#or maybe with *his* vision for rome if you want to be generous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

margridarnauds · 1 year

Note

For the Top 5s if you're still doing them: 5 favorite artworks or historical artifacts? (either overall or ones you've seen in person)

Going to go purely with paintings (general), because if it was artifacts, I would have to weigh these paintings against, say, the Tara Brooch, or Brían Boru's harp, or the Book of Kells, or the Stone Corridor at University College Cork, and......I couldn't choose. (Also why the Book of Kells isn't included in this -- it'd rig the system.)

Francois Boucher, "Louis-Philippe-Joseph (1747–1793), duc de Montpensier, Later duc d'Orléans"

This was NOT an easy list to create, because there are a lot of paintings that I like for different reasons, paintings that have been significant throughout my life (I'm not including the Maiden and the Unicorn tapestry, even though it's probably my ultimate favorite piece of all time, purely to make the decision slightly easier), paintings that I've only just now discovered, paintings that I like for their themes, paintings I like for their aesthetics, paintings that I like because of the backstory to them that aren't immediately apparent, paintings that I like because I see them about once a week whenever my schoolwork isn't killing me.

But, in the end, I had to choose this one. Probably not the most stylistically complicated of all of them on here, but...very human. The thing I like about getting to be hyperfixated on someone with a wide range of documentation (which is very rare for me), and the thing that's painful about it, is that...you see their entire life. People often want Philippe to be a monster from the time he came out of the womb to the time he died, but, at some point, he was just a baby, the same as any other, surrounded by this ridiculous amount of Ancien Régime wealth and status, but just a baby. Surrounded by playing cards and a rocking horse and a little kitten, with his little cap and shoes and dress. Both of his parents are alive, even his grandfather (who would disown him as a child out of the belief that he was replaced with a servant's child.) He doesn't know anything about politics or old grudges. He doesn't know about mortality yet. He doesn't know about all the other babies alive at the same time, born in one room houses with little food and less fuel to warm themselves during the winter. He's only the Duc de Montspensier, not a title to sneeze at, certainly, but nothing on the Duc d'Orléans. Who would have thought that baby would meet his end at a guillotine at the age of 46, as one of the most hated men in Europe?

2. Herbert G. Schmaltz - Zenobia's Last Look at Palmyra

Such a wonderful, wistful painting. You can almost feel how much she loves her city, even as she's looking at it being invaded, on fire, and knowing that things will never be the same again, as the Romans, just at the corner of her vision, are urging her on the ship to Rome. Maybe she's be spared, like some versions of her story have it, maybe she won't and will die like so many enemies of Rome did, but either way, things will never be the same again. I think it's the sort of painting that you're not all that impressed by if you see it when you're younger, only to come back to it time after time again as you get older.

3. Merson, "Rest on the Flight Into Egypt"

#3 was actually the hardest of all of them to fill, just because that's where I had to decide last, and so I had to debate which painting was going here, what was going to be my final choice. And I went back and forth between Caspar's "The Wanderer", Pether's "Eruption of Vesuvius", and this one. Ultimately, I chose this one because, while I like the composition of the others, I especially love the contrasting colors Pether used on his, I love the spirit of the Caspar....I really liked the humanity of this one. I'm a very firm atheist at this point -- As a medievalist, I can appreciate certain aesthetic and literary aspects of historical Christianity, I can appreciate what it meant historically to people and what it still means to people, but, for me? No.

But here, I love how you can see the Holy Family exhausted, weary, snatching a moment of time underneath a sphynx before they have to go. I love how you can tell that this is very much a product of that Egyptomania that really gripped the 19th century, the artist pretty clearly using the Holy Family as an excuse to draw out a really cool sphynx, but also the way that he incorporates the Family into the scene, with Mary taking refuse in-between its paws. I love the serenity of the night sky, the stillness of it, the way that he uses Glowing Baby Jesus as a light source, the limited, deliberate use of detail.

4. Henry Fuseli, "The Nightmare"

....yes, it's very stereotypically goth, but I absolutely adore it. I love the use of shadow and light, I love the combination of the grotesque and the sort of classical ideals of beauty, I love the drama, I love *the fucking horse*. It's a no-brainer for me to include it on the list. (Also, fun fact: I first learned about it when I was like....12/13, from a Scarlet Pimpernel Chauvelin/OC fanfic, of all things.)

5. Stephen Lawlor - "Woman" (2004)

This is going to be the only one I can ever confirm whether I saw it in person or not -- The answer is: of course I did. When I was visiting Limerick, I had the chance to go the Hunt Museum while it was on display. And, to be blunt...I don't like most modern art. Nothing against the artists, but I prefer the more classical styles, anything from the 16th to the 19th century (you know, that very brief time frame of three hundred years), with a lot of favoritism for the 17th and 18th centuries in particular. And, while I can see the PROCESS behind a lot of modern art....I just don't enjoy it.

But Lawlor. Oh, his stuff sinks into your bones when you see it. And there's a backstory to it -- When he was staying in a house in Sweden, he saw the ghost of a young woman who had tried to elope with the family's servant in the 19th century, only to accidentally be shot by her father. Lawlor was staying at that house one day and, as he was in his bed, he saw a vision of a woman. Totally faceless, gradually forming into something more distinct. It lunged for him and he, very Irishly, proceeded to kick it in the groin. (I know, not exactly Mrs. Radcliffe of him.) But, since that meeting, he's painted her into all of his stuff. He was known for doing landscapes and horses before but, since that point, it's all been her. To the point where he even went back to shoot a video.

I had kind of been just walking along, (or, as I'd say about a month later, ag spaisteoireacht), wanting to fill time because I'd arrived for the conference a day early and wanted to see as much of the Hunt Museum as I could before my time there was totally consumed by it (the thing with conferences is that I get to go on splashy trips all over the world, BUT I can only ever be there for a few days at a time.) And I was walking along, thinking "Oh, this is all very modern, I kind of want to go back to the medieval crozier, can we do that? I think I saw a Viking sword down the way, or can we go back into the Georgian room?"

And then I saw the video that he'd made about his experience. And I went through the gallery again, just to see it all through that lens. He's painted a number of copies of portraits of historical woman -- Elizabeth I, Lucrezia Panciatichi, Katherine Howard, Madame de Pompadour, but all of them have that distinctive lack of face, the darkness crowding in around them. The girl didn't have a face, it was taken away by a senseless tragedy, but he's let her embody all these women. She's them and they're her and it's all part of this vast, larger picture, and all of them are existing in this state between reality and dreaming. And as you walk past them, it almost feels like you're viewing something you saw in a dream, something tugging at the deepest parts of your memory, as you try to figure out where that image came from. I went away that day; I wasn't able to go back before the conference was over, but the next MONTH, when I was returning from my time in the Gaeltacht, I nabbed the book they were selling on his art because, after all that time, I'd still not forgotten it, or her. And that's why I'm putting him here among the greats.

#long post

5 notes · View notes

mistressemmedi · 3 years

Text

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

#maneskin #ethan torchio #damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #i'm off to drink some wine lol

146 notes · View notes

blossom-hwa · 3 years

Note

I don't generally request stuff and the reason why I am doing this is because I absolutely love your work, especially the Kingdom Series and the Mermaid!Younghoon and I am a little embarassed to put out my little imagination request out

But I would like to request

Sunwoo + colour lavender but could you make it best friends to lovers au too? (It is okay if you can only work on one part too!!! Whatever you are comfortable with)

Thank you so much! Congrats on your 4 years, and thanking for alllllll the amazing work you have put out!!!!! Really big appreciation for you and your writing!!! Ly❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

hi love! there's no need to be embarrassed at all about this - it's a lovely idea, and thank you so much for your kind words and the request! I hope you enjoy this token of my thanks for your support <3

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

Title: Palette

Pairing: Sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Triggers: none

"What color am I?"

The question comes on a hot day spent on the couch with the air conditioner broken, when everything feels like it's melting under the heat of the sun baking your apartment to a crisp. Somewhere in the building, a repairman is trying to figure out what's wrong.

You and Sunwoo, however, are melting into puddles on the sticky hardwood floor.

"What?" You shake yourself out of the blank state you’ve slipped into, staring at the empty ceiling. You've never spent much time looking at the ceiling. It's off white, maybe eggshell, a little cracked and blemished but not enough for you to say to no to the cheaper rent. Looking at it now, though, it's kind of ugly.

"You said Juyeon is yellow, like sunflowers.” He pauses. “Eric’s... green, I think. Sangyeon was red, Changmin was also green, but brighter than Eric. Right?”

Something tugs at the back of your mind, a memory of using your paints to describe some of your friends. Your eyes drift to the abandoned easel in the corner of the muggy room. You can almost feel the canvas melting off of it into a paint-splattered puddle on the floor. “Right,” you reply, wiping a bead of sweat off of your head.

“You didn’t give me a color,” Sunwoo says. You can’t spare the energy to look in his direction even though he’s literally right next to you, but you imagine he looks about as wiped out as you feel. “So I wondered.”

Colors. Yes, colors like the off-white eggshell of your ceiling, the blue of the sky outside...

What color is Sunwoo?

Orange is the first one that comes to mind, orange like a sunset, burning as it slowly dips under the horizon. Its rays wisp into the sky, fading in some places, intensifying in others, turning it into a mural of oranges and pinks and yellows, burning like the passion that fuels Sunwoo’s soul...

Oh, but yellow. Yellow exists - maybe not as golden as Juyeon’s yellow, maybe not as bright as the burning sun, but darker, deeper, like marigolds - orange mixed in, perhaps, but still yellow in abundance, like flower petals bursting into bloom.

You frown. Sweat drips down the side of your face, but this time, you don’t even notice. Orange and yellow - they’re right, but not quite right. Not exactly. Not yet...

Sunwoo’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Still thinking?”

“Shut up.” You flail around a limp arm, smiling with satisfaction when it hits his stomach with an audible thump. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“You’re thinking about a color.”

“How long do you think it takes me to mix the exact right shade for each part of a painting?” You turn just enough to let him see your raised eyebrow. “Thinking about colors takes a lot of work.”

He grumbles but shuts up, eyes closing as he settles back onto the floor. You keep watching him though, follow the curve of his jaw down to his chin, tanned skin shiny with the sheen of moisture that seems to have covered everything in this tiny apartment...

Bronze comes to mind, warm, metallic, rich like the color of his skin. They made weapons out of bronze in the past - strong, steady, unyielding, like Sunwoo’s will to push past obstacles no matter how hard they seem at a glance. He could be a bronze statue, for all you know - he’s handsome enough for that, certainly some sculptor from the past would have been taken with Sunwoo’s looks if he’d been around and created a statue that would have lasted for centuries afterward.

But it’s warm. Too warm. And maybe it’s just because of the hot sun pouring into the room even with the shades drawn, but thinking about metal, about bronze, makes you feel like you’re touching a burning hot stove on a day like this. There have to be other colors, right? Other colors that aren’t bronze, green, pink, maybe blue -

Blue. You latch onto the thought. Not the color of the relentless sky, but maybe like the ocean - cool, deep, ceaseless in its flow but not overbearing until a storm comes, whipping the waves into a chaos of whirling water that slashes and swipes across the beach. Sunwoo’s a little bit of both, you think, the part of the ocean that goes with the flow, but also the part that gets a little angry, a little passionate, a little too worked up about some things sometimes.

But his anger isn’t quite blue. Not really. Sunwoo is quick to anger but also quick to calm when dealt with correctly. The storm builds up its rage and lashes out as long as it wants, but Sunwoo... no. He’s not that way. Not quite.

You stifle a groan. Is there any color that fits Sunwoo perfectly, then? Any single color on the stained palette next to your easel, any single color in the world? He’s too complex, too much of everything all at once - he could be blue, could be bronze, could be orange or yellow or pink, of all things - you could find a way to justify every single one but none of them would be enough -

Your gaze rises from his chin to his lips, and your mouth goes dry.

Maybe he’s red, like the first time you ever noticed the fullness of his lips.

No, don’t think about that. You squeeze your eyes shut tight before opening them as though that’ll erase the image of his lips from your mind. It was in high school - you’d handed him his water bottle after ten minutes of running laps and you’d watched him tip it against his lips so full and soft, and for a moment, you had let yourself imagine what it’d be like to have those lips against yours.

You force yourself to look somewhere else, anywhere, just away from the lips and the shade of red beginning to shimmer before your eyes. Red, right - your mind scrambles to turn its thoughts away - red - colors - that’s what you were supposed to be thinking of - not lips, colors -

Your gaze rises above the lips to Sunwoo’s closed eyes.

Only they aren’t closed anymore.

You can’t breathe. You literally can’t breathe - how long have his eyes been open? How long did he see you watching him like some stupid creepy stalker?

Did he realize you were looking at his lips?

“Done yet?” he asks, breaking the silence. Is it just your imagination, or do his eyes flicker down to your lips too?

Just your imagination. “Shut up.” Even the jab comes out weaker than you’d like to. You want to look away, but you can’t seem to do it - something’s rooting you where you are, eyes fixed upon his. “Give me a minute.”

“How many minutes has it been?” It’s just your imagination, just your imagination... “Is it really that hard? You thought of Eric’s in, like, a second.”

You’re too much, you think. Too many colors all at once. But instead of saying that aloud, you just swallow, like the idiot you are. “Let me think,” you say. Your voice almost cracks.

Red. Shades of red, beautiful red, the color of his lips, the core of the sun burning at sunset, smoldering embers on a dying fire splashed across the canvas of your vision. And yes, it’s almost perfect, almost there - you have his flaring temper caught in a color, now, but it needs something to cool it off -

Blue. Blue, like you thought before, the ocean and its ceaseless flow. Blue and red, blue and red, blue and red...

“Purple,” you whisper, too close to his lips. Rich, royal, the coolness of blue and the fire of red... “Some shade of purple.”

“Purple.” Sunwoo repeats the word with curiosity on his lips, almost like he’s tasting the color on his tongue. “Why purple?”

“I -” You swallow when the soft puff of his breath hits your face. When exactly did you two get this close? It wouldn’t take more than a few inches to close the gap between your lips. “I couldn’t choose between blue and red,” you say honestly. “You’re both. In fact, it feels like you’re a bit of every color. But purple... that’s the closest I can get without giving you a specific shade.”

“Which shade?”

Something clicks into place in your mind, and it is definitely not your imagination this time when Sunwoo’s eyes fall down to your lips.

The dryness in your mouth makes it difficult to swallow. You try anyway. “Give me a moment,” you murmur, heart beating unnecessarily quickly.

Think. Shades of purple. Do you go darker or lighter? Warmer or cooler? Is he magenta? Mauve? Violet? Your mind flicks as quickly as it can through the catalogue of colors in your mind. Cooler, probably - he’s more the ocean than the fire, more embers than a full flame - lighter, too, like a breath of fresh air -

A blast of cool wind gusts down from the vent. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, but it stays with you in the name of the color forming on your lips.

Your voice comes out like a whisper. It feels wrong to speak any louder. “I’ve got it.”

Sunwoo blinks. His lashes look so lovely, framing his eyes. “Really?” he asks, and you have wonder if he closed the distance slightly since the last time you spoke - the few inches that separated you before seem to have decreased to a mere centimeter or two. “So what color am I?”

There’s another blast of cool air. Neither of you reacts to it. Instead, as blissfully cold air begins to filter through the vents, impulse drives you to lean forward, to close the entire distance at last -

Sunwoo’s lips are softer than you ever thought they’d be. They feel cool and warm all at once, purple as a base but lighter, cooler, a breath of fresh air on your face after a horribly hot day spent in the sun.

“Lavender,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re lavender.”

You don’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, like he did with purple. It’s okay. You think he knows it. Feels it, at least, when you kiss him once more, fresh air washing over your bodies, painting the canvas of your skin in cool, blissfully cool strokes.

Lavender.

96 notes · View notes

pixie-mage · 4 years

Note

4,5, O (both + and -) and V -

From this NatM Writing Prompt: [ x ]

(Sorry it took so long, but I had a lot of fun writing this one! It gets a bit emotional in the middle, but I promise there's fluff there too!)

Characters: Jedediah x Octavius Adjectives: Overprotective, Overworked, Vulnerable

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jedediah really should have noticed it sooner. They had returned from the Smithsonian and been on display for almost a month by now, and the new Night Program was in full swing...so perhaps there were more than a few reasons it had slipped under his radar. But still, he should have noticed it sooner.

It was approaching midnight now. There had been no guests in the museum for a few hours or so, just Larry and the exhibits, and most of them were taking the time off to enjoy the night like they normally did. Emphasis on ‘most’.

Jedediah leaned sideways against the wall of the Roman diorama, his arms folded across his chest and one boot tucked across the ankle of the other. He watched with a subtle frown as Octavius discussed something quietly with Marcus, his second in command, at the edge of the courtyard that marked the center of the display. Octavius’ brow was furrowed, his hands moving with his words, whatever he was saying clearly of some level of importance. Or at the very least, Octavius seemed to think so. But Jedediah could see the dark shadows under the general’s eyes, the tension in his armor-clad shoulders, the odd little eye movements that flickered off to the side at odd intervals...as if he felt like he was being watched, or was waiting for something to jump him.

Octavius looked stressed and worn out, and it was a wonder Jedediah hadn’t caught on sooner. Come to think of it, since they had returned from Washington DC, Jed couldn’t remember more than a few brief, fleeting moments that Octavius wasn’t hard at work doing...something. Anything. Running drills with the Roman army, rehearsing dialogue for the Night Program, discussing some kind of political or military issue with Marcus (or Cyrus...Jed shuddered; that slimy kiss-ass of a senator could take a damn hike in his opinion). And on the rare occasions that Octavius took time aside to spend with Jedediah for fun, he was constantly on edge. He consistently offered alternate choices for their museum adventures that (Jedediah now realized) were less ‘dangerous’ or ‘risky’. He casually (slyly) veered Jedediah away from ideas that involved something less-than-wise. He was being–

...well, protective, almost, Jedediah landed on. Or maybe paranoid.

All in all, it was obvious that something was up with the Roman general...and perhaps it was high time Jedediah did something about it.

Jed pushed away from the wall and moseyed over to the town square, tossing his arm around Octavius’ shoulders with a grin.

“Howdy Marcus!” he greeted the other soldier, who smiled politely at him. “I’m gonna steal Octavius from ya for a while. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Marcus inclined his head. Octavius let out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“Jedediah, please, I have to–”

“Nope,” Jed cut off his protests and steered him about, marching off towards the Roman border with Octavius held tight against his side. “No can do, amigo. We’re goin’ for a drive.”

“Jedediah–”

“Ockie, hush up. You look like you could use a break, so I’m makin’ sure you get one.”

“But Rome–”

“Can last one night without you there,” Jed said. “Your soldiers have been workin’ their tails off for more ‘n two weeks straight. Hell, Billy’s been all mopey over on our side of the wall because he ain’t seen his Roman friends in days. Let ‘em have a night off.”

As if to cement this fact, Octavius caught sight of a familiar pair of archers chattering excitedly near the diorama’s edge, clearly on their way out of the city - much like Jedediah and himself. Octavius sighed, finally giving in to Jedediah’s impulsive adventure.

“Very well,” he said. “I suppose you may have a point.”

“Dang right I do,” Jed grinned, shaking Octavius slightly with the arm still slung around the man’s shoulders. “Get yer Roman ass down that climbin’ rope and I’ll fetch the car.”

Jed left Octavius behind to grab up the rope hanging over the edge of Rome’s border, gripping it in both gloved hands and leaping out of the diorama with expert ease. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Octavius would be following after him.

Tonight’s drive was about the same as every other time in the past few weeks that they had taken the car out for a spin. Jedediah drove a little too fast and a little too recklessly, Octavius tried to enjoy himself while murmuring quiet cautions to be more careful, and once or twice Octavius gripped the door handle with such intensity at Jedediah’s more reckless turns that his knuckles were white from the strain.

It was almost the same as when they would drive around before the Smithsonian...but only almost.

Now that he was looking for it, Jedediah was kicking himself for not noticing the difference sooner. Before, Octavius was normally just about as invested in the thrill of their adventures as Jedediah...but much of his enthusiasm was missing right now. Without a second thought, Jed took a sharp right and headed for a familiar exhibit, ignoring the tense expression that flitted across Octavius’ face at his sudden change of direction. He steered the car swiftly into the dimly lit room and parked off to the side, and the moment the car came to a stop he kicked open the door and ducked out of the miniature vehicle.

The room was quiet and empty. Ahkmenrah was almost never in his own exhibit after hours, making this one of the only places in the museum that was relatively still at this time of night. Though Jedediah himself had never asked the pharaoh about it in person, he had a sneaking suspicion that the young ruler wasn’t too fond of his tomb and sarcophagus. Jed imagined being trapped in one place for decades could do that to a person.

The sound of the passenger door opening and closing came from behind him but Jedediah didn’t turn around. Instead, he took a few strides away from the car to lean against one of the massive stone pillars that decorated the exhibit, only turning to look at Octavius once he had his back pressed against the cool stone. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the other miniature from beneath the brim of his hat.

“What’s goin’ on with you Octavius?”

Octavius, who had been in the process of following Jedediah away from the car, paused mid-step. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then his brow furrowed as he said:

“In...what regard?”

“You look exhausted, Ockie,” Jed said softly, a pained sympathy lacing his words. “You’re workin’ yourself to pieces and you’re jumpin’ at shadows. Now I know you keep sayin’ you’re just busy because we’re still settlin’ into the new Night Program and whatnot, but I’m not so sure I believe you.”

A brief, startled look passed over Octavius’ face like a fleeting shadow, there and gone again in less than a breath.

“I admit, I may be keeping myself a little too busy as of late,” he conceded. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, his fingers tense. “But - Jedediah, I assure you, I am perfectly fine.”

“Mind tryin’ that again?” Jed quirked an eyebrow at Octavius, who swallowed thickly and looked away.

Jedediah shook his head with a sigh and pushed away from the pillar behind him. His footsteps echoed quietly in the cavernous room until he came to a stop right in front of his - now oddly tense - partner. He tried to catch Octavius’ eye.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to call you a liar, but you’ve got shadows under your eyes and you’re about as jittery as a cornered cat. Somethin’s up, and I just wanna help.” When Octavius didn’t reply, Jedediah ducked into Octavius’ line of vision to finally meet his gaze. He gave the other miniature a lazy, lopsided smile. “There ya are. C’mon, talk to me sweetheart.”

Despite himself, Octavius smiled wearily and chuckled, shaking his head ever-so-slightly at Jedediah’s antics. Then his smile faded again and he let out a long breath, his eyes becoming closed off just as they had been before. He ran his fingers through his hair once or twice, having left his helmet in the car.

“Yes, alright, so I may be under some stress at the moment...but I’ll be fine. I swear it. I don’t wish to bother you with my trivial worries.”

“Hey now, that’s now how this works,” Jed protested immediately. He planted his hands on his hips. “We’re partners. We trust each other. Right?”

“Completely,” Octavius breathed. “I do trust you, my love. Always.”

“Then I don’t care how trivial you might think it is. If it’s worryin’ you then I wanna hear about it. Comprende?”

A brief moment of silence settled between them. Octavius looked as though he wanted to say something, but the words never left him. As he stood there, conflicted, unsure what to say, his expression slowly melted from the closed off facade he had been wearing for days into something softer…something fragile. A strained and emotional sort of exhaustion settled in his posture, his shoulders sagging, and Jedediah could see the very moment that something behind his eyes began to break. When Octavius finally spoke, it was on a quiet and wavering breath.

“...the hourglass.”

Understanding began to dawn in the back of Jedediah’s mind and his chest tightened. He had a feeling he knew exactly where this was going.

“After we attempted to escape the shipping container, you were trapped in the hands of a monster who held no qualms about harming anyone who stood in his way,” Octavius went on, speaking softly. Remembering. “And though it does not often bother me, our smaller stature was...a disadvantage. You could do nothing to fight against him, and on my own I could have done nothing to prevent your harm. I watched him lock you in that hourglass with no way of stopping it.”

“Wait, hold on – you were there?” Jedediah asked, eyes bugging out in surprise. He gripped Octavius’ shoulders in both hands. “You didn’t mention that before. I told ya to run! I told you to get away from there!”

“And leave you behind?” Octavius shot back. He pressed his palm to Jedediah’s chest as if to push him away...but he didn’t. “I had to be sure you were alright! I had to know where you were so that I could save you.” His eyes were shining as he searched Jedediah’s face for something that couldn’t be named. “That monster gave you all of an hour to live. It was at once the longest and the most quickly-passing hour of my entire life. Had I not been able to get to you in time–”

Octavius couldn’t finish the sentence. His breath caught, shuddering, and he clenched his eyes shut as if to block out the thought.

Jedediah felt as though the wind had been knocked from him. He had almost never seen Octavius so distraught. Octavius was a strong and proud man, a Roman general, and he rarely showed signs of true fear. It didn’t feel right to see him looking so terrified of something that could have been, that never was.

“Ockie, look at me,” Jedediah murmured. He waited until Octavius opened his eyes before cupping his face in one hand. He ran his thumb over Octavius’ cheek gently, a lopsided smile slipping onto his face. “I’m right here. Nothin’ happened to me. You got that? That crazy Egyptian couldn’t’ve done anythin’ to me even if he tried.”

A watery chuckle bubbled up past Octavius’ lips. The hand he still had pressed to Jedediah’s chest clenched slightly, his fingers fisting against the blue fabric of the cowboy’s shirt.

“No, I imagine he couldn’t have,” Octavius agreed shakily.

“That’s what’s been eatin’ at ya since we got back?” Jedediah asked, worry creasing his brow.

“For many reasons.” Octavius let his eyes close again and he leaned into the comforting hand at his cheek. “It seems silly, perhaps, to be so affected by it...but I keep having nightmares in which I am...I am unable to save you.” He shivered. “Often I am either too late, or I cannot break the glass, or Kahmunrah grows impatient and–” He shivered again, a pained look crossing his face, and he pressed his lips together tightly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Jed murmured, pressing their foreheads together, the brim of his hat tilting upwards because of it. “I’m fine. You saved me. Everything turned out alright, remember? Look–” He brought his other hand to grip Octavius’ fist where he was still clutching Jedediah’s shirt. “–feel that? My heart’s still beatin’ as strong as ever. Might be ‘cause of a magic tablet, but it’s there.”

Octavius nodded. He opened his eyes to meet Jedediah’s blue ones, so very close to his. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. Too many emotions were swirling in the depths of his eyes, tears glistening there that had yet to fall. He swallowed, licked his lips. He breathed. Jedediah pulled on a soft, crooked smile.

“Are you with me, Ockie?”

Not quite sure what else to do, Octavius moved in Jedediah’s hold until he was clinging to him tightly, holding him close, his face buried in the crook of the cowboy’s neck. His nose brushed against the blue and red of Jedediah’s shirt and neckerchief, taking in the familiar scent of sand and hard work and the hot sun and something so distinctly Jed that he could not put a name to it even if he tried. He closed his eyes and choked back a sob and clutched at the man in his arms as if he might never see him again. Tears slowly soaked into the shoulder of Jedediah’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care as he hugged his partner back with every ounce of love he could give and let Octavius revel in the sheer solid proof that he was alive.

Eons seemed to pass before they finally parted (though not completely, as Octavius still had a hand on Jedediah’s waist and Jed was still lightly gripping Octavius’ arm, neither of them quite ready to let go). Octavius sucked in a deep, shaking breath, and when he smiled - almost embarrassed - Jedediah couldn’t help but notice that the shadows beneath his eyes seemed less prominent and some of the visible weight on his shoulders had lifted.

“Feelin’ better sweetheart?” Jedediah asked with a gentle smile. Octavius let out a huffed laugh and nodded.

“Much,” he said. “Perhaps I should have tried to speak about my troubles sooner.”

“Oh ya think so, huh?” Jed teased lightly, a sparkle in his eyes. He tugged at the brim of his hat, straightening it. “I reckon next time you’ve got a bunch o’ ‘What-If’s’ and ‘If-Only’s’ bouncing around in that head o’ yours, you won’t keep it to yourself. Right?”

“Of course,” Octavius smiled sheepishly. “I apologize for not speaking up before now. Nightmares didn’t seem like an important enough subject to bother you with.”

“I don’t care if your complaint of the day is that you’ve got a cramp in your left foot! If it’s botherin’ you, I’ll listen.”

Octavius giggled quietly and brought up a hand to hide his grin.

“Whatever did I do to earn such a caring lover?” he queried, and Jed winked.

“Punched him in the face a few times, I reckon.”

Laughter rang out quietly from the secluded corner of the Egyptian exhibit, unheard by anyone but the twin Anubis statues standing guard. The air was calm.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Do you think General Octavius will allow us another night off this week?”

“Fabian, if you’re trying to be subtle, it isn’t working.”

“It was a simple question, that’s all!”

“Oh yes, of course it was. The implied ‘to see Billy’ after ‘another night off’ definitely didn’t exist.”

“MARIUS!”

A pair of archers were making their way back into Rome at the end of a night that had been much more relaxing than any they had spent lately. After a few weeks of enduring Octavius’ much more vigorous training regiments it was a welcome relief to be given even one night of freedom...and they weren’t the only ones hoping that their next night off would come sooner rather than later.

“You are much too easy to rile up, my friend,” the archer named Marius chortled, elbowing Fabian. “But to answer your question, it depends on that cowboy Jedediah. You saw him escorting the general out of Rome earlier, did you not?”

“Of course I did,” Fabian grumbled, still flushed from Marius’ earlier teasing. “General Octavius didn’t seem very willing to leave.”

“Ah, but he still left,” Marius pointed out. “Hopefully Jedediah will be able to pull our dear general out of the sour state he has been in lately. With any luck, he’ll be–”

It was at this point that the pair reached the square, and Marius didn’t need to say anything more because Octavius and Jedediah were both in sight. Octavius was smiling brightly, looking more like his usual self than he had in weeks, and he was saying something to the cowboy beside him that neither archer could hear. Whatever it was, Jedediah’s grin turned into a gobsmacked expression in an instant and within the next moment he was bright red and fuming, blustering and spluttering indignantly beside a now-slyly-smirking Octavius.

“OCKIE, YOU CAN’T JUST – THAT’S NOT – WE’RE IN PUBLIC!”

“...I get the feeling you’ll be able to see Billy fairly soon, actually,” Marius muttered with raised eyebrows. Fabian only nodded, as Jedediah stammered something about:

“Crazy flirty Romans…”

Octavius bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth while he watched Jedediah teeter on the edge of an explosion. One might think he had already blown up with how loudly he was ranting on...but Octavius knew from experience that the things that actually put Jedediah over the edge left him unable to even form words, so absolutely dumbfounded and reeling that all he could manage was spluttering angry noises, enraged shouts, and pinwheeling limbs that made it look as though he was fighting with the air itself. While it was a guilty pleasure of his to push his beloved to that point, Octavius supposed that it wouldn’t be a very nice ‘thank you’ to do so right after Jedediah had so worriedly and dotingly helped him through some of his recent fears.

With a soft sigh, Octavius caught Jedediah by the arm and pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to the raving cowboy’s cheek.

“Forgive me cara, I’ve never been very good at holding my tongue around you,” he chuckled. “I was only teasing. I apologize.”

Jedediah stilled, as red as a tomato, but his temper slowly fizzled out. He grumbled quietly and hunched his shoulders with his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“...yeah, yeah, keep yer apology,” he rolled his eyes. “Just - quit sayin’ stuff like that in public. It’s not for other people to hear.”

“I shall endeavour to do better.”

Octavius was still grinning softly when Jedediah turned to look at him, the flush of his face lessening and his expression turning affectionate and a little concerned.

“...are you alright?” Jed asked him in an undertone, aware of the people of Rome lingering around the square. “For now anyway?”

Octavius’ grin softened into a tired smile.

“For the most part, yes,” he nodded. His fingers tightened against Jedediah’s arm. “...I doubt the nightmares themselves will vanish overnight - after all, the thought of losing you isn’t one so easily swept aside...” Jedediah winced sympathetically. “...but it doesn’t feel nearly so real of a concept anymore.”

Jedediah was quiet for a few seconds, searching Octavius’ expression for what he could only assume were signs of falsehood. (Octavius knew it was not for a lack of trust either.)

“D’you want me to stay?” Jedediah asked quietly.

“Stay–?”

“Stay durin’ the daylight hours,” Jed specified. “You can try and get some decent sleep and I’ll fight off your nightmares. And if Larry says anything about it, I’ll handle it. You’ve been through enough.”

A warmth, a fondness, swelled in Octavius’ chest, and he found himself gazing adoringly at the man before him. He had asked himself this question almost a million times by now, but...how did he ever get so lucky?

“I love you,” he whispered, before he could stop himself. Jedediah cleared his throat, his cheeks pink.

“Well...w-well that’s nice an’ all, but...er...is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” Octavius amended quickly. “Yes, please. I - I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Alrighty then.” Jed nodded and tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his face, looking thoroughly flustered. He took a few steps in the direction of Octavius’ home, paused, and turned back long enough to add: “...I love you too, ‘Tavius.” Then he was marching off through the crowds of Roman citizens, his fists in his pockets and his hat pulled low. Octavius only smiled.

He would be okay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N - Hope you enjoyed this one! Sorry again that it took so long to finish it! This time, I wrote them as having an established relationship, mostly because the discord server I'm on voted for that one over (A) mutual pining and (B) Octavius confessing his feelings. Seeing as I don't often write them this way, it was nice to change things up! Plus I feel like it makes Octavius racing against the clock to save Jedediah that much more meaningful. I ALSO GOT TO WRITE SOFT!JEDEDIAH TOO! I've never gotten the chance to write that side of him, so thank you for the inspiration!]

#Night at the Museum #NatM #NatM FanFic #Jedtavius #Jedediah #Octavius #Jedediah x Octavius #Post NatM 2 #Post-Hourglass #NatM Hourglass #Jedediah in the Hourglass #Writing #Pixiemage Writes #Pixie Writes #NatM Writing Prompt #Writing Prompt

105 notes · View notes

jeannassif · 2 years

Text

Jean Nassif | How to Establish a Sustainable Real Estate Business In 2022

Real estate development is one of the most profitable small enterprises in the present landscape. A knowledgeable business-minded person willing to take moderate risks can earn a fortune that will allow them to live a happy and satisfying life.

Here are three insights from Toplace Group's Jean Nassif to guide anyone interested in buying properties and establishing a real estate empire just like he did.

Impossible to Build Rome in a Single Day

Maybe you own a few properties, you're paying rent, or perhaps you've just completed a house flip and are ready to go full-time. Or just maybe, you want to start building a real estate portfolio and generating all of your income from it. As Jean Nassif often says, Rome was not built in a single day.

As a successful real estate developer, Jean Nassif continuously reinvests the profits from his previous projects. He believes in having a solid foundation (figuratively and literally) to build rather than attempting to fund new initiatives with excessive debt.

By experience, Jean Nassif knows that developing effective properties takes extensive time and research effort. It becomes even more essential to take your time regarding a wide range of legislation, construction management, and property administration.

For Jean Nassif, going slow and steady harnesses your ability to accomplish these things optimally. It leads us to Jean Nassif's following insights: improving your communication skills and understanding the market inside out.

Improve your communication abilities.

Most of the time, real estate developers believe that when it comes to purchasing or selling real estate, "location" is the only keyword that matters. However, for Jean Nassif, a successful real estate developer must possess essential business leadership qualities, the most important of which is communication.

Jean Nassif has put in a lot of effort to create a vibrant work culture at Toplace Group. Everyone from top to bottom is evident in the organizational vision and the measures they need to take to achieve their objectives.

All of this is considered internal communication. It's just as vital to have a clear understanding as it is to articulate it to others. As such, Jean Nassif views Real estate development as a team effort that requires effective collaboration with bureaucrats, investors, contractors, attorneys, and renters.

It's not only about being able to talk and write effectively; it's also about being structured enough. In doing so, you will ensure to not leave any of your coworkers in the dark about vital information. According to Jean Nassif, a successful developer should quickly identify their strategy for communication with various partners mentioned above. Also, Bear in mind, marketing and advertising is only one kind of communication for a real estate developer.

Jean Nassif has created an appealing brand with Toplace Group that he promotes regularly. He also formulates consistent marketing strategies. However, Jean Nassif also recommends disseminating your message far and wide continuously. These three pointers capture everything it takes to be a successful real estate developer.

Using one's intelligence while improving their learning, thinking, and communication skills is the key to financial success. And, what could be more fulfilling than being wealthy via intelligent decision-making?

Take control of your market by understanding it

Your market is the place where you'll want to build the properties. Jean Nassif maintains that you can eventually select multiple cities close to each other or go further. However, every time you move to a new town, there are new restrictions, possible purchasers, competitors, and so on.

So, understanding the market dynamics is the key to building a sustainable real estate business.

Jean Nassif deems it as vital to design at least a preliminary approach before going into the nitty-gritty of knowing the demographics of a county or city, the general availability of properties, property pricing, and valuations.

For Jean Nassif, it's as much about committing to a market, niche, and strategy as it is about finding a good bargain when it comes to choosing a location. The only way to establish this kind of niche strategy is to understand everything you can about the market environment and all the aspects that shape the market.

For more visit :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOEhTZpNhs8

https://vimeo.com/645098146

https://jeannassif.medium.com/

https://30seconds.com/jeannassif/

https://www.crunchbase.com/person/jean-nassif-jean-nassif-toplace

https://twitter.com/JeanNassifWork

https://www.f6s.com/jean-nassif

https://jeannassif.wordpress.com/

#jean nassif #Jean Nassif Toplace #real estate #Real Estate Developer #best builder in melbourne #best builder in Sydney

3 notes · View notes

fallingstarnovel · 3 years

Text

Chapter Three

That Monday, when he got to the lecture hall, he glared at Aliya for the entire time. She was visibly avoiding his gaze, tugging down her hair so she wouldn't make eye contact with him.

After it ended, he quickly walked over to her, coughing loudly from behind his fist.

"So. Judas comes to face his crimes."

Aliya turned and gave him a pitying look. "I'm really sorry! I completely forgot I had a revision session in the morning and I had to prepare for it. I felt so guilty."

Evan glared at her for another second – before rolling his eyes with a smile. He was a benevolent kind of person when he wanted to be. "It's fine."

"You sounded like you had a good time," Aliya teased him. “Your texts were indecipherable.”

"Uh. I think I did." He pulled a face as he failed to remember literally anything about how he got home. "It’s all kind of a blur. There was this girl..."

Aliya's eyes went wide. "There was?"

"Ah, shut up, she just said a bunch of stuff at me and then... Hm. I don't remember much after that, but clearly nothing weird happened since I got home safe and fully dressed."

Aliya tutted. "This is why I don't drink. Sounds kind of scary."

Evan opened his mouth to say something like "you get used to it", but then he remembered that he was trying to be normal and closed his mouth again. "Yeah. Haha, a little. I'm not sure you would have enjoyed the party. It was loud and everyone was off their faces."

"Maybe. I'm glad you were okay, though. And you got home safe."

Evan smiled. By now, they were long outside the lecture hall and were walking through campus. Students were rushing from building to building, or walking in groups and chattering away together. So many people who were meant to be here. They all looked like they were right at home.

There was a flash of black in the corner of his vision. Evan turned his head automatically, only to see the black cat from a few days ago sprawled across a wall. It was staring at him with green eyes, unblinking and imperious.

"Oh, it's the university cat," he said to Aliya. "Look."

"Aww. I'm more of a dog person," she said bluntly.

The cat's eyes narrowed in disgust.

Evan was about to go over and pet it when he heard someone say his name over his shoulder. He looked behind him, only to see a boy with curly blond hair and an angelic smile. He was looking at the cat with a strangely intense gaz, before snapping back to smile at Evan.

"Ruth!" he said. "Hey!"

Ruth waved. "Hello again. You look like you've recovered from Friday night."

Wait. Wait a minute... Evan squinted at him, before feeling his face flush red. Was Ruth there as well?! He didn’t remember seeing him at all!! He laughed awkwardly. "I am. So sorry. I don't remember a lot. I was... very drunk."

Ruth nodded. "I was. I thought you might have difficulty remembering."

Aliya's eyebrows inched up her forehead, right into her hijab. Evan realised that he had been quite rude, and quickly introduced her. "This is my terrible friend from Astro. She invited me to the party and then left me to die."

"I'm Aliya," she said, elbowing him in the stomach subtly.

Ruth gave her a polite nod, before turning his attention back to Evan. "I hope you don't mind that I let myself into your house. You seemed very worried that I was going to harvest your organs."

"You were the one who took me home?!” Evan yelped, feeling the blood rush all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh, haha, what? Haha, so weird," Evan said, feeling himself dying of mortification again. "Thank you so much. I don't mind at all. That was really nice of you. Usually I just stumble home by myself, you know? God, sorry, I must have been so annoying to handle."

Ruth shook his head, his hair tumbling around his ears. "You weren't annoying at all. You were very sweet, like a well behaved child."

Evan wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Haha, that's good. Still, I'm so sorry. Thank you. Augh."

How was he so bad at this?

An idea occurred to him. He quickly started rummaging in his pockets. "Wait, wait, I think I owe you a coffee for saving my life twice now. I don't have a lecture for a while, so..."

Ruth looked at him in surprise. There was a yawning moment of silence in which Evan questioned everything that made him ask that question and wondered if it was too late to change his name and move to Mexico.

But then Ruth smiled. "I think I owe you one instead. You spilled yours last time."

"In that case, I'll pay for yours and you pay for mine, and we can call that even," Evan laughed, feeling relief flood through him.

There was a polite cough from behind him. "Well, I have a study group to get to, so," Aliya said, shooting Evan a knowing smile. "I'll let you two go have fun. See you, Evan."

Evan felt a little bit guilty at accidentally muscling Aliya out of the conversation. He waved her goodbye and turned back to Ruth, and all his guilt was forgotten. Ruth's smile was blinding. There were two little dimples in his cheeks. Wow, he didn’t know anyone in real life with dimples.

"Let's go," he said, inclining his head in the direction of the coffee shop, and off they went.

Evan watched Ruth over his coffee while trying to look like he was doing no such thing.

Ruth was fascinating. He had a very handsome face, with eyes that could have been carved into one of those old statues they kept in the museums of Rome. His movements were all graceful and deliberate, from the way he stirred his coffee to the way he unwrapped his blue scarf from around his neck.

He was also tall. Evan wasn't short – okay, he was kind of short – but Ruth made him feel like a god damn manlet.

"So," he said, because he felt the need to fill the silence with something, "what course are you on?"

"Actually, I'm a part time student."

"Eh, no way. I didn't know you could do an undergrad part time!"

Ruth smiled and shrugged. "I have a job on the side. It takes up a lot of my time. I suppose the university understood I had other commitments."

Evan blinked. "Wow. Must be an intense job."

"You have no idea," Ruth said, something steely glinting in his grey eyes. "But it's rewarding."

"Is it why you skip so many lectures?"

Ruth nodded. Evan couldn't hold back his curiosity.

"Then what is it?"

Supermodel? Secret agent? Government official? What was important enough that the university would let him mess around with the schedule like this?

Ruth just winked at him, and Evan immediately upgraded all his guesses. Eldest son of a mob boss. Heir to the CEO of a huge corporation. A superhero in disguise as a student.

"That's fine. I didn't want to know anyway," Evan lied. "I bet it's something boring like business management."

Ruth ran his finger along his cup, his eyes flickering down to the table. "In a way, I suppose you're not far off."

"So... why astrophysics?"

"No reason, really. I just felt something pulling me here. That's all."

Wow! Such a free spirit! This guy was definitely some kind of billionaire. Only a rich person could afford to come to university on a whim and then spend half his time doing something else instead. Evan, who thought coffee was a fancy treat, tried to contain his jealousy and failed.

They drank their drinks in companionable silence. Evan was full of questions, but he didn’t want it to seem like he was interrogating his new friend. He was just curious!

“Do you... go to a lot of student parties?”

Ruth shrugged. “Not generally.”

“Oh. Aside from last night, I guess. Um... actually, about last night... I was wondering about what exactly happened.”

Ruth went still. “Yes?”

“Was I... alright? When did I go home?”

“I found you upstairs in someone’s bedroom with a few people. It looked like you were playing some kind of game that involved kissing,” Ruth replied. “You seemed very uncomfortable with the situation. Did I misread that?”

A kissing game. What the hell. Evan hadn’t played one of those for years. He wondered who he was smooching when Ruth discovered him. So deeply, horrifically embarrassing.

“I have no idea,” Evan replied with a shrug. “I don’t really remember if I was comfortable or not.”

There was a faint frown colouring Ruth’s pleasant smile. “Then I’m glad I was there regardless. There should be no room for doubt with things like this.”

“Hah, in an ideal world. In my experience, there’s always doubt. You just kind of have to move on afterwards.”

Ruth’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything else. His coffee was steaming so much that it fogged up Evan’s glasses, and he took them off with a chuckle to clean them. “Wow, look at that,” he said, desperate to change the subject. “It’s that time of the year where I go blind every time I enter a warm room. You don’t wear contacts, right?”

Ruth, still speechless, shook his head. Oh, this was awkward. Evan got the horrible feeling that he had messed up somewhere.

“So lucky. Well, hah, look at the time. I should start heading to my next lecture.”

He didn’t have a next lecture. That was a lie. But he really didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings. He started gathering his stuff slowly, trying not to look like he was rushing out of there. Ruth let out a deep breath, before reaching across to lightly touch Evan’s wrist. His skin was very hot from where it had been holding his coffee cup.

“The next time you go to a party,” he said quietly, “take me with you.”

“Sorry?” Evan said, certain that he misheard.

“Take me too. I, ah.. I’m actually quite nervous around people. And I find it difficult to go alone. It would be... nice to have a friend to go with.”

“Oh, dude, me too,” Evan said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I have mad social anxiety. I actually don’t get invited to a lot of things like that anymore, but if I do, I guess I’ll text you and see if you’re free?”

Ruth nodded, his hand slipping off Evan’s wrist.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no worries. We can be anxious buds together.”

With a slow incline of his head, Ruth signalled that he would like that, and Evan felt some of his nervousness settle somehow. It was a surprisingly soothing gesture.

“Well. See you at the next one.”

“See you then.”

And then Evan rushed off to hide in the library for a couple of hours so Ruth wouldn’t see him walking around campus when he was supposed to be in a fake lecture instead.

Evan was getting out of the shower when he noticed something black flash in the corner of his vision. He whirled around, rubbing shampoo out of his eyes, visions of getting murdered by some opportunistic shower murderer running through his brain.

However, when he looked around, there was nothing there. He swore he saw something, though. Something in the reflection of the bathroom tiles near his back.

When he was done, he stopped by the mirror in the hallway and checked his body just in case the black thing had been a huge house spider or something. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had a spider fall on him in the shower. Usually they washed down the sinkhole, leaving Evan shivering and feeling strangely violated, but what if this one managed to cling onto his naked skin?

There was no spider. Instead, sprawling across Evan’s lower back like a trampstamp was a sprawling, intricate black tattoo, formed from archaic lettering and symbolism that he couldn’t read.

“Hey, what the fuck,” he said into the empty house.

Having no housemates meant that he couldn’t run into anybody’s room and ask them to read whatever the hell it now said on his back. He tried rubbing at it, but nothing happened. It didn’t even feel weird or raised. It just felt like skin, and it didn’t budge.

Not even soap or nail polish remover got it off his back. It was like ink had sunk into his skin and stuck there overnight.

Evan was, understandably, more than a little freaked out.

> HEY UHHH SO > sent: image_5473843.jpg > ???

wow, that’s a really interesting tattoo!! when did you get it? <

> well you see that’s the thing aliya. i didn’t. > i do not know where this tattoo came from. ummm > i am freaking out a little!!

wh??! < you mean it just....??? appeared?? <

> yeah?? i literally do not remember getting any tattoo there??! ever?

you do have a lot of tattoos... are you sure you didn’t forget about one of them? <

> you don’t just forget about a tattoo!! > okay actually. sometimes you do. BUT NOT THIS BIG. THIS IS A TRAMP STAMP > I WOULD NEVER GET A TRAMP STAMP > oh god what if this happened while i was drunk at that party

ok calm down do you want me to come over and look at it? <

> no, it’s fine. i’ll just. ???? hhhhhhhhh > wait, there is something you can do! can you get me the numbers of uhh. fuck what was their name uhhh Tree. Branch > ROCK > and there was this girl who dressed like a goth, they were both at the party, can you ask your netball friends if they have their numbers? they might know what happened?? i guess? help?

i’ll ask around babe x sorry about this maybe go to the police? <

> they’ll just say i was drunk and there was nothing they could do. but thank you anyway i really appreciate this. sorry for bothering you

no need to apologise at all xx hoping you’re okay xx message me whenever you like <

Evan examined the tattoo in the mirror again. Now that the shock had worn off... well. Aliya was right. He already had so many tattoos. Most of them were already stupid ones he got on a whim. So even if he didn’t ask for this one... it was okay, right? It wasn’t so bad.

It was even kind of cool, in an old-school, mall goth kind of way. Spidery webbing and dots of red ink in what he thought might have been flowers of some kind. He tried to take a photo with his phone, but his hands kept shaking, so he just kept getting blurry pictures of his ass. Not ideal, honestly.

With a sigh, he stretched out on his bed and examined his older tattoos. His favourite one was still the navy outline of a falling star stretching down his inner arm towards his hand. It was his first proper one that he got done at a real tattoo parlour. A lot of the earlier ones were... well, the less said about how close he got to a skin infection, the better.

With a sigh, he tugged on a long sleeved shirt from his closet. Until he could work out why he suddenly had that black monstrosity on the back of his hips, he wasn’t sure he wanted to accidentally keep catching glimpses of it in every reflective surface.

Wait a minute. There was someone else there at the party. Someone who might have seen something that could help.

He opened up the messages from the unknown number and prayed that it was who he hoped it was.

> heyyy ruth i hope this is you!! haha hi

The reply came back about half an hour later, which was just long enough for Evan to overthink everything that had ever happened to him.

It’s me. Rest assured. :) <

Oh god. How to word this?

> well i’m doing good actually i’m you know. chilling! > actually there was something i wanted to ask you > please excuse the ass in this photo!!!!!

The what. <

> sent: image_5473843.jpg

Who did this. <

> funny question! i don’t know > i was hoping you could help???

I’m coming over. <

> no, i meant like do you remember seeing anyone at the party with a tattoo gun or a stick and poke or something?? you don’t have to come over sorry i don’t want to be a bother

You’re not a bother. I’m coming over. <

Well. Fuck. Evan panicked and threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, and then felt stupid, because presumably Ruth was going to come and look at the tattoo. Maybe he should wear nicer clothes? Did he have time to tidy his room?

> are you sure haha i don’t want to inconvenience you!!!

I was in the area anyway. It’s okay if you don’t want me to come over. But I have an idea about what happened. < Sorry. I know this must be alarming. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. <

Evan thought about it. Well. It was the only lead he had.

> sure why not come on over

I’m outside. <

The doorbell rang.

***

As always, you can support this poor starving author and read the next chapter early on the official patreon!

You are also cordially invited to the scottiemadethis discord where we talk about online novels, danmei, bad recipes, the milf agenda, and so much more!

Previous Chapter | Contents | Next Chapter

#chapter

12 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 4 years

Text

1.Beautiful [hog. heathers]

Summary: This story is based on Heathers, the musical. It’s set in Hogwarts, back in the last year Tom Riddle studied there. Y/N is a Ravenclaw student.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x reader (later on)

Heathers Series || Musical Hogwarts List A/N: first chapter! Here you get a vision of this world I built but soon Tom will make an appearance. Hope you enjoy it! If you wanna be tagged, ask!

Tag List: @just-an-outstanding-auror @starcrossedyanderes @doctorriddle @cchris-a

---

September 1st, 1943:

Dear diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I think that there’s good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I’ve known all my life, and I ask myself—what happened?

Another year back at Hogwarts. Your parents were excited — you, not so much. Not that the school wasn’t great, but you just couldn’t take the other students anymore.

Your family was pureblood and that generally meant some sort of status. Not anymore — the most popular kids in Hogwarts were either half-bloods or muggle-borns, so you and some fellow friends that were also purebloods were generally bullied. They saw you as potential threats, and you couldn’t understand why. It was not like purebloods wanted to see muggle-borns dead; most of you just didn’t want to mix the blood.

One step inside the train and the gossip started:

“Freak!”

“Slut!”

“Burnout!”

“Bug-eyes!”

You sighed on your way to finding an empty space to sit. You were so tiny, happy and shiny; playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping; baking cookies, eating paste.

You looked inside one compartment and weren’t welcomed.

“Bull-dyke, get out!” screamed a large boy at you.

Well, diary, you continued later when you finally found a place to sit, then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome.

“Oh, sorry!” you said the boy before leaving his cabin.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon. A job will be paradise if I’m not dead by June!

You were almost reaching the end of the train, and you still couldn’t find an empty place.

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful; I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again.

We can be beautiful...

There were fewer students as you were walking, but still, none seemed so happy with the idea of sitting with you.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from the Charms Specialization Center in France. Wake from this coma, take my diploma, then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés...

“Watch it!” shouted a tall blonde boy that had bumped into you. You didn’t even notice, but he was angry, and, as a revenge, he made you drop your diary. “Ooooops,” he laughed.

You looked at the boy. It was Ram Sweeney. Third-year as Gryffindor’s beater and seventh year of smacking kids, and being a huge... “Dick,” you whispered, suddenly angry for having to get the diary from the floor.

“What did you say to me, skank?”

Shit, he listened. “Aah, nothing!” you quickly got out of the way.

You know, diary, we were kind before; we can be kind once more. We can be beautiful...

An empty cabin at last! You sat down as fast as you could, scared it could disappear. A girl walked in just after you, and, for a moment, you were frightened.

“Hey, Myrtle!”

Myrtle was the only one you could call your friend at that place. Both of you were from Ravenclaw and had a lot of fun together, even though you two had some different perspectives on life.

“Hey,” she smiled, sitting next to you.

The train trip wasn’t much fun, but after Myrtle and you found a place to sit — and nobody tried to take you two out —, things were more peaceful.

School, on the other hand, was the same nightmare as always.

Professor Dippet said a couple of nice words before the start of the first feast, kind words about how to treat each other. For a second, it seemed as if everybody listened and were committed to obeying. But as said, it didn’t last the whole second. When the Headmaster finished his speech, people were back at their normal mean behaviour.

Days passed like a blur, or at least, you pretend that was how it went. You tried not to focus on the offensive words the students called you and Myrtle, but sometimes it was just too much.

“We on for book night?” asked Myrtle while leaving the Great Hall and walking towards the dorms.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to be with them,” you replied, smiling slightly. Myrtle had a way to trick the librarian that you never managed to have.

“Got us the ‘The Princess Bride’,” she smirked, making you giggle.

“Ho-ho-ho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending” Myrtle crossed her arms and squeezed herself as if she had been hugged by a prince.

So different from you, but yet, the only friend you had.

“Myrtle Crybaby! Hoow!” Kurt Kelly screamed, knocking Myrtle to the ground.

Kurt Kelly was the famous Chaser from Slytherin. The smartest guy on the team, in your opinion, but that was like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! How dare you?!” you barked at him, helping Myrtle to get up. She was lived red, ashamed of the situation.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Kurt smirked in a mean way, challenging you.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future human house-elf,” you hoped your face was as severe and furious as you were inside.

Kurt waited for you to end your speech before confidently pointing something on your face. “You have a zit right there,” he said and laughed, followed by all the other kids around you.

November 13rd, 1943:

Dear diary, why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do they act like such creeps?

Why…

You looked around the room, making sure everybody was already asleep. Myrtle was even snoring, which made you giggle in the dark.

Writing a diary was a private thing for you, but there weren’t many ways to be in private in Hogwarts.

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!

***

The next day promised to be as tedious as the day before, but something was different. At first, you thought it was just the change of seasons — the cold air of Winter. But it wasn’t all that.

Classes were nice. You liked your Professors, at least when they were teaching, they were neat.

You ate lunch at the Great Hall at the Ravenclaw table, just like all the days before. But that feeling in your stomach of something unusual was still there.

“Going to the toilet, okay?” you told Myrtle before leaving. In fact, there was nothing you wanted to do there except splash water in your face and see if things went back to normal.

That was when the Heathers walked in, and you hurried to close yourself behind a door, too terrified to face them.

The Heathers was a group of girls that floated above it all.

Heather McNamara was the hot witch form Hufflepuff. Her dad is loaded— one of the wizards with more money, but he was a muggle-born, so your family usually didn’t talk about him.

Heather Duke was the head girl from Slytherin, with no discernible personality, but blessed with an incredible body.

And Heather Chandler, the Almighty. She was a mythic bitch from Gryffindor and had everyone at her feet.

They’re solid Teflon—never bothered, never harassed.

I would give anything to be like that, you thought, lamenting in the toilet.

You sit in quiet, listening to their conversation. One of the girls rushed to the toilet, and you heard her vomit.

“Grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so ‘37,” said one of the Heathers, and based on her tone — such leaderlike— you guessed that was Chandler.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather,” the other Heather suggested.

The one vomiting exhaled loudly before answering. “Yeah, Heather. Maybe I should.”

“Ah, Heather and Heather” oh shit, you gasped, recognizing that voice immediately, “...and Heather. Perhaps you didn’t notice the time with all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

That bossy voice belonged to Ms Fleming, the second in command when the Headmaster wasn’t around, and also identified as the Herbology Professor. And knowing her, she was about to punish the girls.

Noticing you kept your diary in hands, you took a piece of paper out and scribbled on it.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her,” H. Chandler told the Professor.

“Not without a hall pass, you’re not,” you could feel Ms Fleming was smiling even though you couldn’t see her. “Week’s detention.”

Done!, you thought before rushing out of the toilet.

“Um, actually, Professor Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass. Christmas committee,” you informed, getting out of the toilet, keeping a straight face and handing her the paper.

Professor Fleming took her time to analyze the piece of paper, and you held your breath until she finally returned it to you.

“I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

Heather Chandler was staring at you like you were an abnormal animal she had just discovered, but you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”

“Uh... y/N y/L/N,” you fastly replied. “I crave a boon.”

H. Chandler raised a brow at you as if you made no sense. “What boon?”

“Um, let me sit at your table at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary,” Heather remained silent, so you continued, “if people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone...”

The first Heather to laugh was Chandler, of course, but it didn’t take more than a second for the other two to follow. It was as if they needed Chandler’s permission to laugh.

“Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes,” you added, hoping this would change their view.

Heather Duke widened her eyes, raising her eyebrows at an abnormal height. “How about prescriptions?”

“Shut up, Heather,” H. Chandler’s reprehension came quickly.

“Sorry, Heather,” H. Duke ducked, almost embarrassed.

The three Heathers exchanged a look, planning something. You shivered — your destiny was in their hands, but, unfortunately, that rarely meant a promising one.

Chandler stepped forward, looking you up and down.

“For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure.”

“And you have a symmetrical face,” added Heather McNamara, holding your face with one hand. “If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I’d have matching halves. That’s very important.”

Heather Duke frowned her brow.

“Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds,” she was one to talk — always vomiting what she ate.

Heather Chandler pulled the other Heathers away, pulling you by the hand. “And ya know? This could be beautiful,” she seemed to investigate what was lacking on your face. “Mascara, maybe some lip gloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

McNamara agreed with a smile, but Duke was pretending not to care. She never liked it when Chandler played the helper.

“Okay?” the Gryffindor asked before using the brush on you.

“Okay!” you agreed, a bit too loud.

Heather Chandler took you by the hand out of the bathroom and towards the Gryffindor Tower, with McNamara and Duke following behind. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop. It was one of your biggest dreams to be with the Heathers, and there you were, walking into Chandler’s room, unable to stop smiling.

She took a long time with your hair — which you didn’t even know needed a makeover. McNamara had the job of applying makeup, and she did it happily.

Heather Duke, however, wasn’t so thrilled to have to get you new uniforms.

“Oh, come on, Heather, just ask the boys — they’ll steal it for you,” said Chandler, rolling her eyes at her best friend.

“Fine,” she sighed before leaving.

According to them, there were more than just the traditional style of uniform, and they’d have lent theirs to you, but since you were a Ravenclaw, they had nothing in your house colour.

Heather Duke appeared half an hour later with the new uniform — all in blue, but so much more fashionable than the one you always used.

You didn’t bother asking from who she stole because that wasn’t the first wrong thing you were doing that day. The first thing was skipping the rest of the classes just to get the proper look.

***

“I reckon we’re ready,” said Heather Chandler, but she didn’t let you look yourself in the mirror. She said it would jinks it. “Now, let’s go. People need to know the new you.”

The new you. They didn’t even know the old you.

As soon as you stepped in the corridors, the whispered started, and this time, they weren’t making fun of you.

“Who’s that with Heather?” you heard someone ask.

The feeling of leaving everyone speechless was something you had never felt before and yet, so good. You and the Heathers stopped at the Courtyard — part of Chandler’s plan of introducing you.

“Y/N?!” you heard from behind and turned only to see Myrtle, holding her book with both hands and her mouth wide open.

She didn’t dare come closer to the Heathers so you could only wave at your friend. She didn’t look bothered, however. She knew once at the dorms, you’d tell her everything.

“You know, we should have found a Ravenclaw before,” said Heather Chandler. “It was the house missing from our group.”

“We were waiting for a girl named Heather though,” remembered the Slytherin Heather.

“Well, yes, but now we’re in our last year. Nobody new is ever coming, Heather,” said Chandler, practically ending the discussion so Duke could say nothing else.

You had never been so close to the Heathers before, so you had no way of knowing, but even though the three of them were at the top of the pyramid, it was H. Chandler who stood at the very top. You’d have to be careful if you wanted to be amongst them more often.

After all, you were a Heather now.

November 14th, 1943:

Dear diary, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels lookin’ like hell on wheels... My God, it’s beautiful! I might be beautiful...

Oh, diary... It’s a beautiful frickin’ day!

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fanfic #rom riddle imagine #hogwarts #voldemort #voldemort x reader #harry potter #wizarding world #hp

99 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #244: "AND THE ROCKET'S RED GLARE!"

June, 1984

The Wraiths walk among us!

Actually, the Dire Wraiths would be a good answer for what the imposters in Among Us are. They're imposters, they can shapeshift, and they have deadly tongues.

I think I've cracked this case wide open.

Anyway, we go straight from Secret Wars into another event, although this is a crossover called Wraith War and mostly a story arc in the ROM book but with tie-ins to Avengers, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. In fairness, we were told the Avengers would be getting involved with the Dire Wraiths before Secret Wars went on sale.

That's the life of a superhero. One day, getting raptured to a toy commercial and the next, fighting alien shapeshifters who aren't Skrulls or Space Phantoms.

Last time: half the Avengers were involved in the Secret Wars, the other Avengers hung around and had small adventures. Then the first half of the Avengers returned. And Wasp quit as chairperson so Vision could take over with his big plans like establishing a second Avengers team.

This time: a nice boat.

The nice boat is chilling on the Banana River outside the John F. Kennedy Space Center when a ball of light swoops down on it.

But with Captain Marvel on the Avengers, sometimes a ball of light is her and not the Beyonder bodyjacking people.

Monica returns from patrol to report no suspicious activity at the space center and also to compliment this sweet boat.

Remember how she was in the market for a boat as part of whatever new job she’s cooking up for when she’s not Avengersing.

Well, this is Wasp’s yacht and it’s real nice.

Vision pops up through the deck to tell the two to join everyone else below for a strategy sesh.

It’s kind of a casual strategy session. Half the Avengers are dressed down.

Wasp is in a bathing suit with a neckerchief around her neck. Wanda took off the body stocking part of her costume so looks like she’s wearing a swimsuit despite the boots. And Starfox decides when in Rome and takes his shirt off.

Wasp isn’t even chairperson anymore and she’s still telling some men to undress and this time its Steve Rogers. She only gets him to take off the civilian clothes that he’s wearing above his costume though.

And only as a concession to the heat. They’re in FLORIDA and he’s dressed in layers. I live in Florida and sometimes one layer is too many layers.

Also, Steve America muses on how they were only back from Secret Wars a few hours when Wasp stepped down as chairperson in favor of Vision but he describes Secret Wars as “our confrontation with that... that Beyonder” which is technically accurate but not really how I would describe Secret Wars.

But that’s the hazard of writing about something in the past that hasn’t come out yet. Can’t really have Steve say “that confrontation with the most recent time Doom swallowed an energy field bigger than his head” because that would spoil the game and also maybe that plot point didn’t exist yet. Although the seeds are there from the start.

I would have just had Steve say “back from that Secret War TM” or “back from being kidnapped by the Beyonder.” Go with what’s clear and obvious from issue 1.

New Chairman The Vision summarizes the plot.

New Chairman The Vision: “All right, Avengers... just as a review, we’ll be meeting at the cape with General Bridges within the hour to discuss a number of supposed accidents... Accidents which Washington suspects may be sabotage caused by alien creatures known as Dire Wraiths. The government has managed to suppress information of most wraith activities -- but the space center is too much in the public eye. Eventually, word will leak out. We must do something!”

Captain America: “You’re right on that count, Vision! If an alien life-form attacked the space-center, there could be worldwide panic!”

And as soon as he says this, there’s an explosion on the test-pad.

Talk about timing!

The Avengers leap immediately into action!

Wasp just heads into action in her swimsuit because its not the first time she’s had an adventure in her swimsuit. Her powers are entirely internalized by this point. But its impressive for Wanda because she puts the bodysuit part of her outfit back on without seemingly taking off the leotard part.

Chaos magic? Chaos magic.

Also, they leave Wanda to anchor the yacht and then follow in a skiff so its not like she needed to get dressed magically between panels. She just decided to.

When the Avengers arrive there’s a massive cloud of smoke covering the launchpad and they spot some men dashing into the smoke instead of away from it.

Captain Marvel returns from scouting and mentions that the damage is confined to the test-pad gantries and that there’s not all that much damage.

But then there’s a loud KROOM second explosion which takes down the main supports. The rocket booster on the test-pad starts tipping over so Starfox, Captain Marvel, and Vision rush to try to stop it.

One of the attackers, the Rocketeers, says a few more mini missiles will take the launch-pad out of commission but exposition isn’t a free action and he gets WHUNK’d by Captain America’s mighty shield.

And if that weren’t enough to make him yield, Wasp shoots him in the nipple.

Wasp: “Let’s have no complaints out of you! I can make my Wasp-stings a lot nastier than that!”

Yeah, that guy is lucky she didn’t use one of her patented ‘can blow up a small house’ Wasp-stings. His nipple would never have been the same.

Vision and Starfox catch the rocket booster before it smashes into the ground but Captain Marvel zips around it and spots major fuel leaks.

Since it’s going to explode even if they gently set it down, the two huck it into the Atlantic.

Then the three start lifting rubble and rescuing those injured from any of the mini-missile explosions.

Over at Cap(tain America) and Wasp, they’ve beaten up all the Rocketeers but one. Good job you two! By some accounts the two least powerful among the Avengers present and yet you’ve kicked some ass.

The Last Rocketeer: “You may have stopped my buddies, but you won’t stop me!”

Wasp: “Oh, brother! If you only knew how many times we’ve heard those words -- !”

Captain America: “Don’t embarrass the man, Wasp! He’s in enough trouble as it is!”

Wow, if its not enough that they’ve beaten up all his friends and are about to beat him up, they just burned him so bad that I don’t know if he’ll survive.

The guy throws a lawn dart bomb at Cap and the Wasp. Cap tells Wasp to get behind his shield but the bomblet sharply veers up with a ninety degree turn.

Wow, how improbable!

If you guessed that Wanda showed up after parking the yacht, you guessed right.

And then Wasp shoots the Last Rocketeer in the eyes. His goggles did nothing.

Even though the Rocketeers were wrapped up pretty easily, Vision suggests that they had help since they knew exactly when and where to strike.

But a Dire Wraith shaped silhouette watching this fight from afar reflects that the Avengers are skilled and decides to unleash THE MISTS OF THE DARK NEBULA.

Which is a thick fog. But wait! There’s more! The fog is like a mind-numbing gas and makes the Avengers slow to respond, even Vision who only breathes out of social obligation. And it rouses the Rocketeers who escape into the fog.

Vision follows after them, less affected than the others, but he gets bowled over by the Rocketeers taking off with their rocket packs which presumably given them their names.

As soon as the Rocketeers escape, the fog conveniently disperses.

The Avengers go around making sure they’re all alright but when Cap(tain America) asks Vision, he claims that he is a lot more resilient than “an organic man” and tells Cap not to waste concern on him when there are injured people to be helped.

Wasp, in her thoughts: “Sounds like the only thing wounded was his pride!”

While the Avengers carry injured people to arrived ambulances, Vision castigates himself for the failure.

Vision: “We failed! My first official battle as Avengers leader, and the enemy got away! I suppose I should find solace in the knowledge that the sabotage was cut short and lives were saved... but I cannot!”

“I must not allow myself to be satisfied by anything less than total victory... Not if my long-range plans are to succeed! The Avengers must ferret out the power behind the Rocketeers and bring it down! The trust of the world could depend on it!”

That’s a completely non-ominous thing to think, Vizh.

Also, maybe you could help?

Meanwhile, over at Los Angeles International Airport, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrive traveling as a perfectly normal couple. Hawkeye wanted to bring his arrows on as carry-on but yeah. Hard to explain that to the TSA.

... Wait, did the Avengers not have a spare Quinjet to send Hawkeye in?

Anyway, Bill Foster meets them at the airport. He’s local to LA and has been checking out some real estate leads for the West Coast Avengers base.

WEST COAST AVENGERS!

It continues to be approaching.

Are we going to get Bill Foster on the team? We haven’t seen him in Avengers for what feels like ever.

But enough of West Coast Avengers, there’s more Dire Wraiths plot to do.

Back at the Cape of Canaveral, General Bridges introduces the Avengers to the very high-strung Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist.

Cather flips out on seeing the Avengers and asks why they’re here. I guess nobody debrief him on all the explosions.

General Bridges has a slideshow for just this instance and activates a projector to show everyone a Dire Wraith.

The ROM Space Knight and Dire Wraiths plot has been going on for about fifty issues in ROM’s own book by this point so there’s some amount of exposition that just shotgunned in one page.

The Dire Wraiths are an offshoot of the Skrulls, apparently. Except instead of just shapeshifting they have a more predatory method of camouflage. They attack a victim with a drill-like tongue, eat their brains, and assume their forms while the original person is reduced to ashes.

At least, that’s how female Dire Wraiths work.

The Dire Wraiths are like the Badoon in having some truly wild sexual dimorphism and a high degree of hostility between the sexes. The female Dire Wraiths prefer sorcery and the males SCIENCE. Except there was a war of the sexes over differences in their plans for conquering Earth and the women Wraiths won and became the dominant Wraiths.

The Rocketeers that attacked the launchpad today are similar to a group of male SCIENCE Wraiths who also called themselves Rocketeers and attacked Clairton, West Virginia.

So Vision suspects that a group of male Wraiths survived the war of the sexes and are up to Something.

General Bridges isn’t really concerned with the nuances of who and how people are attacking the launch site. He just wants it all to stop.

Dr. Cather is leading the ion-drive project and its already in trouble because most funds have been diverted to the space shuttle program.

General Bridges doesn’t think the ion drive is a target, OR worth attacking (ouch), because none of the sabotage has struck it yet. Bridges thinks the Space Shuttle should get priority attention and decides he’ll call a full battalion to help the Avengers guard it.

Vision disagrees.

He pulls rank and forbids calling in any backup.

Captain America: “You’ll have to excuse us, gentlemen! Our chairman... has plans of his own!”

I BET HE DOES!

Meanwhile, continuing the Quicksilver subplot, it’s Quicksilver.

He Lockjaws down to Transia, Earth to go recruit Bova to be nursemaid for his baby but to his startlement he finds that her cabin has been destroyed.

Big mystery for Quicksilver but followers of this going-slightly-above-and-beyond liveblog will know that Magneto trashed it while interrogating Bova for information about his children.

Wanda and Pietro already rejected Magneto as their dad for being a jerk plus the jerky way he’s treated them. I imagine learning he terrorized a poor cow woman won’t soften their hearts to him.

Anyway, back to the Dire Wraiths plot.

The Rocketeer Dire Wraiths are sitting around and complaining about how the Avengers kicked their butts and they didn’t know humans could be so strong. But what they’re really concerned about is the Dark Nebula Mist.

That’s clearly the sign of the Dire Wraith sisterhood but why would they help the science Wraiths if not some weird mind game to flush them out.

One of the Rocketeers declares that the sisterhood’s intervention gives them a chance to complete their work. Sure, overt sabotage will be hard with the Avengers hanging around like they don’t have anything better to do. And sure, they’ll set up detection equipment. But the Avengers won’t suspect that the Rocketeers will have jamming watches that’ll let them avoid detection.

That’s why Science Wraithing is so rad.

The next morning, the Avengers are spread out throughout the Space Center.

Captain Marvel is standing sentry on top of the vehicle assembly building. Starfox is at launch complex 39A thinking patronizing thoughts about the Space Shuttle.

Starfox: “They call this a space ship? Charming.”

And Wasp watches over the ion-drive rocket.

Meanwhile, Vision, Captain America, and Scarlet Witch are in the security command post watching the cameras with the special detection systems.

If I remember Linkara’s Romtrospective, the special detection systems are probably based on Rom’s Analyzer, which he let SHIELD examine.

Anyway, Scarlet Witch switches to a random monitor to demonstrate that so far so good, pointing at monitor three and its entirely unsuspicious group of technicians.

Vision: “No problem?!? There’s a very big problem!! Can’t you see?!”

Turns out that Vision has better vision, hah, than a human. And with his special eyes he sees that those four technicians are NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.

He immediately grabs the microphone to the PA and announces DANGEROUS INTRUDERS and for everyone to evacuate the area immediately.

The four intruders make a mad dash to the ion-drive ship but Starfox does them a drive by punching.

Starfox: “Good morning, gentlemen! Since you aren’t evacuating the premises, might I assume that you’re our intruders? Hmmm?”

I’ll reveal a cursed secret. If it weren’t for Starfox’s special pleasure beam powers, I wouldn’t have a problem with him. He can be pretty fun sometimes.

Captain Marvel also zips over in light form and then re-assumes her meat form.

One of the Dire Wraiths: “Strike while she is helpless in her corporeal form!”

Captain Marvel: “Helpless?”

Never assume Captain Monica Marvel is helpless just because she’s made of meat. She was a boat cop, dammit.

Its a well known fact that all boat cops that get superpowers and join the Avengers, know how to flip a jerk.

Anyway, Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist, also runs towards the ion-drive rocket despite the evacuation order.

Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist: No need to worry soldier! I won’t be long at all... Once I’ve cut my ship off from ground control! I’m glad I returned to the test bunker last night. Otherwise, I might have been found like that the others! Their sabotage missions brought them to a bad end, just as I’d hoped! Now, their capture should be all the diversion I need -- to get away scot free!

Gasp! Dr. Woodrow Cather, the guy who was alarmed to see the Avengers involved is one of the Dire Wraiths and he’s dicking over his alien invader associates!

Is there no honor among alien invaders?

Scarlet Witch and Cap(tain America) arrive in Jeep to where Starfox and Cap(tain Marvel) are kicking the Dire Wraith ass. Scarlet Witch uses her do-anything powers to force the Dire Wraiths to assume their natural lumpy orange forms.

But then Dr. Woodrow Cather blasts off in the ion-drive rocket, luckily managing not to either blind nor burn to death anyone on the ground.

Captain Marvel zips after the rocket because speed of rocket is still way slower than the speed of light.

God, I love Monica’s powers.

The Dire Wraiths start bemoaning how they’ve been abandoned and betrayed but worse than that DOOOOOOOMED.

Cap(tain America) is like ‘come again?’

The Dire Wraiths explain that the ion-drive is actually a secret star-drive, that they cobbled together using whatever ‘backward technology’ they could get and sometimes just steal from other projects (I guess thats what the sabotage was? Covering the thefts?). But uh the red glow from the not-ion-drive exhaust is a bad sign.

It means that the engine is unstable and could explode like an anti-matter bomb at any time.

And to complete the hat trick of ‘rocket stolen’ and ‘rocket gonna explode and destroy a chunk of Earth’, Wasp was watching the rocket and is now trapped inside the command module, squashed against the bulkhead from the acceleration.

THE WORLD IS IN DANGER BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, THE WASP IS!

DAMN YOU DR. WOODROW CATHER, IF THATS YOUR REAL NAME!

Follow @essential-avengers because we like Wasp here. Wasp should be in more stuff in modern comics. Like and reblog as well but only if you think that the post is likeable and slash or rebloggable.

#Avengers #Dire Wraiths #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #Captain America #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Starfox #the Wasp #i miss she hulk #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #the avengers are doing pretty well this issue #they got to chill out on a yacht and were pretty effective at dealing with the Wraiths #but still another issue to go

8 notes · View notes

joannalannister · 4 years

Text

Anonymous asked:

Hey there, Lauren! I love your blog and metas! I have a question for you, in terms of the book, could you tell me when and where Daenerys shows signs of being a tyrant or a fascist? I see lots of metas say that she is, but from what I've read, I don't see any signs of that? Sure, she kills her enemies, but what powerful monarch doesn't? I just feel like the fandom has a very biased and double standard hatred when it comes to her, and I would like your opinion! Thank you!

Before I answer your question, we need some sort of working definition of fascism. To achieve this, I would like to quote a disabled person who helped lead the fight against fascism for years, and who died in the line of duty:

Over a year and a half ago I said this [...]: "The militarists in Berlin, and Rome and Tokyo started this war, but the massed angered forces of common humanity will finish it."

Today that prophecy is in the process of being fulfilled. The massed, angered forces of common humanity are on the march. They are going forward [...]

We will have no truck with Fascism in any way, in any shape or manner. We will permit no vestige of Fascism to remain. [...]

In every country conquered by the Nazis and the Fascists, or the Japanese militarists, the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate, entitled to freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.

We have started to make good on that promise. I am sorry if I step on the toes of those Americans who, playing party politics at home, call that kind of foreign policy “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.”

--President Franklin D. Roosevelt, July 28th, 1943 Fireside Chat

What did the fascist Nazi Party stand for in WWII?

Historically, there was no Nazi Party apart from their racial and social agenda. It was a party founded on racial distinctions, with a vision to dramatically transform their society. The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. They persecuted and killed Jewish people, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and communists, and they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy. [x]

But where does GRRM come into this?

I wasn’t a complete pacifist; I couldn’t claim to be that. I was what they called an objector to a particular war. I would have been glad to fight in World War II. But Vietnam was the only war on the menu. [x]

GRRM’s ethical views are at their clearest and most concise while discussing slavery and dehumanization in his (most excellent and highly recommended) vampire novel, Fevre Dream:

I never held much with slavery […]. You can’t just go… usin’ another kind of people, like they wasn’t people at all. Know what I mean? Got to end, sooner or later. Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see? Maybe that’s what them abolitionists been sayin’ all along. You try to be reasonable, that’s only right, but if it don’t work, you got to be ready. Some things is just wrong. They got to be ended.

Some things are worth fighting for. Fascism requires opposition, some form of opposition, or it will steamroller all over you.

My regret now is not that I stayed my arm, but that I remained aloof in my window while others protested peacefully outside. It would be naïve to think that those marching in neo-Nazi parades could have a change of heart from such efforts, but I am more concerned with those who are not marching for anything. We must convince the apathetic to care, and stop those who are walking down the path of hatred before it becomes too late.

--David Olin, The View from My Window, Berkeley 2018, written for the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity

Now, let me apply this to ASOIAF piece by piece.

In every country conquered [...] the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

This is Tywin. This is Tywin enslaving people as part of his militaristic campaign of aggressive force in the Riverlands. This is Tywin sanctioning the capture and torture of innocent people. This is Tywin “using” other kinds of people and disregarding the fact that they are human beings. This is Tywin enslaving Arya Stark. This is Tywin impressing people to work in his gold mines on a whim, as we learn in AGOT. This is Tywin reducing people to the status of slaves or chattels. This is Tywin.

I don’t know how many different ways I can say it, but as I’ve said before and will say again: Tywin is the character in the ASOIAF books who most prominently espouses fascist ideology.

There are other characters in the main series -- Roose Bolton and Randyll Tarly, for example -- who also exhibit characteristics of fascist ideology, but I would argue that it is Tywin who is the fascist poster boy of ASOIAF ... and it is also Tywin who is one of the main villains who is drawing humanity’s attention south away from the true threat of the Others, who wish to turn every living thing into their slaves and playthings. (Littlefinger also comes to mind.) Tywin is an unwitting general in the Others’ army. Tywin is fighting the Others’ Campaign of Dehumanization on their behalf.

The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan.

Substitute “Aryan” for “Lannister” and this is Tywin. “a Lannister, and worth more.” It is Tywin who pushes an agenda of Lannister superiority and it is Tywin to whom non-Lannisters aren’t human, to the point that he had to marry his own cousin. He dislikes non-Lannisters so much he had to marry his own cousin!!!! It’s Tywin who passed down his obsession with blood purity to his children to the point that they literally have to fuck each other. It’s Tywin who puts his House (a proxy for his race) above the individuals in it; it’s Tywin who doesn’t care if Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion are ground to dust under his disgusting ideology as long as House Lannister reigns supreme.

"Spice soldiers and cheese lords," his lord father called them, with contempt.

This is Tywin.

Non-Lannisters aren’t fully human to Tywin. This is fascist ideology!!!!

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and Kevan, refusing to allow the Westerlings to marry into their family because of “doubtful blood”!!!!! (”Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that Lord Tywin had not had first.”)

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and Elia.

they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments.

This is Tywin and his hatred toward disabled Tyrion. This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and disabled Elia.

The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy.

This is Tywin. This is Randyll hating on Brienne of Tarth. (And you can bet your ass Tywin doesn’t approve of women with swords.)

I don’t know how many ways I can say it: Tywin and others like him are the fascists.

Tywin is one of the cold fucks the AGOT prologue warns us about in the very beginning: “the real enemy is the cold.”

The central conflict of ASOIAF is between the living (the fire) and the dead (the cold), those who would recognize your humanity and those who won’t.

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate

^^ This is Daenerys Targaryen ^^

Daenerys Targaryen is a freedom fighter who kills slavers in the books.

Her breakup of the economic system of Essos (meaning SLAVERY) is more akin to a communist revolution than a fascist takeover imo. Daenerys associates herself with people of all races, all classes. She gives Missandei, who canonically has dark skin in the books, a place as one of her closest advisors. Unlike Tywin, Daenerys is not pushing an agenda of Targaryen superiority.

Daenerys is not perfect. She does not always get it right. Daenerys has got some things wrong. But I don’t think there has been any other option for Daenerys. You ... you can’t just look the other way when evil men are crucifying children, and I truly do not think that non-violent opposition would change anything in Essos. “Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see?”

Sometimes innocents like Hazzea have died on Daenerys’s journey.

And I fully believe that more people are going to die in TWOW, and that Daenerys will hold herself responsible, whether she is or not. I know that TWOW will give all the antis of every character a lot of ammunition. TWOW is going to be a dark and depressing book.

I think that Daenerys is going to reach a very low point in TWOW, just as Tyrion is nose-diving in ADWD, but I think that’s just what GRRM does with his greatest heroes. It’s the moment in a movie when the hero falls off the cliff, and the Evil Villain starts cackling maniacally and you think all is lost, and then you see the hero’s hand reach up over the edge and the music crescendos as the hero pulls himself up. Except the real villains that GRRMs heroes are battling are themselves. The cliff is a metaphor for our darkest impulses.

Characters tell Dany in AGOT that “she is nothing” but Dany’s story is about proving them wrong. It’s about her finding her own dignity and worth as a human being out on the Dothraki Sea, and becoming the master of her own fate. As her story progresses, she helps others to do the same, helping people to rediscover their dignity, to regain their names (or take new ones), to find the humanity that was stolen from them.

(This is why it’s so important to me that her story intersect with zombie!Jon, so that she can help a dead man remember what it is to be human and remember why it all matters. Because if none of it matters ... if a man can’t find a fuck to give, well, that’s Tywin Lannister, who was a cold dead man long before Tyrion shot him.)

I brought up FDR in the beginning of this post. Although FDR died before GRRM was born, he was one of the great American cultural figures of the 20th century and I have no doubt FDR’s legacy was a formative influence on GRRM. And that’s the thing - so many of these, these great American cultural figures of GRRM’s life died before their work was completed: FDR, JFK, MLK, so many others... The promised land is somewhere ahead of us, despite the opposition making accusations of “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.” No one is going to drive us there and drop us off; we have to get there by ourselves, and the journey isn’t an easy one. It’s a place we have to keep striving for, working for. A dream of spring...

It’s not Daenerys’s destiny, I think, to rule humanity in the long term; Dany’s destiny is, I think, to make sure that humanity doesn’t, well, lose their humanity. To make sure that humanity doesn’t fall into eldritch slavery.

The Others would make us automatons in their icy, inhuman regime. The Others would steam-roller all over humanity, and take away humanity’s freedom to choose, as Tywin Lannister tries to do to his children, trying to take all of their choices away and control them completely. The Others would take away our self-determination, our freedom to choose good or evil, our freedom to be the rulers of our own fate.

I don’t think it’s Daenerys job to be a ruler in the end. I think she’s fighting evil now so that other people can keep fighting that good-and-evil “human heart in conflict with itself” fight long after she’s gone ... I’ve never believed in a “Targaryen restoration” ending although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.

Like Moses, Daenerys won’t lead us into the promised land ... we have to get there ourselves.

And I’ve strayed from your question into a topic that’s more interesting to me because I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve that you are even asking me if the compassionate, caring, teenage-girl, sexual-abuse-survivor, messiah-figure Daenerys Targaryen is a fucking fascist when everything Daenerys “the fire is mine” Targaryen does is in narrative opposition to Certified Fucking Fascist Tywin Racist Lannister oh my god I cannot believe this is where we’ve come to as a fandom, I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve.

Anon. Honey. Baby. I say this gently, with love: Whyyyyyyyyy are you reading “Daenerys is a fascist” metas? That didn’t even work on the show.

When I googled “Daenerys Targaryen fascist” to try and figure out what you could possibly be reading to argue against it, the top result is an alt-right thinkpiece website about how dangerous Dany was all along in freeing slaves!!!! And the next results are people who think the iron throne actually matters when GRRM himself has said that the political war is a red herring.

The endgame rulers don’t even particularly matter because what matters in the end is that humanity wins against the Others and we still have control over ourselves, what matters is for that human heart conflict to continue to exist inside ourselves and that we rule over that conflict inside ourselves.

"We all must choose," she proclaimed.

Practice some self-care; go read Armageddon Rag, and remember this: TWOW is not going to save us.

#to my friends out there: shoutout to Comrade Drogon ☭#daenerys targaryen #tywin lannister #asoiaf meta #lannister thoughts #tywin meta #dany meta #fascist masculinity #fascist masculinity in asoiaf #asoiaf and the american mythos #the meaning of asoiaf #the war for the dawn #endgame #fascism

424 notes · View notes

thursdaygirlgn · 3 years

Note

my friend i am here with the self insert oc sam parallel episode, i have a history exam tomorrow and i refuse to revise in favor of writing this. let me take you on a journey.

this is very self indulgent and spans kind of the entirety of the series (because im nosy and want to be involved in every cool plot) so im not gonna embarrass myself OR bore you but the general gist of the first episode is this:

i am an 18yr old psychic kid raised by a hunter, meeting the boys in s2 through a “my father was also murdered by a ghost of his past”, except he did not immediately assume i am the antichrist while i was an infant and raised me relatively normal, thus demonstrating that john winchester was a fucked up parent because he allowed himself to be.

i am what sam could’ve been and he is once again reminded that all he ever wanted was to be normal and loved and how that was taken away from him, unfairly. he is angry. he is jealous. he feels bad about being jealous because “her dad’s dead, what the fuck,man”. he wants me to be ok, ultimately, ofc he does, but he doesn’t understand why i got it, why he didn’t, why couldn’t john do it. this serves as more material for soul-searching bc i am a firm believer that understanding the circumstances of abuse and neglect and wrapping ur head around them helps lift the guilt we often burden ourselves with: it’s not that if sam had been a better son john would have loved him more, it’s that john refused to look at sam for what sam really was: a child wracked by generational trauma and unprocessed grief, whose autonomy was violated before he could say his first word, in need of love, and chose to instead look at sam through his own grief muddied goggles and link him to mary’s death. insane how this is turning into sam analysis isn’t it.

i am also angry because im still sort of a child but not really, not anymore, im on the cusp of adulthood and going into it knowing that the world is unfair and hateful, grief is written all over me and sam thinks oh nono, because hope’s kind of the whole point isn’t it, and i had it and now it has been taken from me along with my parent and sam feels so alone and furious with everything, he’s plagued by skull cracking demonic visions, and he doesn’t want this idealized version of himself to ultimately end up like the version of himself that he is now, the one he doesn’t understand, the one he’s afraid of. he’s looking in a weird funhouse mirror, sees a kid who was different like he was but was cherished, and sees her end up in the same position he is now: fatherless, on a quest for revenge. he thinks that if we get the monster of the week, ill be better and he’ll find his hope in that. all roads lead to rome but he wont allow this one to reach the colosseum (defying destiny theme, hello).

the monster of the week hunt begins thusly, with sam generally uncomfortable. i confide in him about my psychic abilities and i explain to the brothers that i can help. both are opposed, but i am a chaotic little bitch and get involved anyway. throughout my involvement, sam learns more about the world of psychic mediums and thinks aha! hope! maybe if i dig deep enough (whore for lore amirite babes) ill find someone who’s lived an experience similar to mine! miss oc what are ur book recs for “i think i am psychic and terrified of it” and i say “fear not nerd have a very small cup of coffee and let me tell you about this great college course on divination”. this is relevant because i wanted to see more of sam desperately trying to fit into some sort of community, even a community of supernatural folk john and dean might’ve disapproved of, and finding that, at this point in time, he does not. he’s an outsider to normal people, he’s an outsider to those in contact with the paranormal. really hammer in that freak (affectionate) tagline. (he WILL build a safe haven in the men of letters bunker for all misfits in his adulthood, party city wig sam i do NOT perceive you)

the hunt culminates in an impressive showdown that includes the following: pyrotechnics, a cool spell, seeing things that aren’t really there, the power of friendship and a butter knife thrown like a frisbee. at the end we all look like final girls because im gay so blood is sexy. sam, who has come to regard me like a younger sibling/some sort of manifestation of his inner child, learns what it’s like to be deeply concerned with a youth’s safety and has a heart to heart with dean about how yeah, handling a teenager with incredible amounts of simmering rage and unprocessed grief while being barely equipped for any guardian-like role IS hard, man, is this what it felt like every time i busted out a batshit plan last minute and barely executed it in time to survive??? “yeah. bitch” “jerk.”

the epilogue is as follows: we see sam feeling many complicated things, but he is satisfied for the moment. we have a little heart to heart while laying flowers on my father’s grave. we both look a little worse for wear, but hopeful. “what’re you gonna do now?” “im not sure. college, maybe?” we keep in touch. i go on to art school and make homoerotic art pieces, as is my right. i make guest appearances whenever they need a deus ex machina bs spell to get out of trouble.

maybe in later seasons i go a little ape shit and commit some magical atrocities in the name of the greater good. maybe i get a little antagonized and he gets to offer me the understanding he couldn’t get when he needed it. i see you, sam, treating all misfits in later seasons with kindness, and i offer you a claire-like parallel to be there for through the tough times, thus healing some of your own wounds. everyone deserves an angsty wlw teenager to bond with . (i am only on season 9 of my rewatch and i have not seen seasons 12-15 in their entirety, if he does get one im not disrespecting that character and i love them probably)

the boys hit the road. vienna by billy joel plays, because it makes me feel things.

Slow down you're doing fine

You can't be everything you want to be before your time

Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight

Too bad, but it's the life you lead

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right

You got your passion, you got your pride

But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

end scene.

this is poetry. i will cherish this forever thank you for sharing with me and good luck on your exam

#all roads lead to rome but he won’t let this once reach the colosseum....#clown posting #asks #sammy #i guess lol #sammy tag is needed for the sam analysis

5 notes · View notes

sh-rare-pair-exchange · 3 years

Text

For if they return they were always yours

For @aceon-ice

Summary: The tightness in her chest, the coiling coldness in her gut, the force in her lungs, preventing her from exhaling properly; it’s been a blessing framed as a curse, or a curse disguised in pleasure. Even now, she’s not sure.Her head is; stubborn, proud, unwilling to sacrifice another part of herself. Unlike her heart; brave, but foolish, vigorous, but vincible, always hoping, close to unhinged surety that the next person she offers it to, will not strike, crush, or break it.She longs for that someone by her side, someone she can trust, count on, be comfortable with, and know, no matter the troubles, hardships, or challenges they'll face, they won’t forsake her.

A/N: Hello AceOnIce, I chose a fic for Lydia/Izzy, because I adore them, and I hope you can enjoy this. It's my first fic where they are the main couple, and I was hesitant, scared to mess up, but I really enjoyed writing it. <3

Read it on ao3: HERE

The shine of the blade hits her eyes as she moves it to polish the other side, her motions stilling as her mind drifts to memories, treasured, but painful.

Her fingers brush long blond hair from her lover’s naked shoulder, her skin shining golden in the candle light. She trails her fingers along her spine, down to the small dent of her lower back, and follows with her lips the same path upwards again.

She can feel the tremors in her lover’s body, hear the small sounds of pleasure, even the smile on her lips. She shifts around towards her, gray blue eyes locking with her own, a hand cupping her neck, pulling her closer, and she loses herself in fervent kisses.

The tightness in her chest, the coiling coldness in her gut, the force in her lungs, preventing her from exhaling properly; it’s been a blessing framed as a curse, or a curse disguised in pleasure. Even now, she’s not sure.

Her head is; stubborn, proud, unwilling to sacrifice another part of herself. Unlike her heart; brave, but foolish, vigorous, but vincible, always hoping, close to unhinged surety that the next person she offers it to, will not strike, crush, or break it.

She longs for that someone by her side, someone she can trust, count on, be comfortable with, and know, no matter the troubles, hardships, or challenges they'll face, they won’t forsake her.

She wants someone like Magnus, or Clary, devoting themselves to her brothers, unconditionally.

No one has ever given themselves to her unconditionally, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, a toxic fracture in her heart, and endless thoughts of self-doubts, and feelings of inferiority. As if something inside her is simply wrong, and somehow, everyone knows, and leaves after taking her apart, a little at a time.

Lydia was never going to be hers. Everything about them was doomed from the start. She was a typical product of The Clave. Actually, she was a rather perfect creation. And Izzy hated her, for all the obvious reasons, but even more so, for the way she saw her own faults, prejudices, and failures reflected in her.

Thanks to Magnus, Luke, Raphael, and other Downworlders, Izzy realised that she had a long way to go before she could truly pride herself in an ally. She knew she couldn’t have escaped The Clave’s visions, not her parents’, not every Shadowhunter’s she ever had dealings with, had to learn from, but she always thought she was somehow… better.

Oddly, only through meeting, and getting to know Lydia Branwell, did Izzy really see her own shortcomings, and misconceptions. She was, and still is, grateful for that. She’s done more growing in the past year, than in all her life before that.

And she realised how exhausting, and excruciating taking yourself apart bit by bit is. To be brutally honest with herself about herself, everything she’s done, and even more so, the things she failed to do.

She’s especially thankful to her friends who helped her along this harsh journey, taught her, and opened her eyes in many ways, as well as her family, and some other Shadowhunters who felt that the old ways weren’t as golden as they were made out to be.

But she hadn’t expected Lydia Branwell to be one of them. Izzy had almost playfully cursed her beauty, because even though she was determined to hate this Clave envoy with all her might, she had two very well functioning eyes, and Lydia was sheer gorgeous.

When Izzy felt particularly petty, she even cursed her for that. But things changed, too fast for her mind to catch up. Suddenly, Lydia was on their side, and with that, on the side of innocent Downworlders they wanted to protect.

Izzy was never especially good at letting hate consume her, which some said to be one of her greatest strengths, and so animosity turned into sufferance, turned into acceptance, and surprising affection.

And soon her heart throbbed the moment Lydia entered a room, talked, smiled, and accidentally, or purposely, touched her. Even when they argued, and they did that a lot. But it helped them work out their differences in many aspects, and she just felt closer, and more drawn to her.

And when she found that she wasn’t the only one who made up reasons to spend more time together, she leapt into the feeling, into her arms, and bed.

And she was determined to have no more regrets.

She feels a blissful heaviness throughout her body, permeating her wholly, arms closing around her, rolling her over on her side, her naked body pressing into her lover’s, sheen with sweat.

Soft, thin strands of blond hair are sticking to Lydia’s face, she tries to blow from her eye, her face changing into mesmerizing laughter as she fails.

Izzy grins, and caresses all of her disturbing hair away, leaning in to press a kiss on the corner of Lydia’s smiling mouth, just to be hugged tighter, and kissed harder.

“You know,” Izzy’s head is comfortable on Lydia’s warm stomach, an arm wrapped over her, Lydia’s fingers gliding through her long, unruly hair, sending prickles along her neck, down her spine, she delights in.

“We’ve spent every night together for almost ten days.” Izzy continues, not sure why this thought took hold of her, but there’s always a reason.

“Yes, we have. And it’s been good.” Lydia says, her forefinger slowly running down Izzy’s brow and nose.

“Mmmm, yeah. Wouldn’t you like it to stay this way?” Izzy asks, sudden surprise and realisation taking her breath away.

“Even if I did, Izzy, it won’t. We won’t be here forever. Nothing is ever certain in our lives, but that things will always change.”

Izzy knew she would say something like that, there was no other option, even. Not for them. And, yet, a flicker of hope for something else was born the moment she asked, now extinguished, casting a shadow in her mind, chasing away her rare moment of levity.

She never said anything regarding this topic again afterwards, knowing how Lydia would react, knowing that hearing it from her lips would hurt even more. They were… something, but not everything, and once again, she had to accept that. She just wasn’t enough, for Lydia, or anyone, or maybe, what Alec and Jace found, was simply too rare, and most other Shadowhunters wouldn’t. She had to accept it.

Even when she knew she fell in love with Lydia, completely, she still had to accept that she was the only one, and that she was the one who would have to nurture another broken heart, once Lydia broke it off, or was sent away.

Or accepted a higher position at the Institute in Rome, with a very good chance to be promoted again.

Izzy knew that it was Lydia’s greatest wish, and ambition, and that she would always choose her head over her heart, and her career over a relationship. Izzy even understood it, to a point, but it still crushed her bone-deep to hear the words.

Lydia was leaving, and she would be happy with the decision. And Izzy had no say in the matter, and she couldn’t ask her to stay, would never plead, would not show how much it hurt, more so than she had anticipated, but it may as well.

She wished her all the best, smiled somehow, and left.

That was four months ago, and a lot had changed, again, just as Lydia said. Izzy was going to be the new Head of the New York Institute, because she too, had to put her career before anything else, because, again, she was proven wrong to want something else.

She hadn’t really talked to anyone about it, but she knew her brothers, and friends, knew, and she knew she could have cried and be comforted by them, but instead, she was grateful for Jace, and Clary’s willingness to train with her every day, and Alec’s insight into her new position, as well as Magnus, and Raphael’s teachings of more she had yet to learn, wanting to be the very best role model she could be, especially for the new generation.

Izzy blinks, the shine of the blade she’s gripped in her hands before her eyes, irritating them suddenly. She inhales, exhales, and puts the blade away, then cleans her work station.

She’s been here, on her own, for the past five evenings, just cleaning weapons, thinking, trying to unravel some of the knots in her mind. She knows she’ll be okay, generally. She knows what she has to do, must put forward, and still learn, and she knows it will never end.

And maybe, the void, sometimes filled with sadness, sometimes anger, sometimes loneliness, guilt, or pride, will become smaller in time. She can’t but try, one day at a time.

The door is suddenly pulled open, Jace storming inside, his expression grave, letting her know something bad happened.

Lydia is here, and she’s badly hurt. She was brought by two Shadowhunters who had been working with her in Rome, but Izzy can’t focus on that. She races to the infirmary, Jace on her heels, blood draining from her face as she sees her lying on the white bed, her face ashen, bruised, and bloody.

“She made us promise to take her here should anything happen to her.” Izzy isn’t able to look at the other two women in the room, her brain barely catching up with their words.

There was a demon attack, a big one, and Lydia got hurt. Izzy feels paralyzed, unable to do anything but keep staring at Lydia’s face, her eyes shut. She doesn’t even know if she’s breathing.

She suddenly feels a hand on her shoulder, and becomes aware of Jace behind her. “Iz.” She shakes her head slowly, forces air into her lungs, and steps forward, her whole being trembling.

People are rushing in and out, but she hardly notices, unable to take her eyes and mind off of Lydia’s face. Izzy’s hand shivers as she touches Lydia’s wrist, to find her pulse, weak. But alive. Time loses its meaning.

She blinks, warm, dark eyes meeting hers, a soft, compassionate smile. Magnus’ hands are moving slowly above Lydia’s motionless body, light-blue magic curling around them, into her.

Izzy doesn’t know who called him, or since when he’s been here, her eyes filling with unshed tears, her chest tight with gratitude, hope, and fear. She doesn’t know if she’s breathing herself.

“Give her some time now, darling, she needs lots of rest.” Magnus leans down, kisses her head, and makes to go, but Izzy catches his hand, clutches it tightly, looking up at him, feeling small, and fragile for a moment, not knowing what to say, her lips quivering.

“Thank you.” She thinks she might break down and cry, but she doesn’t, and he smiles at her, squeezes her hand, and leaves her alone with Lydia sleeping like before.

Except, Izzy notices finally, there’s more color in her cheeks, and the cuts and bruises have healed. There’s just some crusted blood. She gets a warm, moist cloth, and carefully wipes it off of her brow, and temple, suddenly stopping as her eyes swim with hot tears.

She moves backwards, turns away and takes a few deep breaths, fighting for composure. She puts the cloth away, and sits down again on the chair she’s been occupying for hours. She just can’t seem to move away.

She startles, not having realised she’s been drifting, her eyes taking in Alec’s face, bent down next to her. She blinks, fatigue keeping her mind hazy.

“Go get some rest, Iz, I’ll sit with her.”

Izzy turns, a rush of memories clearing her mind, staring at Lydia’s face. She’s sleeping, Izzy hopes. She’s breathing. That’s all that matters for now.

“Go on.” Alec prompts her, takes her hand gently, and pulls her off of the chair. Her body feels stiff and cold.

“No, I- I want to stay, I-”

“Just for a little while, I’ll call you immediately if anything changes.” She meets her brother’s gaze, warm, concerned, probing. She nods vaguely, but she can’t agree completely.

“I’ll just take a shower, then I’ll be back.” She knows he wants to argue, but changes his mind, smiles softly, and nods.

Her shoulders sag as she leans against the closed door outside, her head low. She feels surreal, exhausted. But there’s no time to waste. She walks the halls to her room, her boots the loudest sound around a quiet institute. It’s 1am, she notices as her gaze passes a clock, but she doesn’t care for that.

She strips, fastens her long, straight hair in a high bun, and steps under the warm water. She waits for a minute, turns it hot, waits another minute, and turns it cold, the shudders all over her body waking her up more.

She hasn’t really been able to think, but now, as she’s lathering soap over her body, her mind wanders to the start. To those Shadowhunters that brought Lydia here. She made us promise to take her here if anything happened to her.

It’s more than unusual, curious. Why would Lydia make them promise that? Why would she want to come here? It’s too strange. She can’t ask them now, as they had to leave right away. She wonders how their superiors reacted to their report. Or why no one tried to contact them - or, they might as well have, but no one told her. That’s more likely. She doesn’t care right now.

She only cares for Lydia to open her eyes, and talk to her. Explain. Just as long as she’ll be okay. Izzy rinses herself, steps out, grabs a towel and flings it around her body, walking back to her bedroom to find some casual, warm clothes.

She glances at her bed for a moment, but even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead she takes her stele and activates her runes to get herself through the night awake.

She slips into sneakers, fastens her hair in a neat ponytail, and heads back to the infirmary. Alec looks up, not really surprised to see her back so soon. He would do the same, be the same, so he has no leeway to reprimand her, anyway.

He stays with them for a while, quietly. She knows she could talk if she wanted to, and there are things she might want to ask him, should even, but she really only wants to stay here like this. Not talking, listening to Lydia’s quiet breathing, watching her chest rise and fall.

At some point she reaches for her hand, and tenderly takes it into hers. Her skin feels warmer, not as clammy as before. Izzy feels relief. But she has to wake up, yet.

She sends Alec home after an hour, promising to let him know if anything happens, or if she needs him. She should be the one to be here with her. She wants to be, needs to be. No matter the outcome.

~~~

She becomes aware of something touching her hair, startling her into an upright position. She didn’t exactly fall asleep, but put her head down next to Lydia’s torso, closing her eyes, her mind drifting here and there.

Newborn daylight floods in through the windows, but Izzy blinks several times, though Lydia’s eyes are open, focused on her, her fingers slightly touching her hand.

“You’re awake!” Her mind is excited, anxious, suddenly on overdrive, trying to tell her what to do, what to think, but all she’s able to do is stare at her.

“I am.” Lydia’s voice is rough, and quiet, but alert, and Izzy knows she knows who she is, and where she is, and probably also what happened.

“Are you hurting?” It’s all Izzy can ask while she’s trying to catch up. Her mind is reeling, and there is so much she wants to know, but she has to reign herself in, one thing at a time.

Lydia thinks for a moment, her body moving lightly in places under the blanket. “A little sore, much better than I should be. Magnus?”

Izzy just nods, unable to take her eyes off of Lydia’s face. She’s not as white as the pillow case, but still paler than she usually is. But she will be alright. She’s really… okay.

Izzy can’t prevent herself from grasping Lydia’s hand, holding it tightly in both of hers, for a moment unable to breathe. She exhales slowly, her chest aching.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, I’ll make sure to apologize to everyone.” Lydia sighs softly as her head slinks deeper into the pillow, her gaze falling away.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to worry about that, just- why?” She didn’t mean to end her sentence here, but she’s overcome with so many thoughts, and emotions, and she wishes she could keep a cool, calm head right now, but all of this has gotten to her a lot more deeply than she realized, and inwardly she’s stiff, and trembling.

Lydia licks her lips, and Izzy thinks she should get her something to drink, but her hands are gripping Lydia’s, and she can’t seem to let go.

“I’m sorry.”

Izzy doesn’t understand, and she hopes Lydia will explain everything, right now, or she might burst. She shakes her head, slow growing desperation winding up her stomach, chest, and throat.

Lydia clears her throat, shifts her head slightly, and glances up into Izzy’s eyes. “It was my last day, I wasn’t going on any more missions, but they came out of nowhere.” She swallows with some effort, and Izzy knows she needs water, that she should get her some, but her words are stuck in her brain, and she’s unmoving.

Her last day? She doesn’t comprehend anything anymore.

“I hoped to see you again, whatever happened.” Her voice sounds hoarse, and she’s coughing lightly, shaking Izzy out of her stupor. She turns quickly, glad the table with the water is within her reach, grabs the jug and fills a glass while keeping hold of Lydia's hand.

Lydia takes the offered glass from her, and, propping herself into a more upright position, slowly swallows half of it. She gasps, sighs, and sinks back down, giving the glass back.

“Thank you.”

Izzy puts it away quickly, and gathers her thoughts. “I still don’t understand, are you saying you-”

“Quit. I quit.” Lydia’s eyes are trained on hers, and Izzy feels a shudder rushing all along her spine. What?!

“I told them that I would come back to New York, and that they had no say in it but to accept my decision.”

Izzy notices the tiny, sad smile in Lydia’s eyes, and somehow, she still doesn’t understand anything. “But you wanted to leave, you are determined to have your own institute.” So, why would she ever want to come back? Why would she get in trouble with The Clave?

“I was- am, but… I found out I’m also a fool. Just like Jace said.” She’s smiling a little more, coughs again, and Izzy is fast to help her up, stroking her back gently until Lydia gives her a nod, and she carefully lets her lie down again.

“Jace?” Izzy’s mind, and heart, are all over the place.

“He said I was a fool to leave, and Clary agreed. Alec didn’t say anything, but he gave me that look of his, you know, the one that makes it very clear he thinks you’re wrong. I understood their view, but I wanted to be right. I needed to be.”

She sighs softly, and reaches out her free hand towards Izzy’s face, her fingertips tracing her chin. “Max once said that he liked having me around because you were always smiling when I was there. I had forgotten about that, but I had many sleepless nights, and I remembered. But I still needed duty, and career, and hard work, to determine my life, and my future. That’s what I thought, despite everything I had witnessed from all of you, I couldn’t let go of that part of me. I was too scared to, I was even ashamed, and I didn’t fully understand why.”

She drops her hand, and closes her eyes for a moment, visibly emotional, and exhausted. Izzy is letting her words process inside her mind. But she’s too scared herself, to come to a conclusion on her own, she needs Lydia to tell her everything.

Lydia opens her eyes, and focuses again. “Sorry, I feel a little dizzy, but I’m alright. All I wanted was to see you again, and talk. I didn’t expect it to be like this, but it’s maybe more than I deserve.”

She shifts a little, seeming in discomfort, but when Izzy makes a move towards her stele, she holds her back, taking both of her hands into hers. “I also realized that I needed to leave. Or I wouldn’t have understood any of this. I thought I had to fight, and defeat my emotions, my heart, but in the end, I fought, and defeated my head, and my fear, and shame, so I could come back, and be sure.”

She moves onto her elbow, upwards to be face to face with Isabelle. “I never promised you anything, because it would have been a lie, and I made sure to keep a part of us separated, because I could only allow for one outcome, for us to be apart. And I had to be away to understand everything you’ve all been showing, and teaching me, all this time. I couldn’t let it in back then. But when I was alone, finally a step further towards my goal, with every day everything felt a little stranger, until it all felt wrong. And I did try to convince myself of the opposite, but even then, somehow I knew I didn’t really mean it.”

She pauses, shifts again, and sits up properly, her long hair falling into her face, but she doesn’t let go of Izzy’s hands, merely shaking her head to make it move.

“Once I understood what was happening with me, or rather, what had happened in me, it was almost easy to let go of the set ideal of myself, and my life. And I had to agree with Jace, I was a fool.” She smiles softly, her eyes glistening.

“And I’m so sorry for making you collateral damage in my journey of finding myself, I guess. I can’t vow that I would have got here if things had been different, but I wish I didn’t have to hurt you in the process.”

She kind of slumps into herself, shutting her eyes, full of regret, and Izzy can’t but keep watching her face, so dear to her, Lydia’s words repeating over and over in her head.

She shuts her eyes, as well, gathers herself, looks at Lydia again, and slowly pulls her hands out of hers, making her startle and look at her in alarm, but Izzy soothes her quietly, and pushes her gently back down into bed, staying seated on the edge of it, her hand caressing a few strands from Lydia’s face.

“You really are a fool, a pretty great one.” Izzy smiles, her eyes burning with hot liquid.

“But I’m going to let you in on a secret.” She leans down a little, Lydia’s expression surprised, curious.

“We’re pretty much all fools here, with very few exceptions.” She smiles softly amidst realising what Lydia has been saying. She came back, she wants to stay here, she doesn’t want to be the head of some institute, she wants…

“But some of us have followed our hearts, and weren’t led astray. So, is that what you’re saying?” She leaves her hand covering Lydia’s jaw and cheek, piercing her gaze, needing certainty, because she knows her own heart, and who she wants the last person to be to give it to, and take care of.

Lydia’s eyes widen slightly, and Izzy can feel both of their hearts beating faster in the space between them, and she’s hoping, trusting it completely, to not make an even greater fool of herself.

Lydia exhales suddenly, her lips curling into a lovely smile, her eyes shining. She nods. “It would be an honor to rank amongst the fools at the New York Institute.” They’re both giggling quietly for a moment, tension falling off of them, tired, surprised joy remaining.

Lydia turns her head, cupping Izzy’s hand on her face with her own, kissing her palm, inhaling her scent, her eyes closed.

Izzy’s fighting with a sob, deep down still a little apprehensive, not yet able to chase every last shadow of doubt from her.

Until she locks eyes with Lydia once more. “I missed you.” And Izzy hears the pain in her voice, sees it in her eyes, and before she can say anything else, she leans down, touching her lips, kissing her sweetly, until Lydia’s arms fold around Izzy’s body, and she’s suddenly moved down and around, almost falling off of the bed, if not for Lydia holding her close, side by side.

“I’m not letting you go again.” Lydia smirks slightly, and Izzy, though concerned for her not fully recovered state, can’t but smile, and give in, wrapping her arms around Lydia in return, their noses brushing together.

“Then you better never scare me like this again.” She gives her a reproachful look, and Lydia’s expression softens. “I’ll do my best.”

Izzy has to be satisfied with that. “I have some news to tell you, as well.” She smiles a little, leading her mind to a safer topic, but for a split second, a crack opens inside her, fear striking her. What if she already knows I’ll be the new head of the institute, and that’s why-

“What is it? I haven’t heard any news in forever, tell me.” Lydia’s words close the crevice immediately, calmness, and happiness settling inside Izzy’s body, warming her from deep within.

“It’s not that important right now. I’ll tell you later.” She smirks, and Lydia seems regretful for barely a moment as their lips slide together, hands stroking over one another’s body, tangling through hair, and caressing the little skin that’s revealed.

Izzy feels Lydia’s lips wandering along her cheek, soft caresses, and touches, to her temple, eyebrow, and forehead, suddenly whispering right above her ear, her breath stuck, her heart stuttering.

“I love you, Isabelle, for certain.”

A tear slips from Izzy’s eye, every part of her brimming with bliss too vast to comprehend, but, finally, she feels that she’s enough, because this feels right, like she’s been found, finally able to let go of everything else.

#shrarepairexchange #sh rare pair gift exchange #shadowhunters #shrarepair2021 #aceon-ice

5 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 4 years

Note

Do you still take prompts? :o In honor of archives, could you write about pre-retribution gency? Like, angsty Genji preparing, and Mercy being concerned and still feeling the aftermath of the talon-attack? Love you 💕

Awww Love you too. And you know I love me some Blackwatch Genji. The tricky thing about the Venice incident though, was that it was a black op that Jack needed total deniability on, in other words, Mercy couldn’t be told about that mission, and Genji probably didn’t know about it until the last minute. Happy White Day, Btw!!

----

Mercy held her tablet close to herself as she knocked on the door to Genji’s room. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. There was no response on the other side of the door. “Genji?” she knocked again, “It’s Doctor Ziegler. Are you free?”

There was a grunt on the other side. “Come in,” Genji’s voice came on the other side.

Mercy touched the panel on the side of the door and the door slid open. Genji’s room was depressingly bare, and shoved into an awkward, tucked away corner of the Zurich headquarters. A bit colder than the other on-site apartments with a too-high ceiling, too-cramped floorspace, and no natural light. She had tried to get him to one with a window at least but he had insisted on this one. Said he didn’t want to be seen. And Blackwatch was more than willing to accommodate that. It was close to Blackwatch’s own below-ground intel center, anyways.

Mercy was looking at her tablet as she stepped in. “You missed your psych eval for this week and I was concerned because of the--” she was cut off by the sound of another grunt from Genji and suddenly flinched back as red and wires suddenly swung into her field of vision. She stumbled back two or three steps, fumbling with her tablet as her eyes flicked upward. Genji was hanging by his knees from a horizontal bar suspended between the two walls of the corridor leading from his apartments sitting quarters (it didn’t seem accurate to call them rooms) to the sleeping quarters. His fingers were interlaced behind his head as he hauled his body up in an upside-down sit-up with another grunt. His faceplate was off and Mercy could see his artificial collarbones shifting with the effort. He smelled of sweat and metal. The words fell away from Mercy’s mouth for a few seconds and she stammered, “B-because of the--the um..”

“Rome?” said Genji, unlacing his fingers from behind his head and grabbing the bar on his final rise, nimbly tucking his knees against himself and lowering himself down from the bar. He touched down on his floor lightly

“Because of Rome--yes,” said Mercy, glancing off, reddening as Genji grabbed a towel off of the back of his chair and pressed it to his scarred face.

“Mm,” Genji made a noncommittal noise.

“Reyes and McCree are both shaken up by it,” said Mercy, tucking her hair back, “And if you didn’t attend your psych eval...”

“I wasn’t there,” Genji’s voice was flat.

“I know, that’s why I’m here--” Mercy started.

“I mean I wasn’t in Rome,” said Genji, looking over his shoulder at her as he clicked his faceplate back on.

Mercy huffed. “It’s still difficult to process,” she went on, “Blackwatch’s covertness always brought an assumed sense of security---”

“...because I’m in Overwatch to feel safe,” said Genji, flatly, grabbing his elbow and stretching out his organic side.

“Genji,” she said his name with an exasperated softness and that at least managed to throw him off-kilter from his moodiness.

“...I appreciate your concern, Doctor Ziegler,” he conceded, lowering his arms and glancing off, “And...” he huffed, “Yes. The incident in Rome is... deeply troubling. But the truth is, the only thing that would make me feel better is making sure something like that doesn’t happen again, and how we do that is going to be up to Reyes or Morrison. I can’t run my sword through ‘maybes.’ And I’ve run out of training bots.”

“That explains the...” Mercy gestured upward at the bar overhead he had been doing sit-ups on, “When did you put that in here?”

“Torbjörn helped me put it in a few weeks ago,” said Genji.

“Torbjörn?” Mercy repeated, incredulously.

“I socialize,” said Genji, folding his arms.

Mercy snorted.

“To an extent,” said Genji with a slight shrug, “He said if it meant fewer training bots to repair...” he trailed off. Though she couldn’t be sure with the faceplate on, she almost heard a smile in his voice. His red eyes flicked to her. “How are you holding up?”

“Me?” said Mercy.

Genji nodded.

“Well... I...” she fidgeted with her hair, “I don’t do well with the idea of buildings collapsing. In, um, in general.”

Genji remembered what McCree had told him about her parents a while back. “I see,” he said, quietly.

“But I suppose I’m stuck same as you... all we can really do about it is see where Jack and Gabriel point us,” she shrugged.

“...you were able to help with Gérard,” said Genji.

“Well--Emergency dispatchers in Rome did most of the work for me,” said Mercy.

“Still I’m... I’m glad,” said Genji, “As much as I like McCree I think Gérard’s the only one who makes Blackwatch feel... right. Well, not right, but---”

He was cut off by the sound of another knock at the door.

“You’re awfully popular this afternoon,” said Mercy with a slight smile as Genji walked past her to the door.

“I told you, I socialize,” said Genji with slight mock admonishment as he opened the door. A tall, narrow figure with short cropped red hair loomed over him and instantly the stumbling, slowly optimistic mood of the room plummeted back down to pure tension.

“Genji,” Moira smiled graciously, and Genji unconsciously leaned back from her, “So glad I could get ahold of you. Reyes wanted me to fetch you.”

“...fetch me for what?” said Genji, hesitantly.

“I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, I’m as in the dark about it as you are,” said Moira, examining her unsettlingly long nails, “Blackwatch. You know how it is.” Moira’s eyes flicked past Genji and lit up like a cat that had just spotted wounded prey. “Why, Doctor Ziegler--making house calls, are we?”

“Moira,” Mercy’s jaw was tight.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” said Moira.

“Jack called for your resignation,” said Mercy, her brow furrowing.

“And Reyes didn’t share that sentiment. One hand takes away, and the other gives,” said Moira with a cavalier gesture.

“You’re--you’re in Blackwatch,” the words stumbled out of Mercy,

She looked down at her black, red and silver outfit, “Yes. Dreadfully tacky, but Reyes loves his theatrics.” She glanced back at Mercy, now red in the face with fury. “Oh--they didn’t tell you?” she clicked her tongue, “Naughty Jack...Oh! Wait--” she looked at Genji, “Naughty you!”

“Genji--” Mercy started.

“It was classified,” said Genji, looking down.

“Oh dear.... And it seems I’ve breached it. Oh well. I’m sure this little...” Moira waved a hand at Genji and Mercy, “’Consultation’ is definitely within Overwatch’s regulations.”

Mercy was shaking with rage and Moira was clearly loving every second of it. Genji had half a mind to put a hand on her shoulder, to try and snap her out of it, but she seemed to be keeping it contained, and they felt vulnerable enough just with Moira looking at them both in his room.

“Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow him from you,” said Moira, putting a hand on Genji’s shoulder, “But I assure you, I’ll do my best to get him back to you in one piece.”

Both Mercy and Genji bristled. Mercy from Moira’s words, Genji from the hand on his shoulder.

“Genji--” Mercy started warily.

“...I’m just going to go see what Reyes wants,” said Genji.

“Stay safe,” the words fell out of Mercy like a flinch and Genji just gave a single nod in return before he and Moira both headed out of the door.

#gency

70 notes · View notes

zankivich · 5 years

Text

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 8

a/n: I hope you didn’t think I’d make it quite so easy. A little pull and tug is worth it sometimes ya know? idk how much longer I’ll be around. Most people don’t engage with the fics anymore and Shawn isn’t really the Shawn I fell in love with anymore. Life just kind of sucks at the moment. But I’ve got this chapter already written so I thought I’d post it. If you liked it and actually want it to continue? I might recommend letting me know tbh. Bye.

Shawn’s point of view

The problem with taking a woman to Rome on the first date is that anything after that just seems silly. What exactly was he to do now? Invite her over to his apartment for sushi? Even he would walk out on that date! It didn’t help that the second they got back to New York, after a very long winded kiss goodbye, that she’d jumped right into preparation for the VMAs. That essentially meant he wasn’t going to see her for days, maybe weeks. VMA season sparked award season in general for the music industry. It might not exactly give an indication of Grammys, but with the award show always arriving right as the ellibility period for the more prestigious honor was ending, it meant that the VMAS was the beginning of the long haul to get your artist at the top of the charts and fucking keep them there. Which also meant that just like she was busy, so was he. The difference was she actually liked her job. And he had...oh how he hated his.

He’s sitting in a marketing meeting for Sarah Leone. Sarah Leone is his dad’s bid for best new artist of the year. Forget the fact that y/n had her secret weapon of Normani and Khalid on one management team, and that he sort of had a feeling she was going to do a solo album release directly before the grammy consideration deadline just to keep the industry on its toes, his dad was thoroughly convinced Sarah was his ticket. And in a lot of ways she was. Small town girl turned mega popstar in a little over a year, her debut album was set to make beautiful numbers. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. His dad had a very direct line of vision and that vision was complete and total domination. So it wasn’t enough to have your music sell, he wanted his artists to be inescapable from the public eye. Enter this season’s publicity stunt: The MC.

His dad thought it was a clever way to reference Miley Cyrus. Back in the day he’d orchestrated Miley’s dating of a 20 year old when she was 16 to address her rebellious teen phase. What most people saw as a kid going off the rails, was actually a perfectly manipulated moment in pop history. Except the dick cake that lost her the walmart branding deal, that was all her unfortunately.

Sarah was supposed to be seen out and about with mysterious new “it” british singer, Ty Summers. He was 21. She turned 18 just months prior. The two had begun with a close knit friendship, and were now being guided through the early stage of good, whole-hearted, perfectly constructed, “love”. He peers down at one of the new stills for her headline of V magazine, and simply can’t believe she’s 18. The cover makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel icky. No one at the table notices. And his dad isn’t even there, because this is too low level for the kind of work he does anymore.

“Next, I want her in London for the UK press tour. We’ll have her position at Summers’ hotel for half of her stay. I want pap shots at dinner every night out of the week, and I want a prompt at the BBC interview to hint at their connection. We’ll take it from there.” Jaret, one of the senior managers rattled off. “Any questions?”

He twirled boredly in his chair far from interested in the inner workings of career management if none of it meant jack shit about what the artist actually wanted for their career. It felt like such a waste of his time.

“Quick question?” He sighed popping his pen slightly into the air.

“Yes, Mendes?”

“When does she sing?” He shrugged.

The room goes still. It’s a well known fact that Jaret runs the room. He runs the meetings, runs the decisions. He’s top dog on this particular client, and Shawn is merely there under his father’s orders as an informant and nothing more. He was there to make sure things ran smoothly, but he certainly wasn’t there to offer critique. Woops.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jaret challenged.

Shawn simply shrugged. “Just seems like if we have a musical artist who we signed on the basis of her being able to sing, that we might at some point want that to be the focal point of her career. But you know, I could be wrong.”

“There’s just one thing wrong here Shawn...we did not sign anyone. I did. We don’t make decisions on the intricacies of her career. I do. You are simply a glorified intern. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re father wasn’t afraid you’d run off every two seconds I wouldn’t have to babysit your ass right now. So, why don’t you let the professionals determine next steps and play on the computer daddy bought you, or whatever it is you do?”

Ouch.

The room shifted from Jaret back to Shawn. No one went against Jaret. And yet Shawn was perhaps the most unpredictable thing about his father’s company at that point. Needless to say unpredictably was a hell of a thing.

“It must really upset you that I get paid more than you do doesn’t it?” He hummed.

Jaret’s face began to redden, his nerves tighter than his balls that Shawn had such a precarious grip on at the moment.

“Or does it upset you more that I could do your job better than you right now, today, without even the ability to hear the tonedeaf artists you sign that are just pretty enough and just old enough not to get your ass arrested?” He tilted his head in contemplation. “Perhaps it’s even that one time at the company Christmas party where your wife caught you screwing your secretary in your office and stopped crying long enough for me to make her cum before signing the divorce papers? But you’re right Jaret, I simply should just get back to daddy’s computer. My bad.”

“You little son of--”

“Big.” Shawn interrupted sliding smoothly from his chair and packing his shit up from the horrible meeting he’d had no interest in attending in the first place. “I’m big son of a bitch, Jaret. Just ask Sarah.”

Sarah of course being his wife. Ex wife of course. Ex wife number three if we’re being specific.

The door shuts close behind him to Jaret screaming and lurching across the table towards his empty chair. He’d probably hear about it from his dad later. But honestly who cared. Jaret was a creepy asshole, and he was always gonna be a creepy asshole. Sorry not sorry.

***

He’d be a little embarrassed at how aggressively he yanked at the door were it not for the hopeful look in her big brown eyes when he sees her for the first time. He can tell she’s had a long day because her hair is down out of its bun already, tiny spirals falling all around her face and cheeks. But, the way she falls into his arms is enough to make his whole entire day. Because it means that after all the shit she’d been through that day, she wanted to be with him. And that’s the only thing he cared about in the whole world.

“I missed you.” He sighed already capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hummed softly against him, fingers squeezing at his shoulders.

“Missed you too.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot, arms keeping her tucked tightly against him. He’s sure he’s smiling like a complete and total idiot but he can’t help it. It’s this new exciting thing where he no longer has to be afraid of how close he is to her, no longer has to hope he doesn’t stare too long. She knows. And not only does she know, but somehow she feels the same way. It felt like a dream.

He tugged her back towards his kitchen and helped her into a seat before he pulled out the leftovers from his own dinner where he “accidently” ordered for two.

“Tiana said you didn’t eat dinner.” He shrugged at her questioning gaze. “And this little italian place up the block always gives me more than I need.”

She bit her lip and peered from the container of chicken parm to him and back to the parm. He thought for a second she just might fight him on it. And then he remembered how much she liked to eat.

“You and Tiana conspiring against me must stop!” She snorted grabbing the fork clean from his hand to dig in.

He leaned against the granite counter with his chin propped on his hand. She was wonderful. And silly. And a little ridiculous. He kind of loved it.

“Yes, because making sure you consume more than coffee in a twelve hour period is definitely a conspiracy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe so.”

“Maybe so.” He mimicked. “I missed the way you argue with me about everything. Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Her eyes got wide and bright and she turned a grin towards him that he practically ached to lick off. She was gorgeous.

“You missed me huh? The Shawn Mendes has fallen head first into a little monogamy moment has he?”

Sometimes he liked to think that her favorite past time was taking the piss out of him. It sure seemed that way.

He rolled his eyes back at her and butted his head softly into her neck.

“And what if I have?” He whispered softly. “You have too. Right?”

His nose skimmed along her neck and she shivered. He smiled against her skin. She’d fallen just as hard alright.

“Yea I guess so.” She mumbled.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass to refill with water.

“You should eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“Excuse me?”

He refilled her glass from the refrigerator and placed in front of her before leaning against the countertop again.

“Oh. I just meant that I plan to fuck you until the birds sing. I don’t want you getting tired on me before I’m done with you.”

His favorite past time was saying the wildest things he could come up with to her in the simplest voice possible and then watching the way it made her eyes bulge in her sockets. God he loved it.

This time she simply stuffed a breadstick in her mouth and hopped out of her seat to start taking her jacket off. It seemed she might be just as needy as he was.

“Yep! Okay. You can come get it now!”

“I’m comin’, baby.” He grinned lifting her up into his arms.

“Goddammit. Carbs and dick. It’s like my birthday or something!”

His bedroom is way too far away. They’ve gotta figure out a way to get there quicker. But he chuckles into her cleavage as he knocks them against walls to stop and kiss her. Her thighs mold to his waist, ass full in his hands. He’s stuck on her completely. And the worst part is that she knows it.

He lets her legs back down to the floor only to press her against the wall of his bedroom, lips, teeth, and tongue beginning a trail along her neck.

“You make me never wanna go back to go work ever again.” She whined, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’d happily quit if we could stay in bed for the rest of forever.” He murmured.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Maybe he would.

“Mmmm speaking of work, how hard you gonna make my job for me this fall?” He hummed biting down on her lip to solicit a yelp that drove him crazy.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“I’m supposed to believe Normani’s not releasing an album before awards season?”

Her fingers came to a stuttering stop, and he recognized that her kisses weren’t really kisses anymore. His eyes opened to meet hers and instead of the lust from just moments prior, there was...anger?

“What the fuck, Shawn?”

“W--What? What?” He mumbled reaching for her as she quickly stepped out of his arms.

“Why would you ask me that? Since when the hell do you care when my artists release music?”

He’s a little flustered and his dick is hard and her yelling at him when his dick is hard is only just adding to the complex array of emotions that his brain would surely need more blood to process.

“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s what couples did right? Like they--they ask each other about work and shit. What did I do?”

“Couples?” She paused, all of the steam leaving her like a deflated balloon. “Are we--we’re a couple?”

At this point he’s pretty sure she’s gonna give him a heart attack.

“I….Aren’t we?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t know, we’ve only been on one fucking date, Shawn. And just because it was wonderful and beautiful and romantic doesn’t mean that you get to ask me questions like that. I just… Shit. I need space.”

“Space?”

His heart leapt a little in his chest. He’d said that word before. “Space”. When people said they needed space it always meant permanent. It meant separation. It meant losing her. And the effect that her words have on him is a little surprising, even though he’s not processing nearly fast enough to catch on. All he can hear, feel, think, breathe is her not wanting him. And in this moment of fragility for him he’s not quite sure how to cope.

“Wait. Just wait a second. I don’t even know what’s happening right now!” He cried his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s just talk. Let’s just talk for a second okay? Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home. I--I’lll call you later.”

She sweeps right past him, her fingers re-buttoning the same buttons she had giggled when he’d undone just seconds ago. He’s so floored by what’s taking place and he’s got no idea how to fix it. How to make her happy. He just wants to make her happy. And he doesn’t want her to go.

“Y/n. Y/n, please? Alright, just talk to me.”

Her fingers slip through his when he reaches for her and just like that she’s gone. And it hurts. It hurts far more than he knows what to do with. What the fuck?

***

*Three days later*

*y/n’s point of view*

A foul mood did not begin to describe what you were in. Everyone had been steering completely clear of you and rightfully so. Anyone who dare breathe wrong in your direction would get an earful. It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. Your stomach was in knots. You were stressed as hell. But, none of that was allowed to matter. You had work to do. So, everything else got placed on the backburner.

You’re in your office taking a twenty minute “get your shit together bitch” break when a knock sounds itself on your door. Tiana had been the only one with balls to knock on the door in days, so you had no doubt who it could be.

“Come in, Ti.” You sighed still leaning pathetically across your desk.

The door slides open and unless Tiana grew several feet and turned into a white man over night, it was certainly not your assistant standing there.

“Hi.” Shawn mumbled waving awkwardly in your direction.

He was in a suit again. But not one of the ones from the red carpet that would make your thighs tremble. This must be one of his work ones. It looks too restrictive on his body. He’s wearing a tie, and your fingers itch to remove it, to dishevel him back into the man that you knew. The worst part is that even in discomfort he doesn’t look real. He looks like an ad standing there at your doorway. An absolute vision to behold. You had to remind yourself that you were angry at him.

“How did you--What are you doing here? Shawn?”

He quickly closed the door and strode over to you, at least having the good grace to keep his distance to the chair in front of your desk.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. Which is fine I guess. I get that maybe you need space but...I really hate what’s going on between us right now.” He mumbled.

His knee is bouncing. You only recognize this because it shakes your desk in a gentle hum. His fingers twist and turn anxiously on your desk as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch your hand. His lips are stress bitten and his hair looks like it’s been the victim of an attack as well.

“Really?” You asked, leaning back slighting your chair in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, really. What did you think I was just out living my best life since you stormed out of my apartment at one am without a word and ignored me for three days?”

“No, I just...I just didn’t realize it would have this great of an effect on you. I guess I--I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“You didn’t know that I care that much? What the hell, y/n?” He groaned. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Doing what?! What am I doing?”

“You’re pulling away. We sat there in Rome and you asked me to promise you that I was all in. And I am. And now you’re scared, is that it? You don’t know what it might look like for us to be together in the real world, so you’re pulling away from me.”

Well that was certainly a read. You were flustered. Your lips opened and shut around nothing but air as you sat there at a loss for words. It wasn’t conscious, or maybe on some level it was, but Shawn scared the hell out of you. Rome was a beautiful, beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. The second you got back to New York you couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually work a tall. You were still so different. And much as you liked him, and shit you really fucking liked him, it was terrifying to place yourself into new charted territory. You were scared of him. Of the two of you together. Of what it could mean. And he never even needed you to say it, he just knew it about you instantly.

“Look,” He sighed. “I still don’t really know what I did wrong. I know I probably sound like I’m being a little bitch right now but...shit y/n I just got you and I feel like I’m losing you already. Like you’re not even gonna give me a chance to try to make you happy. Is that how it’s gonna be? Cause if it is just tell me okay? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” You mumbled

The look that he gives you tells you that this hurts him. That you not being a hundred percent in is painful. Everything was just moving so incredibly fast. One second you couldn’t fathom the idea that Shawn would even want to do more than fuck you, let alone be leading the charge your relationship. It was fast. All of it. And you? You were scared.

“Okay. Well I guess just call me when you figure it out.”

He got out of his seat and headed for the door only throwing you further off your game. You didn’t know much about what you wanted. You just knew that you didn’t want him mad at you, and you didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t help that a part of you felt like you should be leading this matter. You were older, you were the woman. Never had anyone cornered you in the manner that Shawn was in this moment. It was completely different than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Wait--shit. Shawn don’t leave.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re not ready, and I was. Just…Call when you figure things out. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that he’s gone. Fuck.

***

It’s another long night. You’re tired. You’re heart is heavy. Your ponytail is too tight. And you wanna go to bed. But you have no interest in sleeping alone, and therefore are stuck at your desk again. There’s three different contracts waiting your signature on your desk, but the words have begun to blur. You tell yourself it’s not because you’re crying because you definitely aren’t. It’s just cause you’re tired. Yes.

“Hey, it’s late I’m gonna---oh lord. I haven’t seen you cry since Michelle Obama smiled at you on a red carpet.” Tianna gasped.

You sniffled. “Bitch I am not crying. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Denial or delusion. Your favorite pastimes. Come tell Titi what’s wrong while I’m still awake.”

She plopped herself in the chair opposite your desk and reached for the tissues on your desk to hand to you. You take one begrudgingly.

“You haven’t let me call you Titi since college.”

“Of course I haven’t, “She giggled. “What kind of grown ass woman walks around goin’ by Titi. Now stop deflecting.”

Best friends are no good. They know you too well. It makes it way too hard to hide.

“I….I think I fucked things up.”

“With Shawn you mean?”

You nod slowly.

“Yea, I saw him come out of your office lookin’ like a kicked puppy. I couldn't even get him to laugh for me before he left. You never really said what happened though.” She nudged gently.

A sigh passes through your lips that feels bone deep. Your fingers twitch anxiously against the desk. There’s nowhere to hide here. You just have to be truthful. It’s the worst.

“We...We decided to give it a go. And he took me to Rome, as your meddling ass knows, and it was the most amazing thing I could experience. It was everything I ever thought it would be but...he made it more. And I kept thinking that he was going to stop at some point. I don’t know I thought surely it was gonna work, because how could it you know?”

“No, not quite sis. I don’t know. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

You bite your lip and twitch anxiously.

“I asked him in Rome one of our last nights there if he was gonna be all in. We talked about race and white supremacy and I told him that I needed someone who could stand with me in all of it, not just when it is convenient.”

“And he said…?”

“Well the fucker said yes.” You huffed. “He promised it even.”

“Shit.” Tiana mumbled taking a pause herself. “I would’ve never called Shawn Mendes to be a social justice warrior.”

You rolled your eyes. “He��s far from it, now. He’s still a white boy. But he wanted to try. He was willing to try for me.”

“So you can see how maybe I’m missing the part where you fucked up. This sounds a little like a black girl’s love story come true.”

“I went over to his place and he offered me breadsticks and dick, in that order. But then when we were getting to it, he asked me about Normani, Ti. He asked if I was going to ‘make his job harder for him’ by having her release her album before award season.”

“Oh lord, that poor bastard didn’t even know what hit him.” She sighed.

“I’m serious Ti!” You groaned. “I’ve been here before. I’ve had the music exec who wanted to get into my pants just to know what we were doing in this building. I--I can’t go back there. You and I both know that there’s nothing Manny Mendes would love to see more than one his little white girls on top and my people failing on the bottom of the totem pole. We work too goddamn hard for me to lose it.”

Tiana paused for a minute and stared at you. Her eyes were soul searching, the way they tended to be. She was as lovely and amazing as she was terrifying. She knew you better than you knew yourself, and she never hesitated to call you on your bullshit. Even if you didn’t know it was bullshit. Especially when you didn’t know it was bullshit.

“Girl, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, but you are truly exhausting.” She sighed and held her hand up as a means to silence you before you even spoke. “Now if you’re not ready for someone to potentially love and take care of you that’s one thing. But if you are intentionally sabotaging yourself because you’re scared you gotta knock it the fuck off.”

“But Ti--”

“No, ma’am. If that boy wanted to know when Normani’s album was dropping he did not need to take your ass to Rome to do it. You have been scorned by this industry more than most will ever recognize, and I know that, and I validate that. But you ain’t in a relationship with Manny Mendes. You’re not in a relationship with the industry. It’s Shawn. And that man hates his dad and his dad’s company more than you do. I love you, but you’re being a bit ridiculous.”

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” She hummed. “You keep doing this. You keep letting outside factors affect everything, and that’s not sustainable. You have to trust him. He has to trust you. That’s the only way it works.”

You peered at her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that a woman who’d been scorned one time too many might have.

“But what if he hurts me?”

“Than we pick up the pieces. We work at it until your healed. But you don’t get the love without faith. You’ve got to put yourself out there, babe.”

And that is of course how you end up at his place at midnight on Friday nonetheless. Ti had practically ushered you off, offering to close up shop for the night if it meant you would finally leave the office. You’re still in your work jumpsuit with the too tight ponytail and the makeup that you couldn’t wait to take off. The code lets you easily without having to let him know that you’re there. Perhaps that’s why you finally get to hear him this time.

The doors of his fancy apparently are surely made of thicker wood, so he must be sitting right inside the living room. Regardless you hear it in this soft, muted kind of way. It’s an acoustic guitar, the plucking of his fingers just as rounded and full. It’s beautiful and rhythmic and it makes you pause, your fingers still resting on the door knob because then the mother fucker starts to sing.

Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed

I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited

When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me

Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

You’re fingers grip tight at the door knob, you’re mind both seemingly filled with a million thoughts and yet too overwhelmed to process any of it. His door is unlocked though and when you stumble inside the vision in your head comes to life. He’s sat on his floor by the fireplace with a guitar you’ve never seen upon his lap. He’s wearing a white tanktop and black sweats. The rosary against his neck nestles against what looks like perfectly tamed chest hair. He is as unreal as ever. And yet somehow, somehow that is not the most astonishing part of everything around you in this moment.

He pops his head up towards you. His fingers don’t still on the guitar at all as he seems to pluck out the melody he’d sung just moments prior.

“Took you long enough. Almost like you were outside eavesdropping or something.” He hummed.

“I...How did you even know I was outside?” You stuttered.

“I get an alert every time someone enters my code. I don’t just wait around for you all the time ya know.”

Rude.

“You...You sing.”

He peered at you, fingers still moving, his head tilted just slightly to the side as if you were as confusing to him as he was to you.

“I sing.” He affirmed. “Is that okay?”

“How come--I mean you never said anything.” You frowned. “That--That song. You wrote that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been given a bit of inspiration lately. Is that what you came here for? To bust me in my hobby?”

This changes things. And surely it wouldn’t have mattered because Ti’ had already convinced you to suck it the fuck up and come over, but the fact that he’s got music in him and never said anything matters. Because there’s a lot he could have asked for. A lot he could have tried to get from you, and he hadn’t. It really didn’t matter to him at all. You were just a fucking asshole.

It occurred to you that you were still standing in the middle of his doorway, so you closed the door and moved slowly near him. He set his guitar off to the side as you plopped one of his decorative pillows in the spot beside him and sat down. Without his guitar, Shawn was a lot more fidgety. He took to playing with his rings on his fingers again, eyes soft and vulnerable pointed in your direction.

“So...Is this it? You come here to end it?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. I came here to apologize.”

His eyes flickered up to your face, a hint of hesitance to them.

“I’ve never heard you apologize in my life.”

You rolled your eyes and punched playfully at his arm, the chiseled muscle probably hurting you more than it hurt him. He wasn’t wrong.

“The truth is...When you asked me about Normani’s release I didn’t think of it as you wanting to know about my day. I didn’t think about it as you wanting to be kind to me at all. I sort of, maybe thought you were snooping trying to figure out a way that you could hurt me.” You admitted softly. “Because--well because that’s what I’ve experienced in the past. And that’s not an excuse but it just is...it’s what I was feeling.”

He squinted his nose up and it would’ve been cute had you not been so flustered.

“Wait, you thought I was gonna hurt you? How?” He asked turning more in your direction.

You winced. “Like...by maybe taking it to your dad. Knowing whether or not Normani’s gonna release would be really beneficial to him.”

There’s a range of emotions that cover his face. First confusion. Then acceptance. And then anger.

“Why would I ever do that to you? What have I ever said or done to make you think that I would choose allegiance to my dad of all people over you. I hate my job, y/n. I hate that company. You know that better than just about anyone.”

“I know! I know that. I just--fuck. You scare me okay!” You whined. “I haven’t been in a healthy relationship in years. I’ve been fucked over in my job, in my relationships, in life constantly. And I didn’t exactly walking into our arrangement expecting to find a relationship. I don’t know how to do this, Shawn. I don’t--I’m not sure I truly deserve it.”

You glanced down at the floor in worry and fear. You wanted it. God, you really wanted it. But, shit if you weren’t terrified to try.

When he crawls into your lap, you’re a little taken aback. For how tall that fucker is, he certainly could use an extra meal or two. But, there’s something about the reversal of his thighs bracketing your hips the way that yours would usually do to his. There’s something about the way his thumb soothes at your pulse point as his fingers rest on either side of your neck. There’s something about the way that he looks at you with tenderness and kindness. It’s a little unlike anything you’d ever quite felt before. And it makes you soften beneath him with ease, all the fire running out of you at once.

“You are...the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met.” He mumbled softly.

You smiled sheepishly. “That’s what my momma’s been telling me since I was born.”

“Well she’s right. But I’m kind of crazy about you. And I don’t like fighting with you. And I don’t like being mad at you, or you being mad at me. I just want to make you happy. This is the first time in my life where I feel like I can make some good out of anything. You feel...right. I like you, and I want to take care of you, and I’d like to have something where we can both give each other that. I’m just as scared as you are, okay? I don’t fucking know what I’m doing either. But I wanna try. Do you?”

Was it really that simple? Could it be that simple?

“I do. I really do.” You whispered.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. C’mere.”

For him, it could be.

His fingers knot in your ponytail and he tugs your lips to his with zero hesitation. After a shitty week of back and forth it feels good to not have to think for a while, to let his lips work over yours. He’s dominant even here with his tongue and his hands and his hips. He could’ve made it soft and gentle, but that’s not really what the two of you were about. Or was it?

“I’ve got leftovers in my fridge.” He murmured running his thumb along your bottom lip. “Did you eat dinner?”

You shake your head softly and he quickly climbs off your lap to tug you towards the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his guitar stays behind in the living room.

“Are we ever gonna talk about the singing thing?”

“Maybe let’s do one heavy thing at a time, aye? I’ll tell you sometime. I promise. For now, do you want egg drop soup or pasta?”

You climbed into your seat at his kitchen counter and quickly tugged at your jacket and ponytail holder.

“Pasta. And one of these days I’m gonna teach your pasty ass how to cook.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He snorted. “I look forward to it.”

***

Permanent taglist

@simpledomain @liliane106 @sinplisticshawn @xeuphorically-moonstruck@euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @decewill @goldiean @bruhh-whateven@justbeingoceana @loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi@september-lace @valedictorian65 @disaster-rose@justbeingoceana @loveylangdon @bitchacho25 @sinplisticshawn@thecurlsofgod @lifeoftheparty74 @kamahriii

Arrangement Taglist:

@moonlightmendes22 @iloveshawnieboi@shawnsblue @cottoncandyshawn

@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker @shawnase@blackharry @shawnwyr @speakingofmari @moniehp@ydolansss

#shawn mendes #Shawn mendes fic #Shawn mendes fanfic #Shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn mendes x you #Shawn mendes x reader #Shawn mendes x black reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn #Arrangement fic #Shawn mendes x thick reader #Shawn mendes x black woman

237 notes · View notes