ‘oh please won’t someone help me’ sound in any way natural while also trying not to actually plummet down to the concrete ground beneath her, and when Stewart called cut she closed her eyes for a moment and hoped that her performance had been good enough to make this bullshit stop for like, twenty goddamn minutes, at least-

“Reset! Another one, go again, come on I don’t wanna waste any more time.”

“What was wrong with that one?” Roxanne called out, trying to sound enthusiastic. “What can I do better?”

“Y’gotta stop making that face, Roxie,” he called out, and Roxanne was desperately glad that she couldn’t see his goddamn face behind all the lights aimed at her. 

“Face?” She chimed lightly.

“All scrunched up and like, tense and shit.”

“…. you want me to look less worried?”

“More worried! More worried but keep your face smooth!”

“So I have to… look scared, but not frown at all?” Roxanne asked in a voice of spiderweb-thin ice. 

“Yeah! Exactly! Let’s go again-”

“What in the… that looks extraordinarily unsafe.” 

The voice was new in the room, but Roxanne recognized it even though she couldn’t see the source through all of the lights. Megamind, the troublemaking former rock-star gone actor. He had to be here to film his cameo, for that scene near the end-

“Cut,” Stewart snarled, and then Roxanne heard the exact moment he realized who had interrupted him. “Oh- hey, dude, you’re kinda early-”

“Where is the harness?" Megamind failed utterly to acknowledge what the director was actually saying, and he strode directly onto the set beneath her, his sharp green eyes narrowing up at her and oh shit, he looked genuinely furious. Handsome as hell, too, but dangerously angry. Maybe his reputation was actually true, then. Maybe the reason he was typecast exclusively as villains was actually his attitude and not his appearance- maybe he actually was a terror on set, despite his sheer talent. “Are you comfortable up there?”

Or- maybe not?

“What?” she called down on autopilot, though she had heard him well enough.

He scowled, then snapped his head to look at someone to the side of the set. “Turn that wind machine off immediately, thank you.” His tone brooked no argument and the wind cut off as immediately as desired, though Stewart yelped a protest in the background. “I said, are you actually comfortable up there, Miss Ritchi? Those heels don’t quite look compatible with that ledge.”

Roxanne laughed weakly. “I- uh, I mean-” Megamind was still staring up at her, but she was more conscious of other eyes on her right now, the crew and the director in particular, waiting to see what she said.

“You don’t look comfortable,” he prodded.

“She’s not supposed to look comfortable,” Stewart called from out of sight. “She’s supposed to be in distress!”

“Her character is,” Megamind corrected.

“I wanted the reactions to be authentic, dude, don’t you get method? C’mon-”

“So you’re saying that you don’t trust her acting ability enough to successfully emulate the role you hired her for without actively putting her in danger?”

There was a beat of silence, and Roxanne felt a pulse of yes, thank you, god, but it was superseded by the absolute certainty that she was about to lose this job.

“Stop. You’re going to get me in trouble,” Roxanne hissed down at him between her teeth. “He’ll say I’m ‘difficult to work with’ and I’ll never get a role this big again, don’t screw this up for me-”

“You’ll get even less roles if you let him break your neck for his perfect shot,” Megamind retorted, full volume as the director sputtered behind him. “Come down and I’ll put you on the phone with my lawyer, and you can discuss exactly how many ways this mediocre auteur has abused your safety on this set.”

Roxanne hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. “I- uh, don’t actually know how I was supposed to get down from here, to be honest.”

Megamind looked, if anything, even angrier as he turned and snapped at a couple of crew members to grab a ladder already, and soon Roxanne on her way back to ground level, Megamind lifting a hand to her to help her wobble the last few rungs down the ladder. Stewart was still swearing and apparently hitting his chair in the background, though he seemed too terrified to come within ten feet of Megamind. Roxanne was substantially less intimidated.

“Not that I don’t appreciate being spoken up for, but you do realize that it isn’t easy to get a role like this, right? I can’t be picky when I’m trying to establish-”

Megamind instantly raised his hands in surrender as they started walking together away from the high-rise set. “I know- I know, I’m terribly sorry, Miss Ritchi. I tend to let my mouth run away with me when idiots like that Schteward think they can bully a better performance out of someone.”

“You- I assumed you agreed to cameo on this project because you liked the director,” Roxanne said with a raised eyebrow. “I figured it couldn’t be because of Wayne. Everybody knows you two don’t get along anymore.”

“Because I liked- oh goodness no,” Megamind sneered, dramatically flicking his wrist in front of him as if shooing a fly. “That was just an unfortunate cost if I wanted to get the chance to- er, that is-”

Roxanne tilted her head, trying to make sure that she wasn’t imagining the splash of pink flooding into his cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Obviously I’ll be dropping out. He won’t want me on set anymore, no matter how much notoriety I would draw for him. I directly challenged him in the middle of filming. Someone with his ego won’t let that go lightly. And-” he sighed and shot her a guilty sideways glance, “likely he will lump you right in with me. Sorry about that. If you’d like, you can go back and loudly denounce me after we tighten up your contract and get you a better agent, if you want to finish this one up before your next role.”

Roxanne blinked. “You think I would just- go back and lie?”

He shrugged. “It’s your career, Miss Ritchi. I certainly wouldn’t blame you. I already have a reputation, and it wouldn’t hurt me any further for you to confirm it. I’m still going to get the roles I want regardless, so it makes perfect sense for you to distance yourself from me, since you don’t have that safety net yet.”

“That- that isn’t fair,” Roxanne said, brow furrowing. “Have people done that to you before? That’s horrible.”

He grinned a sharp little grin and shrugged. “Show business, Miss Ritchi. You’re just as familiar with it as I am.”

“No. That’s bullshit. I won’t throw you under the bus like that.”

The grin faded a little, surprise edging in at the corners of his expression. “That- well, that’s up to you, of course. But- you really shouldn’t risk your job for me any more than you already have.”

“It’s not for you, it’s just the right thing to do.” She stopped for a moment to kick her ridiculous heels off, opting to carry them instead. ”This was a shitty role anyway.”

“Well.” He laughed lightly. “I hope, then, that you’ll at least let me get you in touch with some other projects that will be casting, soon-”

“I appreciate the thought but I don’t need charity roles, Megamind.”

“Charity? No, I-” he flushed again, then bit his lip hard before he continued. “I’ve- I’ve seen your work before, Miss Ritchi, and I think you’ve been wildly, atrociously overlooked. You have this inherent charm and- and you always bring such nuance to roles that otherwise would have just been- and you do anger in this really fascinating way and-” he laughed, a nervous sound that he seemed to be using to make himself stop his jolting stream of words. “The only reason I even agreed to this idiotic villain cameo was because I thought- if Roxanne Ritchi is involved it might be worth- rather, if she’s attached, maybe this Schteward fellow isn’t as bad as they say he is. I was wrong about that part, but- well, you deserve to- you deserve a chance to- to work with people who will actually appreciate you. Is all.”

Roxanne stared at him as the words dried up, at the discomfort in his expression started to verge on panic, and thought, only an absolute asshole would think this guy is a problem to work with. And then, he’s actually even prettier in person than on screen, which should be both impossible and illegal. And after that, I did not imagine him blush three entire times while he talked about me. 

“Okay. We’ll call your lawyer,” she said, “and work out whatever- business we need to, and you can give me contact info for some casting directors if you really think I have a shot. And then I’d like your number, if you’d be willing to give it.”

Megamind made a wordless noise, then shook his head. “Of- of course, I mean, you would want to get in contact with me for reference, of course-”

“Not for reference.” Roxanne stopped, turning to face him properly with a smile tugging at her lips. “I’d like to take you out for coffee, sometime.” She paused while he stared. “Unless you wouldn’t like that. I imagine that you’re probably pretty busy-”

“No I would love to- I mean, of course I would like- coffee, with you, obviously I would like-” he clamped a hand over his mouth and then gave that nervous, awkward, charming laugh again. “Like- but, of course you don’t mean- like a date, Miss Ritchi?”

“Like a date.”Roxanne smiled in earnest, now. She couldn’t help it. “And- you can call me Roxanne, you know.”

“Oh,” Megamind said, his voice gone light and stunned. “Oh. I would like that very much, Roxanne.”

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which Bandit writes a letter. (Rating T, hurt/comfort?, ~2.2k words) - written for @nutbrain​ because you’re entirely too nice and I will not stand for this in my house (that said, ily 💞💞). This turned out a bit more bleak than intended, so I’d like to apologise, but after you said you also like this ship, it basically wrote itself. (The next one will be pure fluff, promise!!)

.

Dear

Hey

Dude

Marius,

when you read this, I’ll be gone already.

I know it’s fucking cliché and I don’t really wanna drop it all into your lap like this, but you know I’m fucking bad with words. With everything really. Like this, I’m at least forced to put my thoughts together so I’ve got something to write down instead of just hearing all the wrong things come out of my mouth as if it wasn’t in my power to make it stop, like smoke after sucking on a cigarette. I can’t talk to you face to face, so I’m writing you a fucking letter because I guess that’s the kinda thing people used to do. My handwriting is probably bad but at least not as atrocious as your chicken scrawl. I’ll try to make it legible. I do want you to read this.

At some point, I heard someone say that ‘I’ is the word we say the most each day which makes sense to me as I’m the only person who has to put up with me 24/7, but I don’t want to resort to talking about myself for the entirety of this letter, so I’ll start with something you did. The reason why you’re holding this stupid piece of paper in your hands right now. The reason why I won’t be around anymore when you read this.

You probably don’t even remember. It was a week ago, maybe two, and I was having a bad time which usually means I find behaviour justifiable which makes sure everyone else has a bad time too (yes, I’m aware I do that even if it might not seem that way), and you must’ve noticed. We talked about the modifications on Morowa’s shield a few days before that, you knew I wouldn’t have destroyed the prototype if I’d been in my right mind. And still, you came over and struck up a conversation. As if nothing had happened. As if I wasn’t glaring at you.

Do you remember? I can never tell which parts fly right over your head and which ones burrow deep enough so you’ll never forget them. You remember the most random shit, like the things I said to you the day we met which I immediately forgot as soon as they’d left my mouth – though I have to admit it’s not too surprising the cocky asshole remained as a memory for you but the lanky dude who laughed at half the things I said didn’t for me. I can’t recall ever seeing you in the GSG9 which is probably for the best.

You don’t care. You never care whenever I throw a tantrum, you just shrug, the show must go on, and then you’re asking me about those fucking jumper cables or god knows what even if I’m in the middle of strangling someone. I’m not special to you. You brag at the worst moments and I’ve snapped at you for it countless times and felt bad for but the next time, you do it anyway and when I yell, you laugh like I’m telling a joke instead of being stressed or tired of it all or pissed. We fucking fought. We had an actual fist fight which you keep bringing up to others as if it was a funny anecdote to share with your family and not a point in my life where I genuinely wanted to hurt you.

And I think this is the moment where I have to spill the beans. I like

I have

I’m in

Look. I can’t bring myself to write it down because it’s pathetic. The whole fucking thing is and I am and you kinda are too which makes it so much worse. You have a goofy laugh and always embarrass yourself when you’re drunk, you eat at the most inappropriate moments and piss off so many people without realising, you’ve been calling Craig by the wrong name ever since he joined us. His first name is Craig, you idiot, not Jenson. You probably didn’t even think twice about all of us calling him something different because that would require a certain awareness which you just don’t possess.

Yes, I’m calling you blind. I’m not gonna list all the obvious signals but the fact that I kissed you after you ran into crossfire like a fucking lunatic could’ve tipped you off. I’m not bitter. I’m just saying. Or when I dragged you into the chopper in Syria and didn’t let go of your hand. Or all those fucking other times I would’ve bashed anyone else’s head in for less but you’re

Okay, I am bloody bitter. This is one way to tell someone you’re not interested, I suppose, but it’s among the worst ones.

Why I feel like this, I don’t even know. You’re a dumbass and the longer I watch you do something other than being brilliant at your work, the more I can feel my IQ dropping, but there’s something about the way you perceive the world and your own purpose in it

I’m making excuses. You always seemed surprised at how easily I stomach injustice towards me, insults, people screaming in my face, and there’s a simple trick: if you call yourself every name in the world, other people doing it doesn’t faze you anymore. I’ve heard it all and worse, much more personal and detailed in most cases, and if I stumble over one I’ve not heard before, I add it to my repertoire. I’m sorry to put it this crassly, but I often struggle to come up with justifications for my own existence. I crunch the numbers on whether the world wouldn’t be better off without me.

So when you come along and tell me a bunch of things I haven’t heard before, NICE things, it catches my attention, as you can imagine. I remember you being all excited when I put the pieces of clothing I stole from all over the base in Elias’ wardrobe, we watched the aftermath together and you called me brilliant and hilarious and witty. And these I wasn’t familiar with. So I mulled them over, and though I ultimately dismissed them, you sparked a need. What if I was brilliant? What if I was witty? I suddenly needed to prove to both of us that there was something which warranted your words. I wanted to earn them.

Not being able to recall our meeting before Rainbow turned out to be a blessing. Had I known from the start we met before, I probably would’ve tried to one-up myself, be extra unlikeable. But like this? You kept exaggerating all the dumb shit I did, calling it impressive and resourceful, and boasted as if it all had been your idea which annoyed me until I realised I kinda liked being part of this team, if I can even call it that. You were my hype man and for most of the time, I loved it. I was trying to become the person you pretended I was and even though it was frustrating as all hell when I didn’t manage it, I liked myself whenever I did. Genuinely liked myself.

.

Okay, I re-read everything I’ve written so far and it’s going nowhere. You’re probably asking yourself ‘what the fuck does he want from me’ if you’ve even come this far, and besides I ended up talking only about me despite wanting not to. I promise you this has a purpose even if it’s an entirely selfish one, namely just having the peace of mind of you finally knowing. I’d rather leave and never come back than say it to your face, so I’m writing it instead and since it’s you, I guess I have to spell it out regardless of how fucking obvious I’ve been.

I like you. I want to fuck you and kiss you and all that other shit, not necessarily in that order, and I know you want to do none of these things with me because the one time I worked up the courage to touch you outside of drunken groping and I really have never been drunk enough to fall asleep on someone’s shoulder four times in a row all you did was wipe your mouth and ask me what the fuck I was doing and I was so ashamed that I never did it again.

But it’s okay. You don’t have to feel the same way. I realised that last week (or maybe the week before) – you don’t care, and why would you? I’m not particularly likeable. I don’t treat you well and I know you’d argue with me on this but you can’t argue against a letter, so suck it. You claim I give you special treatment when all I try is to keep you at arm’s length. Because I know you’d say no. And that’s alright, only it’s not, it’s not at all alright because I blame myself for your lack of interest and the whole thing is really unhealthy to be honest even if I’m not unfamiliar with it.

It’s changed, though. I keep saying you don’t care and I know you’d contradict me on this too because it’s not really true. You do, in your own way. You laugh when I’m upset because you’re right, I get upset over the stupidest things which don’t really deserve my time at all, so you assume I’m being sarcastic instead of furious and it helps in changing my perspective. You don’t care when I’m in a bad mood and act like everything’s fine because usually, it’s a dumb fucking reason why I’m in a bad mood, so you’re right again, everything is actually fine and I just need someone to show me it’s not as big of a deal as I think it is.

When my dad died, you just sat next to me. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t laugh, you just offered your ear because you somehow must’ve realised it was serious that time. I didn’t take your offer. With this letter, you’re now the only person here I’ve voluntarily told that this is what happened, my dad died and you gave me an opportunity to open up. I didn’t take it. And I still regret not doing so.

You care a whole fucking lot. More than we both were aware, probably, and that’s part of the problem. Part of the reason why I have to leave.

Because the only other person I know who does all of this, who cares the same way you do, is my brother. I haven’t seen him in almost ten years. I never realised how much his mocking helped me stay level-headed and I don’t care that we’ve not seen each other for this long, I don’t care about all the guilt I still

Well, that’s where I am now. I’ll be gone for two weeks, trying to fix the unfixable because I owe him this much. And I owe you. You made me understand that he was always there for me, even if I wasn’t aware, always cared about me just like you do

Give me these two weeks. I’ll get over you it all. Don’t contact me, don’t call, don’t do anything, just keep being my friend you when I’m back, that’s all I ask. I won’t kiss bother you again, I promise, I just need this time to fix some of the mistakes I’ve made in my life and I want to thank you

I’m sorry

Fuck I understand now why people don’t write letters anymore. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’ll be fine and nothing has to change. We can still go drinking and there are all those stupid films we gotta watch, and you wanted to give me a crash course in quantum physics anyway. We can do all this. I’d like to. But give me some space for now.

Take care, alright? Remember not to ask Monika about that bomb. I’ll see you soon.

Dom

.

P.S.: I bet for a second there you thought I was gonna off myself. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, bitch.

~*~

A soft rustling of paper, a sheet being set down on the fluffy cushions of a worn sofa. Fingertips fidget, rub over denim in directionless distress; distracted, disoriented. Thoughts almost tangibly fizz in the air around a brown shock of hair, the skin on the usually smooth forehead furrowed. Memories are being recalled, experiences sorted into boxes different from their previous abode, relived and subsequently reassessed.

A decision is made.

Legs unfold, a body rises with urgency, hurries towards its goal and grasps it firmly, navigates the screen with purpose and freezes with a digit hovering over grass green. A last minute contemplation and a determined nod.

It’s the correct thing to do, the action demanded by an insistently beating heart, the press of skin on glass jubilantly met by an increase in force and speed.

Breathing shallowly, he listens to the dial tone and wonders idly what to say once it disappears. It matters not. He’ll find the words.

[thejilyship]

Cherry Pie

Jilytober diner au

I don’t remember how many votes this one got, but it was a lot and it also got my vote, so here it is. A baby monster drabble/one-shot 

wc: 4.5k 

ff.net | ao3

James was almost positive that his head was going to split open and the contents would just spill right out onto the concrete. After a night out with the lads and having consumed more alcohol than he cared to recollect, he needed a good meal and a lot of water after the night he’d just had.  

They’d just finished up with Peter’s stag party, and while Sirius had tried to get them to stay out later, James had been glad when Peter declined, because James didn’t want to be the only one who vomited. Damn Peter and his taste for fruity beverages that had too much sugar. And damn Sirius for telling him that he had to keep pace with him all night. Sirius didn’t care what kind of alcohol they were drinking, he always drank a lot of it.  

He was stupid. He didn’t have to keep pace with Sirius, and he knew that. But he did it anyway, and now he was paying for it. And he would keep paying for it until next week probably.  

He was also not headed home like he should have been doing. Instead he was walking toward a diner that was miraculously still open. He didn’t know that there were any 24-hour diners near his place, and that was probably a good thing, since he would have gone in too often at three am if he had known.  

He pushed the door open and a small bell chimed above his head. He quickly turned to look up, making his head and stomach swirl in protest and he had to grip the door handle for a moment so he didn’t fall over or get sick.  

“Oh no,” Someone said from across the restaurant, and James assumed they were talking to someone else until he heard footsteps coming in his direction. He opened his eyes, not having realized that they were shut, and looked up to find himself face to face with perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked angry, but that did nothing to detract from her beauty, and nothing to stop him from staring at her either.  

“You can’t come in here this late and get sick. I’m not paid enough to clean up after drunks.”

“Drunk?” James asked, doing his best to stand up and show her his most charming smile. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing that it had to be absolutely atrocious, but he had always thought he looked more dashing with his hair in total disarray anyway. “I am not some drunk. I am a hungry, customer.”

“You’re not a customer yet. You’re hardly even in the diner actually.” The waitress put a hand on her hip and waved her hand at him in a shooing motion. “And I’d rather you didn’t come in, honestly.”

“Oh I’m a customer. I’ve already decided what I’m going to eat and everything.”  

He watched her shoulders droop and realized that he must not look nearly as charming as he thought he did if she wasn’t swooning over him already.  

“Fine. But if you look like you’re going to get sick, I’m going to drag you out of the diner myself, understand?”  

“Crystle.” He held up his hand in the a-okay gesture and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Sorry, I thought you were going to say, ‘Do I make myself clear’ but then you didn’t.” He shook his head and then started into the restaurant, toward the counter, though he had to side step her in the process.  

Fucking hell she smelled good. Like cherry pie and something that reminded him distinctly of Christmas at his parent’s house. One of those smells from when he was a kid though. The ones that instantly made you feel all nostalgic. James was a rather nostalgic person anyway and so he sighed and plopped himself down on one of the stools at the counter and spun himself around so he could rest his elbow on the counter. It was quite a graceful thing for a drunk man to accomplish.  

“I used to have a cat,” He said, looking at the waitress. “Her name was Chester.”  

She hardly glanced at him, and he was expecting at least two follow up questions, but all he got was a flip of her notepad and a semi-glare.  

“What can I get you?”  

“You don’t want to know why I named my cat Chester? Even though she was a girl?”  

“No. What can I get you?”  

“Water please. Lots of water. And a burger. Some chips. Do you have cherry pie? You smell like cherry pie.”  

Again, she made no comment and just set her paper down and walked off in the direction of the kitchen. “Burger and chips!” She called into the doorway and James heard someone in the back of the diner call back. Lily turned around and picked up a glass and started filling it with water.  

“I thought my cat was a boy when I got her. She was this big, orange, fluff ball of a cat and Chester just seemed to fit.”  

“I hope you remember this conversation tomorrow when you’re sober.”  

“Chester was great, why wouldn’t I want to remember her?”  

“Why didn’t you change her name when you found out that it was a she?”  

She turned around and started toward him. He looked for a smile, but there wasn’t one. She was humoring him, but he didn’t mind.  

“Lily,” He read her name tag and the waitress’ brow creased.  

“You named her Lily?”

“No,” He shook his head. “That’s your name, right?” He nodded to her nametag.  

She set the glass down in front of him and nodded. “That’s why it’s on my nametag.”  

“It’s a lovely name,” He said, “And I couldn’t change the name of my cat because she was a Chester, it didn’t matter that she was a girl.” He shrugged and then picked up the water and started taking a drink.  

“Don’t drink it too quickly, I’m still worried that you’re going to get sick. ”

“It’s nice of you to worry about me,” James smiled at her, but then when he went to set the water down, he almost spilled it. He would have spilled it if Lily hadn’t reached out and stopped it from falling over.  

“Don’t make a mess or I’ll have you clean it up.”  

“Oh, if I make a mess, I’ll insist upon cleaning it up.” He assured her, chuckling a bit. “Fuck, I don’t remember glasses being so hard to set down.”

“You’re drunk, remember?” And he could have sworn that she almost smiled at that. He just laughed again.  

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” He thought about taking another drink but he didn’t want to spill the water and have Lily stop with her almost smile.  

“I’ll go and get the pie for you.” She said.  

“Wait!” He said, stopping her from turning around. “I want to wait to have the pie. If you bring it out now, I’ll just eat it because it’s here.”  

“And then you’ll get sick, won’t you?”

“It’s my stupid mate’s fault. It was his stag party tonight and we let him pick the drinks... because you know, it was his stag party. But he likes the sugary, fruity drinks, which taste good, but you can’t drink too many of them.”

“But you did anyway?”  

“Oh definitely.” He nodded.  

“Well then you’ll find no sympathy here.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, I just want you to smile at me again.”  

“I don’t think that I’ve smiled at you,” She tilted her head and James could see that she had a few freckles along the bridge of her nose.  

“You almost smiled at me though and I’d like for that to happen again.”  

“You really are drunk, aren’t you? Like, really drunk?”  

“It was the vodka cocktails that did me in.” He lamented, letting his head rest against his shoulder. She nodded at him and then picked up a rag. He watched as she walked out from behind the counter and started wiping down the tables in the diner. All of them were empty, he was the only customer here at the moment. He wanted to say something else to her, but he figured she might have walked away from him so that she didn’t have to talk to him. He could wait until she came back.  

He needed a minute anyway, a minute to talk his stomach into behaving and to talk his head into not pounding so much. He didn’t even think his headache had anything to do with the alcohol, just Sirius’s horrendous rendition of Somebody to Love. Fuck his friends were dumbasses.  

Though so was he, and he was very aware of that as he continued to teeter back and forth on the stool instead of heading back up to his apartment that was less than a block away. Eating was a good idea, but he didn’t need to be here to do that. And at home, he couldn’t piss anyone off but himself. And it wouldn’t even be his right-now-self, it would be his hungover-self tomorrow morning. And the hungover-James of tomorrow was already going to be pissed at the right-now-James, so why not piss him off a bit more instead of upsetting the pretty waitress?

Lily came back a few minutes later, before James could talk himself into leaving and just as the cook called out that James’ order was complete. She walked back to get it and then set it down in front of him. “Here you are.”  

“Thank you,” He nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose before he sat up straight and picked up his burger. His stomach should have recoiled at the thought of eating a burger, but it didn’t. He took a large bite and sighed, “This is amazing.”  

“Should I bring the rubbish bin over just in case?”  

“Oh no,” He shook his head and took another bite. “If I’ve made it this long without... well then I should be good. Especially now that I’ve got food. Thank you though.”  

“Of course,” She didn’t walk away this time, “So what’s your name and how long have you known this mate of yours?”

“I’m James,” He said, holding his left hand out to her. He didn’t realize that it was his left hand, but Lily did another almost smile as she shook it. “My mate Peter is the one who is getting married. But Sirius is the one who got me drunk. Remus told me that I was going to hate myself in the morning, and he’s usually right about these things, but I didn’t listen to him. I’ve known all of them for over a decade.”  

“That’s a long time.” Lily nodded. “Was it a huge party?”  

James shook his head. “Nah, just the four of us. We went to a few different pubs that we haven’t really frequented since we were in uni, and we just had a blast. I’m terrified if Sirius ever decides to get married because his stag party would murder me. Twice. And then I’d have to do myself in to get rid of the hangover that I’d be suffering with a month after the fact.” He shook his head. Lily gave him another almost smile and he grinned at her.  

“What about you? How has your night been?” He asked, setting his burger down so that he could reach for some sauce to put on his chips.  

Lily shrugged one of her shoulders and pulled her drink out from under the counter, taking a sip before answering him. “It’s been alright I suppose. The night shift is always interesting. And I suppose I should apologize for trying to swat you out of the store, but you aren’t the first drunk to wander in and the last one did make a mess.”

James made a face, but didn’t pause in eating his chips. “I would have thrown me out too, no apology necessary.”  

“Thanks,” She nodded.  

“Do you normally work the nightshift?” She shook her head.  

“No, I don’t like to stay up quite as late as this shift requires, nor do I like being pretty much alone with anyone who happens to come in off the street. But my friend Benjy was desperate and I know the cook, so I agreed.” James nodded.  

“I’m not normally up late,” He ran a hand through his hands and then picked up his glass of water. “I was in bed by nine yesterday,” He chuckled. “I suppose that’s what happens when you get a stupid bloody job that gets you out of bed at five in the fucking morning.” He narrowed his brow in frustration, but then quickly his face became apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear like that.” He hadn’t realized that he’d already sworn, or that she hadn’t seemed to care.  

Lily laughed and James felt the sound travel down his spine. That wasn’t an almost smile, that was a real laugh and that was better than a smile. At least he thought it was, but then she looked at him and she was smiling with all her teeth for a moment and James wasn’t sure if he’d just been electrocuted or if she was a witch and had just placed him under a spell.  

Though, he supposed that there was no reason that it couldn’t have been both.  

“I don’t care if you swear. This is a diner and it’s past two in the morning. You can say whatever you want.” She waved her hand and then tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. It had fallen out of her plait. “It’s not like there are any kids wandering about.”  

“That’s true,” James said, still feeling a bit slack-jawed. “So, I can say anything I’d like to?”  

“I don’t mind.” She shrugged her shoulder.  

“You have the most beautiful laugh I have ever heard.”  

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “You’re drunk.”  

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth.”  

She looked him over for a moment and then shook her head. “You want your pie now?”  

James nodded and pushed up his glasses again. “Do you make the pies?”

“No, of course not. I’m just the waitress.”  

“You mean The Waitress. You’re not ‘just’ anything.” He hoped that he’d emphasized the proper words and finished off the last couple bits of his burger while she was fetching the pie. When she came back, she set it next to him and then took his glass to refill.

“Do you do this often?”  

“Do what?” He asked, picking up his fork and trying to decide where he should get the first bite of the pie from. Sometimes he liked to eat if from back to front, the crust was one of his favorite parts of the pie.  

“Do you just show up at random diners and flirt with whatever waitress is there?”  

“No,” He narrowed his brow and looked up at her before he looked back at his pie and slid his fork into the flakey crust. “I normally make myself dinner, unless I go out with friends or order in. Alright, I normally order in, but I’m not normally a fan of going out by myself. I only came in here just now because my flat is on this block and I saw the picture of the burger hanging in the window while I was trying to walk home.”  

“Are you lying?” She asked, tilting her head.  

“No,” He took another bite of pie. “But if you already think that I am, saying that I’m not won’t change your mind.”

“That’s true.”  

“So?”

“So?”

“Do you think I’m a liar?”  

She bit her bottom lip and James just about fell off his chair. At least, in his head, he almost fell off his chair. In reality, he just froze in place. “No, I suppose I don’t think that you’re a liar.”  

He cleared his throat. “Well that’s a relief. It would be harder to get your number if you thought I was a dishonest man.”

“I would be very difficult then.”  

“But now?”  

“Now?” She grinned at him.  

“How difficult would it be now?”  

She chuckled and looked down at her hands before looking back up at him. “I mean, I suppose it wouldn’t be all that difficult now.”  

“Well that’s a relief.” He finished off his pie, wondering why diner pie was always so small. “Because I’d really like the chance to try this again when I’m not completely shit-faced.”  

“That is, if you don’t change your mind once your sober.”  

He narrowed his brow and clicked his tongue. “I really don’t see myself changing my mind about you. Unless I found out that you were secretly a serial killer or in cahoots with The Master.”  

“The M- well no, I can promise you that I’m neither of those things.”  

“That’s good. Then I won’t change my mind.”  

“I’m not convinced.”

“You will be.”  

“You don’t want to know why I’m not convinced.” James had been assuming it was some self-conscious bullshite, but she was still grinning at him and there was a sparkle in her eye that wasn’t there a moment ago.  

“Why aren’t you convinced?”  

“Because you’ve completely embarrassed yourself in front of me tonight. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and never want to show your face in here again.”  

“I haven’t gotten sick.”

“Yet.”

“I won’t get sick.”  

“We’ll see.”  

“And I’m not going to be too embarrassed. I mean, you have agreed to give me your number, so I couldn’t have embarrassed myself too much.”  

“No, I haven’t. I just said that it wouldn’t be too difficult for you to get it.”  

James pressed his lips together and tried to think back to what he exact words had been, but she was still smiling at him, and between that and the alcohol, he would just have to take her word for it. She could say anything and he would have no choice but to take her word for it. “Right,” He relented. “Well then, my apologize. I did not mean to be presumptuous.”  

“I know, if you were being presumptuous on purpose, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’m not even sure presumptuous is the right word for that. You’re just drunk.”  

“You’re having too much fun with my being inebriated.”  

“Possibly. Though all I’m really doing is constantly reminding you of the fact.”

“I assure you madam, I do not need to be reminded. I’m well aware.”

“Are you talking like an English Gentleman on purpose, or is that just what’s happening now.”

“I am an English Gentleman, my lady.”  

“You sound Scottish to me. At least you did earlier. Now I’m wondering if perhaps you live in the queen’s basement just for fun.”  

“I am Scottish,” He nodded. “And the queen would never let me live in her basement. Though I did get to visit the royal household once on school holiday in year ten.”

“You went to one of those posh preppy schools, didn’t you?”  

“It’s not my fault though, so please don’t hold it against me.” He put his hand over his heart and made sure to talk with an extra thick Scottish accent. Lily laughed again and he smiled up at her.  

“You know, I suppose it’s not normally the fault of the children who get stuck in those schools.”

“It’s entirely my parent’s fault.”  

“And what did they do that to you for?”

“Something about wanting me to be pretentiously educated.” Lily laughed again and James ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he could do this all night. Sit here at the counter and make Lily laugh. He’d quite like to.  

“Well did they accomplish their goal?”  

“Yeah, Oxford afterward and now I’ve got one of those poshy, grownup jobs that makes you want to drill things into your head.”  

Lily didn’t laugh at that though, she just narrowed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. Though her biting her lip had an entirely different effect on him than before.  

“You shouldn’t do something if it makes you want to drill things into your head.”

“Oh,” He started shaking his head. “No, I mean, I suppose it’s not quite as bad as all of that. I can be a bit over dramatic when I’m drunk,” He smiled and she nodded. “And when I’m sober if I’m being honest.”  

“What is it that you wanted to be when you were a kid?”  

James had to think about it for a moment, the alcohol and her lip biting to blame for any hesitation, “I think I wanted to be a football player for a while. I also wanted to be a teacher.”

“At one of those posh schools?”  

“No, like a primary school teacher at a regular school. Where I could also be a football coach. That’s sounds nice.”

“Why didn’t you become that then?”  

“Didn’t really seem to fit in with everything else.” He shrugged, wondering why they weren’t joking about pirates anymore. Had they been joking about pirates? He couldn’t remember, but they could be. “What did you want to be when you were little?” He asked, before she could comment on his answer.  

“I wanted to be a ballerina.” She grinned. “But then I changed my mind when I was seven and decided that I needed to be a zookeeper. And then I wanted to be an astronaut. And then a doctor and then a reporter and then and then... I’ve never really been able to make up my mind.”

“Well why are we meant to have it all worked out by now anyway? Why can’t we change our minds? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not knowing.”

“Sure, but you only think that because you hate your job. If you loved your job, you’d be preaching the opposite. That’s how it always goes.”  

“It shouldn’t be how it goes.” James picked up his water and took a few drinks, hoping to help clear his head. If only it worked that quickly. Though now that he thought about it, his head was much clearer than when he had walked in.  

“Are you getting tired now?” Lily asked, leaning over the counter, her chin resting on her fist now. His eyes snapped back to hers. He hadn’t realized that he’d zoned out.  

“Why would you ask that?” He tilted his head and Lily chuckled.  

“Because I agreed with you a moment ago and you didn’t really seem to hear me.”  

“Damn. I get the feeling that you’re not going to do that all that often. I should have been listening.”  

“Well if you hadn’t drank so much...”  

“You keep taking the mick, but if I hadn’t drank so much, then I wouldn’t have wandered in here so late. And then where would we be?” Lily pressed her lips together for a moment and James thought that he might get lucky, that she might agree with him again. But then she pulled out a grin that he’d yet to see.  

“If you hadn’t wandered in here, then I would be having a much quieter night.”

“And you’re really going to stand there and pretend that that’s what you want? A quieter night? I mean you probably didn’t want to have to deal with my almost getting sick, but would you really have preferred that I never walked in.”

“You’re putting a lot of stock in your drunk flirting skills.”  

“Well why shouldn’t I? My sober flirting skill are insane. If I wasn’t drunk right now, you might have already agreed to marry me.”

“Marry you? Really?”  

“Really, really.”  

“Does your self-confidence also skyrocket when you’re drunk?”

“No, that’s another side effect of the posh schools I went to.”  

“Ah, almost forgot about those.”  

“Really?”

“Nah, not even a little bit.”

“I was wearing antlers earlier. That’s not posh.”  

“It’s a shame I missed the antlers.”  

“You like antlers?” Lily shrugged.  

“Maybe.” The door to the diner opened and a small group of people walked in. James didn’t know what they were doing here at three thirty in the morning looking perfectly sober, so he looked at Lily, “Students. They’re here a lot.” She grinned at him before turning her attention to the new arrivals. She knew their names and regular orders. James wondered if perhaps there would come a time when he had a regular order in this place, and Lily knew it.  

James drank the rest of his water while he waited for her to put their order in and watched them go and sit at a table and start talking a bit too animatedly for this hour of the night- morning? He really needed to go to bed.  

“It’s nearly four now,” Lily said when she walked back over to the counter. “Believe it or not, people are going to start showing up soon.”  

“Well at least I don’t have a job that makes me get up this early.”

“You always looking for the bright side of things?”  

“It’s not fun to always be looking for the bad stuff.”  

She opened her mouth and then closed it again and nodded. “You’re right. You also need to leave.”

“You’re kicking me out?”  

“Tell me you aren’t fighting to keep your eyes open.”

“I like what I’m looking at, why wouldn’t I fight to keep them open.”  

Lily laughed again and started picking up his dishes. “I work the dinner shift tomorrow. You can come round six. That’s when my break will be. ”

“Do I get your number yet?”

“You’ll get it if you show up tomorrow, how’s that?”  

James smiled at her, doing his best to be his most charming. “That’s more than fair.” He still didn’t want to leave, but he knew he should before he fell asleep on the counter. He had already embarrassed himself enough for one night.  

“Alright, alright. Up you go, your legs still work, right?”  

“Yeah, they still work.” James laughed, standing up and then reaching up to fix his glasses again. He pulled out his wallet and paid for his meal. “I’ll see you here, tomorrow at six.”  

“If you still want to.” She reminded him.  

“I’ll be here.” He put his palm against the counter and leaned forward. “Right here, in about fourteen hours.” Lily smiled.  

“Alright. You going to bring your antlers?” James snorted, a hand going up to his hair as he turned toward the door. He leaned against the door with his back, and paused to look at her for a moment. The brilliant green eyes, the messy bun of red hair, the freckles on her nose and the dazzling smile. His heart was excited and his stomach was in knots and he couldn’t wait for six o’clock tomorrow.  

“For you? Anything.”

[liquidatia]

Title: A Rose by any Other Name

Author: Yoi-trash-dump

Rating: T

Tags: YOI omegaverse, arranged marriage, courting, Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov, Victuuri, Alpha Yuuri, Beta Victor, Victorian era

Summary: Victor Nikiforov was no fool. He knew what the rest of polite society whispered about him behind his back.

How ridiculous he looks trying to masquerade as an omega. No amount of finery can hide bad breeding. He is entirely too tall, his face too long, and his shoulders too broad. It’s like someone dressed up a show horse and sent it to a ball!

Poor Lord Katsuki, forced to be saddled with an infertile beta. What an unfortunate arrangement.

How unfortunate indeed, when Victor finds himself completely and utterly smitten by a mysterious stranger on the night he is to meet his betrothed for the first time.

Read more

“Victor, straighten up that posture. It’s absolutely atrocious,” Lilia chidded sharply from her side of the carriage.

He personally couldn’t see how his posture could be any straighter, what with the corset forcing his spine erect. Nonetheless, he let out a pitiful sigh and strained his shoulders back further. He had spent the previous three hours being wrestled into layers and layers of skirts of imported silk, strangled by that blasted corset, having his face powdered down to accentuate his already fair skin, and his long silver hair piled on top of his head in the latest omega fashion, all for the sake of an alpha that he had never met before. He didn’t feel like some fragile doll made to stay silent and look pretty though. Even worse. He felt like an imposter in his own skin.

“I don’t see why he has to try so hard,” Yuri grumbled beside him, his alpha cousin slouched in an unbecoming manner that Lilia had long given up on, “his intended will wed and bed him whether or not he approves of Victor’s posture or even his appearance for that matter. Why continue this charade when everybody knows the truth? It’s embarrassing.”

“Yura, enough,” Yakov snapped.

Victor knew that Yuri didn’t mean to sound so harsh and he was in truth just as frustrated with the situation as he was, but he couldn’t help but inwardly flinch at the unspoken question.

Why dress him up like an omega bride when everybody knows that he’s a beta?

‘Why?’ is the question that Victor always asked himself, ‘why couldn’t he present as an omega like everyone expected of him? Why was fate so cruel? Why even try when this horrid, loveless arranged marriage will only lead sorrow and contempt? Why was being a beta so bad?’

Even at twenty-two years of age, he had no answers, so he simply played his part. He dressed up as an omega even after he presented as a beta and his secondary gender became evident with his broadening frame. He learned dainty skills such as embroidery, piano, hosting and entertaining guests, and managing an estate. He charmed people with his pretty words and pretty smiles, hiding his bitter loneliness behind a demure facade. He got by, but it wasn’t enough. He could never be enough. No matter how much he pretended and lied to himself, he would always be just a beta, and there was no place or worth in betas in his world.

They arrived at the Giacometti estate not quite early, yet not fashionably late. It had always been that way since Victor’s presentation to draw attention away from the beta male, yet as he descended the grand staircase, he felt many eyes pin him down like a butterfly on display.

“Relax, Vitya,” Lilia whispered beside him, “they stare because you are the most beautiful in attendance.”

Victor could only provide a strained smile in return. He knew she meant well, but he was no stranger to what the rest of polite society whispered about him.

Poor Lord Katsuki, forced to be saddled with an infertile beta. What an unfortunate arrangement.

How ridiculous he looks trying to masquerade as an omega. No amount of finery can hide bad breeding. He is entirely too tall, his face too long, and his shoulders too broad. It’s like someone dressed up a show horse and sent it to a ball!

Twenty-two is rather old for a marriage. If he were truly an omega, he’d practically be an old maid!

He is nothing but a glorified beta. He will never satisfy his future husband.

It seems like the Nikiforovs cheated the Katsukis with this sham of a marriage. Lord Katsuki will never have an heir... a legitimate one at least.

“Victor!” his childhood friend and confidant, Chris, greeted jovially, breaking him from his dark thoughts, “mon cherie, why look at you. Stunning as always!”

Victor felt himself smile genuinely for the first time that night. “Thank you. It’s always a pleasure to see a familiar face.”

“And look at that neckline. Mon dieu, how scandalous Mister Nikiforov! Your betrothed will be smitten before the night is over!”

And like that, his smile fell. Despite his friend’s good intentions, Victor was well aware he didn’t have the omega curves to fill out the dress properly to make any sort of scandal. “Chris I don’t even know him. He doesn’t even know me.”

“Then get to know him, cherie. Enthrall him with that brilliant mind of yours. Now enough worrying. I hope your intended doesn’t mind that I steal your first dance,” he delivered with a saucy wink.

And like that, Christ swept him off in a flurry of skirts and laughter as they danced to a waltz. The Giacometti estate always had excellent taste in music and this party was no exception. It was too easy to lose track of time in the revelry.

“You sure know how to throw a party, Chris,” Victor commended as they remained together for the next song.

“I aim to please,” he all but purred, yet Victor could see that something else had grabbed his attention. Looking over his shoulder, his eye was all but drawn to his younger cousin arguing with another alpha - a very handsome alpha. A very handsome alpha who looked completely startled by his cousin’s infamous rage that was causing a scene. Quite unfortunately, Victor didn’t recognize him.

To his benefit, the stranger quickly regained his composure and offered a humored smile. He said something Victor couldn’t quite catch, which sent Yuri on edge like an angered cat. With an affirmative nod, Yuri hardly waited for the stranger to finish bowing before grabbing him and taking the lead in the next dance. Victor could only blink in surprise like the rest of the party goers. Two alphas dancing together? That was absolutely unheard of, so naturally, Victor was completely enthralled. And oh, he was a beautiful dancer! Lilia drilled strict dance lessons into both he and Yuri growing up so they were quite known to be wonderful dance partners, but the way this man moved, he all but brought Yuri’s years of training to shame.

He was flexible it seemed, falling into step with Yuri with ease and taking on the conventionally omega role in the dance. If Victor didn’t know better, he might have thought the alpha really was an omega. His footwork was exquisite and his form was impeccable. Despite his strong and slim physique, he danced in such a manner that seduced all those around him regardless of secondary gender, and Victor was one of them. He could hardly take his eyes off of him.

“Someone has your attention it seems,” Chris noted mirthfully.

“Chris,” he said urgently, tugging at his jacket, “who is he? I must know!”

“I haven’t a clue actually. Masumi usually draws up the guest list and it seems I wasn’t paying attention when he arrived. I’ve never seen him before but now I have to know so I can make sure he’s invited to the next party. He is quite easy on the eyes too.”

“He is absolutely stunning!”

“Careful,” Chris warned playfully, though there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes, “you wouldn’t want to neglect your fiance.”

In Chris’s company, Victor had the audacity to roll his eyes. “To hell with my fiance and this farce of a marriage!”

The second the song came to a close, Victor broke away from Chris and approached the stranger before anyone else could claim him. Curtseying low and looking up through silver lashes, Victor offered a charmed smile.

“May I have this dance?”

Yuri all but sputtered at his sudden appearance, but the other alpha graciously smiled and offered his hand. And just like that, Victor was swept away into a Venetian waltz in the arms of a man who was not his intended. It was a wonderful dance really. Victor had never felt as challenged by another dancer as he did now and the alpha had the strength to lower him into an impressive dip, but Victor feared he was hardly an appropriate partner. He was a beta, and a beta that was taller than the alpha at that, and Victor could only wonder if the man resented him for it. Perhaps he would be able to fully enjoy his beautiful dance partner, if it weren’t for him feeling so ridiculous and out of place like an ugly duckling dancing with a swan. Like all things, he would never be good enough, not for his fiance and not for this alpha.

As the waltz drew to a close, Victor offered a watery smile and curtseyed deeply in show of his appreciation and as a last goodbye, but it seemed as though the alpha was full of never-ending surprises. He took Victor by the hand before he could slip away and placed it on the small of his back. He was so shocked that he hardly registered that the next song had started until the man gently urged him to lead. With that, they both were off. Their steps became synced and their transitions much smoother, now that the height difference was adjusted for.

“That’s much better, isn’t it?” the handsome stranger asked before ducking his head in a blush that made Victor’s pounding heart quite evident, “my apologies, that was too bold of me to assume you preferred to lead or even want to dance with me a second time.”

“No, no, of course not! You’re a beautiful dancer! I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the moment you started dancing with my cousin. And actually,” Victor quickly demurred, “I prefer to lead, though I hardly get to opportunity to.”

His smile was absolutely blinding. “I’m glad then. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you as well. You’re even lovelier in person. I’m afraid the rumors do you no justice.”

Victor stiffened at that.

...nothing but a glorified beta...

“I’m hardly beautiful,” he managed weakly, which earned him an incredulous look.

“Hardly beautiful? You can’t be serious? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen!”

“Even for a beta? After all, beauty can’t buy good breeding. Who would want to marry a beta who can’t produce heirs?”

Now it was the alpha’s turn to falter, his big brown eyes widening further before he averted them. “Is that what has you so anxious? Are you worried that I care that you’re a beta?”

“Everyone cares that I’m a beta. Are you saying that you don’t?” Victor challenged. He knew he was hardly being fair or proper, but he was just so tired and something about this man made his tongue looser than usual.

“Of course I don’t!” he all but exclaimed with such genuine concern in his eyes, “I’m not daft. I know that your beauty isn’t the only thing about you people like to talk about, but your secondary gender hardly matters. I in fact would be honored to marry you! I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve already decided that I like you and that’s good enough for me.”

Victor could hardly stop his breath from hitching at his words. To be enough is all he ever wanted. How could he possibly make this man stay? “That sounds like a marriage proposal. Then what shall I be to you? A father figure? A brother, then? A friend? A lover?”

“No, no!” the alpha quickly flustered, making Victor’s heart drop in disappointment, “I want you to stay who you are! Just be… you.”

Victor tightened his hold on him, drawing him closer to both feel his warmth and hide his watery eyes despite the song coming to a close. “I-I… thank you. God, I don’t even know your name.”

The man seemed to completely blank at that, all confidence falling from his face “Y-you don’t?”

He was making him nervous now. Should he know? “I’m sorry, but I believe this is the first time we’ve met?”

His shocked expression morphed into a humored snort. “Fair enough. I’m simply just a passing noble and this is my first night in town after all. I’m very certain we’ll be seeing more of each other in the months to come. However, I’m afraid I have to retire early. It has been a long trip for both me and my colleagues and I am hosting them for the night at my family’s estate.” He bowed low and kissed Victor’s hand. “I hope to see you again soon, Victor. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your company.”

And just like that, the man disappeared just as quickly as he entered Victor’s life and to his disappointment, he still didn’t have a name. It wasn’t until he was back in his carriage that he found out the mysterious man’s identity.

“And what are you sighing about this time, Victor?” Yakov barked.

“We have to cancel the marriage!” Victor nearly shouted, his nervous energy finally breaking free.

“You know it’s not that easy, Victor. What’s brought this on?”

He sighed again, resting his head on his palm. “I met the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I think I’m in love. I won’t have anybody else!”

Yuri who had been uncharacteristically silent up until this point simply stared at him incredulously. “Are you talking about that stupid pig you were practically glued to the entire time?”

“If I remember correctly, you danced with him too,” he snipped back.

The blonde hell child snapped at that. “Are you a freaking moron?” Yuri exploded, rocking the carriage with his sudden outburst, “that pig you were dancing with was Lord Yuuri Katsuki. He is your fiance!”

Oh... Oh.

[surveys4ever]

26.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? ...yes. Literally every year. There’s usually a week or two in January when it gets down to -50 to -75 F. 

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Maybe when I was a teenager? I’ve definitely been caught in the rain, not sure about a thunderstorm tho.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? I’ve actually never had a macaron! But I don’t like meringue so I don’t think I’d enjoy them.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Literally never.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? YES. The assistant manager at the last job I had was insane. She tried to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to leave town on the weekends in case they needed me. LOL girl bye.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? 0, covid.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Noooo.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I’ve never even been on a diving board.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos?  I believe in the 10th or 11th grade I hated them but I was on the yearbook committee so I finessed some new ones to put in hehehe.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? I believe I learned at school.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 9,008.

Do you think dimples are cute? Oh hell yeah.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? Minty.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Beebs!

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Rocks and lip balm.

Have you watched a movie today? Yes! We went to see Dracula.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? We went to an indoor garage sale a couple weeks ago.

Do you love soft pretzels? They’re alright. They smell better than they taste in my opinion.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? Does my dog count? Bc she’s just a drama queen and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? True love is when you like them a ton before you actually really know them and then like them even more after.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? I honestly think cards are a huge waste of money so if I do give one, I made it. But I have a Circuit and I’m pretty creatively inclined so it’s pretty easy.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? It sounds pompous but I honestly think I'm too self aware to by hypocritical.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? My hip, because I was sitting weird.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? Someone I know named their kid Emanda. Unsure if its pronounced ee-manda or just regular Amanda. Haven’t wanted to ask. Another named their kid Albrea. I just call her Algebra. And another named their kid Annekke, pronounced Anika. She will forever be a-neek-ee to me.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? Bold of you to assume I ever let anybody sing.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I’m the big sister to like a bajillion children. Yes I’m good at it.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Newp.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? Hahaha I don’t but I literally just saw a Billy Bass at a thrift store yesterday. They were funny then and they’re funny nostalgic now.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? I have a pretty severe anxiety disorder but no one’s accused me of having it because like...it’s pretty obvious? 

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Haha yes! We bought movie tickets, a drink, and peanut butter m&ms.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? Our car is too short for that but yeah, my parents always yelled at me for it when I was young.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I wouldn’t say I loved any of them but John Lennon is absolute hot garbage.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Uh...not really?

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yes! They were all the rage in the 6th grade.

Are you more of a dog or cat person?/ Dog, definitely.

Have you ever failed math? I very, VERY narrowly passed the last math course I needed to graduate and I did the math and because of the mark I got on my final, I should have failed by 3% but I got 1% over what I needed to pass. Pretty sure my math teacher just didn’t want to deal with me taking the course over so he passed me BUT my math could have been wrong, haha.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Lordt. I haven’t purchased skittles in ages. I think I remember red being my favorite?

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Yeah, actually.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? I would just want my husband to know how much I love him and that I’ll be waiting for him in whatever form of afterlife there is.

Can you sleep with the light on? If I'm dead tired.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I mean...Dracula is supposed to be a horror movie. The only thing horrific about it was the acting.

What band can’t you stand listening to? I honestly can’t think of one right now.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? I mean, if I had to? But we trust each other 100% and I’m brutally honest about everything so he would never require that from me.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Murder, Mystery, & Makeup Mondayssss! Sha na sha sha na sha sha na sha sha sha na shaaaaaaaa!

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? Absolutely not.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? I love my mom’s parents to bits. My grandma is one of my absolute favorite people in the world and my grandpa is very quiet but he has a lot of really sweet moments. My dad’s parents are awful fuckin people. My grandfather died like 5 years ago and I really had to try hard to feign sympathy about it to him. My grandmother is still kicking it but we haven’t spoken in over a decade for good reason. She also changed their joint Facebook account to just her Facebook account less than a week after he died loooool. She hated him as much as I did I think. And then my bio dad’s dad is dead but he was also a piece of shit but his mom is a sweetie. We facetime every so often and she holds the phone a grand total of 6 inches away from her face the entire time and tells me the same stories over and over. Bu

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? Newp.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No, thank god.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated? My grandma’s dog.

What is your current problem? My eyes are blurry because I’m tired.

Do you like canopy beds? Tbh, canopy beds are the epitome of glamor in my eyes.

What is your favorite animated movie? Onward.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city? I like medium cities. You won’t get mugged walking down the street, traffic doesn’t absolutely suck, and you can get clear across town in 15 minutes.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why? Uh? Why am I in trouble? Why can’t I call a human? What’s happening here?

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls? I tried watching a couple episodes but it didn’t pique my interest.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Noooo. Beebs loves them though so he tries to make me love them and it’s just not happenin, buddy.

Last alcoholic drink you had? No idea tbh.

What are you known for? For being talented and having big hair.

Has anyone ever threatened you? Oh yeah. There was this one guy who was constantly sending me really graphic messages about how he wanted to put a gun to my head and kill me or he hoped I would get XYZ and die. I tried to block him but he would immediately make 3 more accounts to send me the same shit.

Have you ever gone frog hunting? Noooo.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin? Yessss. My body is the Sahara.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal? No, I sleep with a husband.

What’s the weather like right this moment? It’s rainy!

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks? Nah.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter? Beeb’s bedroom. His stepfather interrupted and made him come outside to talk to him for some reason and then very weirdly pointed out his half boner? V. uncomfortable all around.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from? Somewhere where white people come from idk.

What do you occupy your time with on flights? iPad games usually.

Do you dog-ear pages in books? No, I’m not a heathen.

What’s a made up word of yours? We call pickles ‘pickies’ and hamburgers ‘borgers’ or ‘borgs’ because we’re gross.

Do you use Q-Tips? In my ears? No. To clean out tight spaces of things I've thrifted? Yes.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like? Noooo.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song? ....No.

What makes you dizzy? Getting up too fast usually.

Are your parents liberal or conservative? Bleh, conservative. If you have liberal parents, consider yourself blessed.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces? I got away with having just an appliance/Invisaligns but I still don’t like my teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white enough but I have body dysmorphia and for some reason I think they’re atrocious and I hate them??? I can’t explain it.

Are you happy with your height? I’m 5′11 and I wish I was shorter sometimes. Hugging my husband would be easier.

[high5nerd]

Alone Together---Chap. Ten

Sadie had her lower lip jutted out, quivering in fear and guilt for running off without telling her sister or even me. Of all people I assumed she would at least tell Alice, but the fact that this ten year old told absolutely no one as well as the middle of the night is more than absurd. It's atrocious behavior. If I pulled that as a kid a thousand years ago my father would whack my sorry ass with a two by four paddle. That's just how it was back then. But something told me by the look of Alice's face her future screaming was going to be worse than a rear end beating.

"I didn't mean to scare you." Sadie whimpered as she looked at her winter boots.

I was about to open my mouth but Alice gave me a look that made the words die in my throat. I've seen her angry before, you know that. But this anger was mixed with relief and fear, and I knew exactly what she was going through. I had a daughter myself once, and that little girl constantly escaped the house to go into the woods and play. I'm a friend to heart and panic attacks.

As Alice was taking a couple deep breaths to make the red in her face die down, I snuck a glance in North and Sandy's direction. Sandy looked thoroughly apologetic towards Sadie...I blamed him, too. That wily sandbag encouraged her, gave her the grand idea to leave to North's place when we turned a blind eye for a second.

...What's this 'we' I'm doing? It's Alice, not me.

...Then again, I was in charge of her when she left for work. Whoops.

The silence hung in the air like dead fish for a while before Alice opened her eyes. Sadie looked up at her. Her fear smelled like petrichor.

"If Mom and Dad were here, they would not shout. They would tell you calmly that what you did was wrong and to never do it again." Alice finally murmured out.

Sadie slowly nodded, looking back at her snowflake winter boots. Melancholy. Boy, that was a familiar emotion I knew by heart. What was Alice trying to point out?

"Shouting won't help anything, even if I want to. You scared me, Sadie. You scared Pitch, too. He was the one who found you missing and told me. If he didn't, we wouldn't have known you were gone. He was probably more terrified than I was."

I sucked in my cheek as I felt all eyes on me. Yep, this was definitely embarrassing. Believe me, I liked attention, but not this kind of attention. This was out of bounds. Even the hairy yetis and those creepy elves were watching my every single move. It made me feel antsy. Thanks a fucking bunch, Alice. Love you, too. Let me keep at least some of my dignity.

"Is that true?" surprisingly North was the one that voiced that question in the stillness.

Alice turned to him, almost forgetting he was even there due to his long period of silence, watching not only Sadie be scolded but also in shock that I was there, of all people. She, remembering that he was the living and breathing proof that Santa Claus existed, slowly nodded, her serious look still written beautifully on her face.

North looked at me with surprised eyes, causing me to glare at him. I'm not taking any of his sarcasm-if the oaf had any-or mockery. I wasn't up for that right then and there.

Sandy got North's attention by patting the big man's leg. Once the Cossack looked down at his counterpart, Sandy spoke fast elvish language in written sand to him, a few symbols were recognizable, but not all of them. Protect. Devout. Care.

Again, cue North's honestly wide and surprised face. I looked back at Sadie, who turned to me as if I had something to say of the matter.

"You do realize all you had to do was ask your sister for permission, yes?"

Sadie was silent for a minute, before nodding timidly. But then she voiced that question I really did not want to face.

"Were you really scared?"

I accidentally bit my tongue at that. I really didn't want to answer that. It would make me look vulnerable, and that's not a trait I want to display freely in front of Sandman and North. They already saw my retreat before and I'm certainly not bending to that level again.

...But her big eyes were convincing enough, so I stiffly nodded and the word 'yes' barely left my mouth. But sure enough, Sadie heard it, for her eyes widened with shock that someone who controls that could feel it, too.

"See? And you thought I was lying." Alice said as she put a hand on her hip, "Now, what do we do from here?"

Sadie looked at her shoes for a minute before trudging over to Sandy and North for a final goodbye. She walked like a puppet on strings, her head hung limply along with her shoulders and arms. She looked so forlorn...it kind of hurt watching. I looked over at Alice, who looked just as bothered by it as I was.

"Bye, Sandy," Sadie hugged the sandbag before trudging over to North to hug him as well, "Bye, North."

"Oh, come now, Alice! Can't she stay for just a couple more hours?" North asked gently.

"But Sadie-!" She started, but North cut her off with a polite hand.

"Would it be better if you were to be here with her? That way she can stay here longer and she's under your watch."

I couldn't help but feel a faint smile at Alice's thinking face. It was rather adorable on her, can't deny that. Sandy grinned at Sadie who looked hopefully back for a response from her sister. Alice stammered out an excuse that we had to head home, but North's smile made her stop.

"I know how much you care for the best of your sister, and you are very protective. You've been on Nice list for a long time. I applaud you."

"Am I being buttered up to say yes?" Alice raised a teasing brow, making North chuckle.

I hated his chuckle. It annoyed the piss out of me. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"In a way! So! What do you say?" North offered, casting a quick glance in my direction.

I may not know North personally, but I knew that look, and it filled me with dread. Suspicion. Spite. All mixed in one. You wouldn't think that jolly old Saint Nick would have that quality in his face but he just so happens to, and he reserves it all for me. How lucky am I...ugh.

Alice finally sighed and threw up her hands, "Sure, why not. We'll stay for a couple more hours, alright?"

But just as Sadie cheered and jumped around in circles, Alice warned, "You have school tomorrow and you haven't finished your homework, so we have to be home soon."

Sadie pouted angrily and muttered, "Now that I have that hanging over my head how can I have fun now?"

But sure enough, her antics continued with Sandman. He flew his cursed sand plane around outside and around the globe, and soon enough Alice joined the fun after she watched the yetis make toys. Though I wanted to continue watching them entertain themselves, I felt a stiff hand on my shoulder. An unwelcome one.

I quickly shook North off and gave an acidic snarl at him, "Don't touch me, Cossack heathen."

A vein pulsed in his forehead before hissing through gritted teeth, "Before you make a scene in front of two people you care about I suggest you follow me. We need to talk."

"No."

"I'm not asking you. I'm ordering to."

"I'm a goddamn king of darkness and you're just a fat man who bribes kids. If anyone does the ordering around here it's me." I spat, but followed him anyways.

"Not while you're in my domain, Pitch." North was quick on his feet as he led me to a solid, wooden door. It appeared the same as the other million here but it was twice as tall.

I found myself standing in a giant library with a massive fireplace and couch fit for a giant. Fur rugs scattered over the stone floor along with many red oak and mahogany tables that held parchment packets, candles, and whittled statues. The entire room was lit up to glow by the candle chandelier, including the sun leaking in through the ceiling windows outside. The shelves reached the dome above, holding everything from a scroll to a book. Ladders were scattered here and there that rolled with certain shelves for an easy climb, completely made out of sturdy oak wood.

North finally turned around and folded his arms, as if to challenge me to attack. I either had a choice: to look directly into his face to challenge him back or look away. I chose the latter. I gave him a hard stare back to show that just because they won the war and I didn't, I wasn't vulnerable like they thought I was.

"I know what Alice means to you." he finally said strongly.

Oh shit. No...no, no, no, no. Though panicking on the inside I remained calm on the outside. How would North know about that? Those hidden feelings of affection were only expressed in my mind, never out loud.

Wait...I told Sadie…

...that little snitch.

Might as well pretend to not know what he's talking about. Play it out, or something.

"What makes you think that? They're just giving me a smidgen of belief I lost thanks to you weirdoes." I drawled as I folded my hands behind my back smoothly.

"Oh, give me break!" North rolled his eyes, "I can see it in your eyes when I mention her name! Alice. Alice. Alice! You see yourself when I say it? It is obvious as the nose on your face!"

I huffed angrily, turning my back to him and walking to the door. "What are you going to do about it, old man? Tell Man in Moon?"

"He knows everything of time, Pitch. I assume he already knows." North sounded snarky right there.

I swore under my breath and looked back at the door, itching to just swing it open, grab the girls and leave. They're probably having a freakin' tea party with the fat sandbag, I bet. They're not getting interrogated like I was. How unfair was that? It wasn't fair that what feelings I had were forbidden...let alone admitting them was unbearable enough.

"Look, Pitch," North sighed, "Sandy told us that you're making amends. And I can see how much Sadie cares about you and Alice likes your company. You matter to them, and I can't take that away. It wouldn't be right of me."

"Oh, so you're not going to gut me like a fish? Damn, I was looking forward to that." I sarcastically said, snapping my fingers in mock disappointment.

"Nope, though still an option if you want." he smirked, folding his tattooed arms.

Seriously, he shouldn't have those. He'd be a disappointment to adults everywhere. Well, at least some.

"I'll pass on that. Is this it? Just a threat about something stupidly forbidden and I can leave?" I honestly was getting tired just standing there. I had better things to do.

North was silent for a while, just watching me. Scrutinizing my every breath and nervous flick of my eyes. I get fidgety under his stern look. He finally nodded, and just as I opened the door to leave the damned library, he said something that struck whatever was left of my nerves.

"Know your place. I doubt someone as kind as Alice would willingly open her heart to monster like you."

I knew it.