#you would think that this being like my. one second. SIXTH school so far would mean i’d know this by now. but alas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blue--ingenue · 1 year

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"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 6

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Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: *shakes this chapter like a jar of dog biscuits* besties, i'm so sorry for the little hiatus, but as usually summer college classes were kicking my ass 🫠 my last finals are tomorrow, and then i need to speedrun packing for my dorm etc.... i also really wanted to do this chapter justice, so it was written and rewritten at least five times before i decided on the final draft. anyway, back to our (ir)regularly scheduled Slytherin himbo

The second he loses sight of her in the swarm of students he really starts to panic. He starts pushing his way through the crowd toward the last spot he saw her, but it’s by far easier said than done. Imelda calls out for him to come back for the usual post-game debrief, but he shouts an excuse over his shoulder about going to the hospital wing. She could be anywhere, and he’s wasting precious time. Sebastian doesn’t think he was nearly this panicked when he plummeted toward the ground mere minutes ago. He stops, exasperated, and surveys the crowd.

Fuck it.

He hastily mounts his broom and yanks the handle upward. Hard. It’s possibly the fastest he’s ever taken off and the crowd beneath him cheers as he shoots upward and forward. As soon as he clears the quidditch pitch he’s scanning the grounds for a trace of her homemade quidditch jersey. The thought of her putting so much time and effort into the garment, all in support of him, forces a fresh stab of guilt between his ribs. His broom seems to sense his urgency and accelerates on its own. God, he’s such an ass. She’s never been anything short of kind to him, far kinder than he probably deserves, and he’s spent the last few days thinking nothing but the worst of her. No, he realizes with a jolt, not even the worst.

He’s been seething over the thought of her enjoying Weasley’s company. Merely being happy in his presence. Nothing malicious or untoward or even anything to do with him. Every new realization pricks him with equal measures of mortification and hope. How was he going to explain his recent actions without revealing his true feelings to her? He had no idea. At this point his one-track mind was focussed purely on finding her. He’d figure out the rest once he was sure no more tears adorned her face. Is this the type of bloke he was? So jealous that he’d rather cause pain than face it? He considers asking Anne for advice on the whole situation, but he already knows what his better half would say: “Just tell her how you feel.”

He shakes the thought from his head. Impossible. He couldn’t face the possibility of losing her if she felt the same way. And if she did? What if he wasn’t good enough for her? After all the pain he’d caused her in fifth year, and now this, what if she was better off with someone like Weasley? She deserves someone who will treat her heart with care. Someone who won’t coerce her into risking her life for dark magic. Although Sebastian had been true to his word about relinquishing dark magic, the guilt of his actions remained. Sometimes, on particularly dark nights, he’d wake to the sound of her wails and pleas as her body convulsed next to the remains of Noctua Gaunt, his hand would shake as he channeled the pain directly into her veins. Other nights he’d grip the sheets in a cold sweat, his body safe in bed, but his mind bound to the darkest parts of him he’d worked to repress. He could still feel the phantom rush of power as he held the relic. His blood sang with power as the resurrected dead moved to his every whim. And there, at the center of it all, her.

Terrified, resolute, courageous. Even as inferi clawed at her arms and Solomon appeared at the mouth of the cave, red with rage, she was still trying to save him. In his darkest of moments he wonders if he’d ever deserved saving at all. If she hadn’t knocked him unconscious, and if Anne’s curse hadn’t lifted as soon as Rookwood was destroyed, Sebastian knew he could’ve done a lot more damage. He knew he didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her. And oh, did he want her. She was radiant, inside and out. Even if she wasn’t the most beautiful witch he’d ever beheld, her heart and mind would enchant him all the same. She was always so quick to help others, so fearless in her every endeavor, it was a wonder she had any love left to give. She never failed to surprise him. She made him want to be a better man. She saw every flaw in his character, ran a gentle hand along every faultline in his heart and mended it with a selflessness rarer than the ancient magic gracing her person.

Sometimes he wanted to grab hold of her, tender yet so very sincere, and remind her that she needed to save herself, too. He wouldn’t insult her intelligence by suggesting that she was ignorant of her own needs. But one time, just one time, he wished she would put her well being above others’.

There was one question still nagging at the bag of his mind, a thread he had neither the time nor heart to unravel at the time. Why had she been so upset by his kissing Amelia? Was she perhaps still angry at him for ignoring her this morning? Why else would she -

Oh, hell.

It was impossible, no more than a pipe dream, but did she share his feelings? Why else would she have run away? He wanted more than anything to believe it, but what if he was wrong? He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he confessed his feelings and she didn’t feel the same, he could lose her. But if she did, she could lose herself. He knew from experience that she’d go to hell and back just to fetch him, but she shouldn’t have to. Despite his best efforts he’d found numerous ways to hurt her in the past year. She didn’t deserve him. She deserved better. And if she wouldn’t make that choice herself, well, he’d just have to make it for her.

Sebastian was so lost in his thoughts he nearly missed the flash of green beneath him. Cursing himself, he circled back to her and flew lower. It was unmistakably her. His last name billowed as she walked quickly toward the castle. He descended rapidly, calling out her name and begging her to wait. She turned and their gazes connected. Even if she was angry with him he felt a glimmer of hope that at least he had a chance to fix things. He was so focussed on her, he didn’t realize he was about to fly right into a tree until she shouted a warning, but it was too late to stop. Branches whipped at his face, stinging as he plowed through the tree before his broom lodged between two trunks and he was thrown forward. He managed to latch onto the branch, narrowly avoiding a swift trip to the ground twenty feet below. For the second time that day the air was forced from his bruised lungs and he fought the urge to vomit. Despite the pain and mortification, Sebastian couldn’t help but feel that this was at least partially deserved. He heard creaking as the branches to his left shifted and he watched his broom plummet to the ground. Well, the handle landed first, and the brush followed a moment later. Great, he thought. Imelda was sure to give him an earful about this.

A brighter spot of green obscured the remains of his broom, and she looked up at him. He could almost hear a crack shooting through his heart as he took in her appearance. Her tears had smeared the green and silver paint almost completely off her cheeks. Her eyes were red-rimmed and every sniffle sent her shoulders trembling. At this moment he would have let go and fallen to the ground immediately if it meant he could wipe the tears from her face. Did he even deserve to? What right did he have to cause her grief and then swoop in like some undeserving savior?

She wordlessly raised her hands and reached out as though to pluck him from the branches. Blue light arced from her hands as she channeled her ancient magic. Sebastian felt himself being gently extricated from the twigs and leaves before those same gentle blue tendrils lowered him to the grass before her.

The pair stood still. The intensity of her gaze rivaled his, but neither took a step forward. The air felt heavy with implications, things still left unsaid. Say something! A voice screamed in his head. You made this whole bloody mess, so say something!

He took two steps toward her, and said, “I’m sorry.”

She made no move toward him, and if not for the near-imperceptible softening of her brow he might’ve thought she hadn’t heard him. “For what?”

The determined search of her gaze told him everything. They both knew what she was really asking. She was waiting for him to voice his feelings. To lay claim to every bit of stolen affection threaded through the moments they shared. He had to tell her. He needed to tell her, she deserved that much. He opened his mouth to speak and -

“I like you!” he shouted. She startled at his panicked outburst and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. She looked at him, calculating and wary, before taking a step back. “Sebastian, you don’t have to say that simply because you feel guilty about-” he gave a frustrated groan and closed the distance between them in two determined strides. He frantically took her hands in his, held them gently, and whispered the truth he’d been so desperate to hide from.

“That isn’t why. Please, you must know that isn’t why,” he pleaded. A stray tear remained on the apple of her cheek and he brushed it away with a tender swipe of his hand. He let his touch linger for a moment before drifting back to clasp her hands. “You occupy my every waking moment. Even in sleep I cannot escape the thought of you. Nor would I ever want to,” he declared. Her eyes searched for any hint of insincerity, but she didn’t pull away from him. Sebastian took that as a sign of encouragement and continued.

“You are unlike any witch or wizard I have ever met. Kinder and braver than any soul I’ll ever meet, and my heart is irrevocably yours. You needn’t say anything, but know that it belongs to you. I’ve been a prick to you. I was selfish and scared and jealous, and I’m sorry for kissing Amelia. I won’t insult you by asking for forgiveness I know I don’t deserve, but you must know that I am yours, even if you want nothing to do with me.“

He finishes, breathless, and watches her. His brain is on fire and he’s pretty sure he’s run through the entire spectrum of human emotion in the last thirty seconds, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give her time to process everything he’s just thrown at her. He waits, and waits, and his palms begin to sweat. Shit. Was this the wrong time? Had he just royally fucked up whatever remained of their friendship? His gaze flicked up to her face, which had remained stoic beneath her runny makeup and the volley of emotion he had just flung at her. An agonizingly slow moment later she looked at him, really looked, as though for the first time, and she was livid.

There was fire in her eyes and blue magic arced from her fingertips. He took an instinctive step back as she leveled him with a stare rivaling the intensity of his own jackrabbiting heart. She swallowed thickly, and spoke.

“And how long,” she started, cocking her head. “How long have you felt this way?” He gulped. Was she going to hex him? Sebastian was sure he deserved it six ways to Sunday, but he would’ve at least liked more of a reaction to his confession before she blasted him to hell.

“Since fifth year?” he squeaked. He actually squeaked. Good gods, this was mortifying. He thanked whoever was listening that at the very least Ominis wasn’t here to witness the whole ordeal. He answered like it was a question, when really this one of the only truths he knew in the core of his being to be true.

She took a step toward him, her mouth agape and eyes narrowed in confusion. Hysterically, he thought it was the same look she adopted when Professor Binns roused her from her nap to answer a question during lecture. He gulped.

“Why on earth haven’t you said anything?!” she shrieked. He furrowed his brows and took a step closer to her. If she was going to immolate him, fine. For her he’d burn a thousand times.

“Because I know you don’t feel the same!” He shouted frantically. “You don’t! You can’t, and you shouldn’t! I’ve been awful to you, and you deserve better!”

She held her face in her hands, exasperated and inhaling deeply, before throwing her hands up and shouting to the heavens, “Of course I feel the same!” She cried. “Merlin’s bloody balls, how thick can you get?!”

He stilled. He’s pretty sure his heart had stopped beating around the same time the air in his lungs froze over. “What?”

At his single syllable all the anger seemed to seep from her figure. She crossed her arms, the blue lightning dissipating as her chest heaved. When she spoke she was gentle, careful.

“Sebastian, did you truly not know?” Her eyes were pleading, searching his for answers he wasn’t sure he could provide.

He spluttered. She couldn’t feel the same. She didn’t…”You’ve never given any inclination. And I didn’t want to do anything untoward or unwanted…” he trailed off.

She laughed. Not a cruel, mocking sound like he probably deserved, but chiding. It wasn’t unlike the chuckles he heard from her when one of her puffskeins tried licking her when she wasn’t looking.

“Sebastian bloody Sallow, I’ve been in love with you from the start. I don’t know how you could possibly think I don’t care for you, but please, banish the thought.” She declared softly. He suddenly realized how close they’d drifted. The red thread connecting his heart to hers always had a way of drawing them together. He looked down and she was nearly flush against his chest. Instinctively he drew his arms around her. Something sharp poked his chest and he brushed it aside. It was the necklace he’d given her. Within the gilded confines the stone glowed a deep, confident blue. A memory sparked somewhere in the back of his mind as he recalled the parchment the vendor had given him. Blue - truth.

He dropped the pendant as though it had burned him. She was telling the truth. She loved him, truly and completely, and he loved her the same. Everything he wanted was within his grasp, if only…If only he were someone more deserving. If only he were someone who could keep her safe and care for her in the ways she deserved. He looked down and her eyes were drifting closed. Just before they fluttered shut her gaze flickered to his lips. That’s funny, when had he started dipping his head toward her? His composure faltered - and good gods, no man could be strong enough for such temptation-

But he needed to be. Sebastian Sallow might not be the man she deserves, but he would be a man strong enough to keep her from making the mistake of choosing him. His eyes shot open and he pressed a gently finger to her lips. “Wait,” he whispered. She stilled and stopped. Gods, her lips were soft beneath his touch. And the way she was looking at him, with such open vulnerability, twisted the dagger he held to his own heart. She was confused, waiting for him to say something.

He released her and took a step back. And then another, and another. “We can’t. You can’t feel this way for me. I’ll only hurt you again, and you deserve better.” He broke her gaze hung his head. “So much better…”

When he looked up at her again, he almost wished he hadn’t. The tears were back, and this time her lip was trembling. He strode toward her, holding out his arms in comfort, but she held up a hand. It was trembling, and blue lightning crackled across her palm, but her voice was steady as she spoke.

“Nobody makes my decisions for me. Nobody. You can tell me that you love me, or hate me, or anything in between. But you don’t get to stand there and tell me how I am meant to feel. If you don’t want me, then just say so. I deserve that much.”

Sebastian was truly and utterly speechless. He did want her, more than anything, but he couldn’t trust himself to keep her from harm on his behalf. He couldn’t draw her back into his arms knowing that he didn’t deserve her, but telling her that he didn’t want her? That would surely kill him. So he stood, silent, and said nothing at all.

As the seconds drew on, she seemed to take his lack of response as an answer all the same. She nodded her head once before stalking past him back to the castle, and he got one good look at the pendant as her shoulders shook with sobs. Black - anguish.

Bonus Author's Note: besties, no matter how much you love someone, never let anyone make your decisions for you or tell you how you feel. you are irreplacable and nobody has the right to save you for later <3

Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @milk-barrs-blog, @somethingiswrongwithme, @bleh-stupid, @stay-gray, @mrsbrookesallow, @lostgirl-28, @kateisnotheree, @doigettokeepyou, @dreamqueenkala, @uwuitzerimpact, @neoqueen306

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow #angst #fluff #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x y/n

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everybodyknows-everybodydies · 5 months

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okay so before I can talk about some things I have to establish some other things, and I'm shaking all the bees out of my brain today with great vigor, which means, without further ado: a brief overview of How Does Restoration Work (according to people named Mouse who are me)

point zero: for the most part, simplistically, each school of magic can be thought of as a manipulation of something. enchanting and conjuration fall under different strains of manipulation of souls, illusion as manipulation of the mind, and so forth. restoration is manipulation of the body.

now first (and this might be stating the obvious lol, but I have to state it): it does not work 1:1 exactly like it does in-game. people do not actually have the handy-dandy HP bar, illness/injury does not translate to a single number ticking downwards, and healing is definitely not just "make number go back up" in a matter of seconds. when you're at a point where a hypothetical HP bar would be nearly depleted, anything that's fast is not going to have the kind of long-term payoff that you need, but it might get you somewhere safer so you have the time to dedicate to actually properly healing.

secondly: in order to fix something, you have to know how it works. magic is a tool; any tool is only as effective as whoever is wielding it. it doesn't take a lot of knowledge to close a paper cut that didn't even bleed, but a severed tendon is going to be a very different story. an accomplished healer must have extensive knowledge of the body and its various systems in order to ensure their healing attempt is not going to inadvertently cause a whole slew of other problems. doctors today go through over a decade of schooling and training; in the US at least you're looking at a minimum of four years of premed, four years of med school, and three to seven years of residency. personally I think healers should also be the school of magic that requires the longest time spent learning because... there IS so much to learn! an additional note is that restoration has the benefit we do not of being magic, though: I think that in a world where healing is executed largely through the hands with magic, it stands to follow that you are not going to want to physically open someone up every time you need to check something inside the body, and so for my purposes this leads us to healers cultivating a specialized, passive sense of the bodily interior through touch. I've described this previously as a bit like echolocation as magic is channelled through the body and allows the healer a sort of "sixth sense" of precisely what's going on and where, though an in-universe analog might be a highly-refined version of "detect life".

(but Mouse, one might say, that's not a restoration spell! correct! the classification of magic is arbitrary! now put a pin in that thought because it will be important at a later date. not today though stay with me here.)

thirdly: as any tool should not be alone in the toolbox, magic can be used as a supplement or supplemented by mundane resources. if you have the time for it, an open wound will benefit from being stitched together to hold shape before applying magical healing, resulting in the need to produce far less scar tissue than a wound that you try to heal without closing it first. you still need to know how to use a tourniquet, how to handle a dislocated shoulder, how to drain an abscess, etc. just like you wouldn't whip out your power tools to hang a single photo frame, you have to know when to rely on magical healing and when to take whatever steps you can non-magically.

fourthly: magical healing has limits. manipulation of the body is not an all-powerful solution. no deus ex machina healing here. the two major restrictions are (1) the body's natural capabilities, and (2) the body's preexisting material. a body is capable of much more than we generally achieve in day-to-day life and nobody is running at 100% capacity 24/7 (because you would die, very fast). restoration can amplify measures that are already in place, such as stimulating platelet clotting/fibrin production over a cut to scab it over rapidly - and then, if taken further, providing the energy for tissue repair to move entirely from cut to scab to scar. crucially you will note that you cannot skip a stage! the healer is using what the body already has available, just allowing it to happen on a compressed timescale by boosting the energy available and providing external direction. there is a LOT of potential regarding what a healer could be capable of just by stimulating production of different hormones or shuffling brain chemistry alone. but! to reiterate! restoration is manipulative, not additive: a healer may be able to reattach a limb if they get to you in time, but they can't grow you a new arm out of nothing.

fourthly, subpoint: magical healing has cost, for both the healer and the patient. the more severe the injury/illness is, the longer it will take to heal and to recover fully from the expedited healing process, and thus the more energy the healer has to expend. a healer is limited most sharply by the depth of their own magicka reserve; practicing to expand the amount of magicka one has access to is just as fundamental a skill as learning anatomy and physiology. this is why most healers don't work alone! being able to literally split up the work - I'll take the broken leg; you focus on the slipped rib - reduces the probability of running out of magicka mid-patient and allows for fewer required follow-up sessions to ensure recovery is proceeding the way it should.

(fourthly, sub-subpoint: this is also why Colette Marence, the only professional healer in Winterhold, deserves a significant raise and a vacation and if anyone asks "is there a healer around" somebody ELSE can take care of it for once-)

fifthly: potions! we know that alchemical concoctions are a separate beast entirely from magic as executed by a mage - namely, I point here to spell absorption/spell reflection not being triggered by drinking a potion. this could take us down a separate rabbit hole about alchemy tapping into the innate magicka stored in reagents and the way THAT works, but for now the relevant question is: how does a healing potion differ from a healing spell? primarily the difference is capacity for intent and direction: a healer, being a person, can focus in on the specific site of injury and identify exactly what's wrong and exactly what steps need to be taken to fix it most efficiently. a potion does not have this capacity for specificity and is instead subject to the direction of the body's natural systems. ingested, it will be dispersed through the digestive system and through the bloodstream; applied as a salve it may work faster, but this usage is limited to external injuries. strong healing potions therefore are great for boosting your natural healing capacities long enough to get you to an actual healer for more serious cases, and may be all someone relies on for less serious cases - similar to using over-the-counter medication for a cold versus going to see a doctor for bronchitis.

tldr: restoration IS a perfectly valid school of magic, and just because it emphasizes mundane knowledge alongside esoteric magical knowledge does not make it any less fascinating or worthwhile. thank you <3

#Mouse talks!#the real TLDR is I love!!! restoration!!!! and magical theory!!!!!!#does this make sense!!! I sure hope so 😭

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snowyslytherinowl · 3 months

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Perfect Prefect - Part 1

PAIRING: George Weasley x Reader or George Weasley x OC

SUMMARY: You’re Miss Moore of Ravenclaw, a sixth-year prefect and one of the house’s best and brightest. You don’t know who to go to the Yule Ball with, but luckily for you, George has secretly had a crush on you for a while and charms you into being his date. But there’s one slight problem that’s holding you back from sharing the news of your budding romance: your best friend and Fred Weasley are far from friends.

This work can be read either as George Weasley x OC or a reader-insert since the main character’s physical characteristics and first name remain ambiguous. I usually only publish the first part of a work when I finish the entire story or have most of it worked out, but I’m tired of having this sit in my WIP folder (and maybe it’ll motivate me to stop playing Supermarket Simulator and start writing LMAO). I’m not entirely sure when the second part will be released since I’m kinda struggling with it; nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

*GIF isn't mine; credit to @jamilelucato

We all hold our breaths as the door creaks open and Sinclair even dips her head under the water. If it’s a boy opening the door, we’d most likely scream. If it’s Professor McGonagall, it’s guaranteed we’d be reprimanded for allowing Edwards into the Prefects’ Bathroom since she technically isn’t allowed in here.

Pritchard and Lloyd emerge from the other side of the door and we all let out a breath. Sinclair pops up from underneath the water and she sighs. “We thought you two weren’t joining us today!”

“Sorry we’re late! Professor Sprout held us back to tell her two favorite Hufflepuffs a little secret,” Lloyd says slyly. Pritchard stands behind her, making a poor attempt to suppress a smile.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” I ask them. Professor Sprout frequently tells Lloyd and Pritchard information that only the staff are supposed to know and swears them to secrecy. Of course, their seal of secrecy doesn’t extend to us.

“Whenever the Triwizard Tournament takes place, the school that hosts the event also hosts the Yule Ball! It’s a dance that takes place during Christmas!” Pritchard squeals.

When the two of them join us in the bath, they divulge everything they know about the Yule Ball. Hogwarts hasn’t hosted a Yule Ball for over a century, so we’re all dying to know what the Great Hall will look like, who will be performing, and which teachers will get on the dance floor. Even Sinclair has to laugh when we imagine Professors Snape and McGonagall dancing together. Our conversation then steers to who we want to go to the ball with.

“When the Yule Ball is publicly announced, I think I’m going to ask Matthew.” Ainsworth’s cheeks blush as she says his name and it becomes my turn to smile. She’s fancied him since the beginning of the year when they partnered up in Transfiguration. She mentions him at least once during our daily debriefings in the Prefects’ Bathroom.

“Now that is the true embodiment of the Gryffindor spirit. I second that.” Sinclair nods in approval and also grins when she notices Ainsworth blushing.

Ainsworth smirks and swims over to sit next to Sinclair. Sinclair awkwardly scoots over as Ainsworth nudges her and rests her head on her shoulder. “Are you telling us that you also plan to ask a boy?” she asks with a sing-song voice.

“No. I meant that if you like a boy, you should ask him out. What’s the point of sitting around and waiting for a boy to make the first move when a girl is just as capable of taking the initiative?” Sinclair says with conviction.

“So does that mean you’ll take the initiative to ask Fred yourself?” Ainsworth asks with a poke to Sinclair’s shoulder. She typically gives murderous looks when someone displeases her, but this look to Ainsworth would rip her to shreds and feed her soul to the dementors. She snatches her towel and stomps out of the bath.

“Don’t joke about that! There is no one low enough for that empty-minded, snarky tosser! All of us deserve someone better than him!” Sinclair wraps her towel around her body and heads to one of the bathroom stalls to change out of her bathing suit, ignoring the laughter that follows her. She has a vendetta against Fred Weasley, and just Fred. He bothers her in every class they have together and pairs up with her just to get on her nerves. Since she became a prefect, Fred has plotted endless pranks against her and always escapes from the scene of the crime before she can report him. Every day, we have to hear her rage about him or her plans to best him.

Ainsworth turns to the rest of us and blows bubbles into the air. “So, Moore, who do you have in mind?”

Everyone turns to look at me and I shrug in response. “I don’t know.” That’s the truth. I don’t have a boyfriend or a crush. I’ve been too caught up in my prefect duties and my classes to even think about romance.

“There really is no one you fancy?” Edwards asks, giving me a suspicious look. “I don’t believe that.”

“Look, the selection here isn’t prime.” There’s a long list of abominable boys that I can think of: Zacharias Smith since all he does is complain, Oscar May because he only talks about himself, and at least a dozen Slytherins with pure-blood ideals. “Even a lot of the cute ones act like they’re still first-years.”

“Spot on, Moore,” Sinclair comments as she emerges from the stall. She’s fully changed, but her wet hair walls around her face. She folds her towel and throws her bag around her shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Ainsworth asks, shocked. “We’ve still got a quarter of an hour left!”

“Professor Snape wants to talk to me about something and I will not be late,” Sinclair says with a sigh. She points at Ainsworth before leaving the room. “Don’t forget that we have prefect duties tonight!”

Edwards and Pritchard spend the rest of our daily debriefing talking about guys they think are attractive. After I change and dry my hair, I head to the library to finish Flitwick’s essay on the limitations of portkeys. Sentence after sentence is written and page after page is flipped and I’m so caught up in my essay that I don’t notice that someone joins me at the end of the table.

A pop and a slam bring me back to the library. I look over to see one of the Weasley twins pressing something down on the table with the palm of his hand. Whatever he’s holding down is wiggling furiously and desperately attempting to escape. Since nothing explodes or disfigures his face, I return to reading and try not to get distracted.

Not a minute goes by when the sound of hopping and a scraping chair rips my attention from my work yet again. I almost jump out of my seat when I see a miniature frog jumping to the ceiling and landing on the table. Although it doesn’t move forward significantly each time it jumps and lands, it progressively inches closer to me. The last thing I want is for my work to be destroyed, so I cast a charm that knocks it back down to the table and disables its movement.

Weasley approaches me and I hold out my hand so he can retrieve his frog. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes with a nervous laugh.

“It’s fine. Are you trying to sell these?” Ainsworth has told us about Fred and George’s plans for a prank shop. I always see them huddled together in the hallways, probably developing devious new products.

“Yeah. You see, I had this brilliant idea all worked out, but it hasn’t been going as I planned. Tap the frog with your wand and boom! It hops all around and chaos ensues! But no, they jump too high and get squashed by the ceiling.”

“Can I take a look at it?” He nods and I turn the tiny frog in my hands. They look so realistic that I almost didn’t notice that they’re painted frogs that croak “ribbit.” “What charms are you using for this?”

“A Jumping Jinx.” When I shake my head, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

I summon a book off a nearby shelf about locomotion charms, from flying and gliding to running and twirling. After turning to the page about the Jumping Jinx, I beckon Weasley over. He sits in the chair next to me and leans towards me so we both can see the opened page. I gulp before reciting an excerpt, “‘The Jumping Jinx is a clever way to curse those you want to imbue with frog-like qualities. Beware of using this jinx on inanimate objects, however, since it can cause the object to hop around erratically and turn laughter into screams.’ Quite dramatic, but there you go.”

Weasley turns to me and grins. I blush and look back down at the book. “I had no idea. So what do you suggest?”

I check the index for the sections on inanimate objects and turn to page 179. “The sounds coming from your frog sound fine, so do whatever you’re already doing. These two, that’s what you should use for the jumping.” I point at the 360 Charm and the Height Hex. “Do you have a spare frog you haven’t charmed yet?”

Weasley digs through his pocket to find one and places it on the table. “Watch what I do. You’ll charm the frog to make sounds later since I’d rather not get us kicked out,” I say. He scooches his seat even closer to me and focuses attentively on my hands. I take a deep breath to calm myself before beginning.

I tap the frog with my wand twice and utter “progressio height.” “This will only jump to one foot. Every time you tap it with your wand, it will jump one foot higher until it reaches ten feet. Then it’ll reset back to one foot. Just put that in the instructions and any kid can change the height.” Then, I swish my wand in a figure-eight motion. “The 360 Charm will make the frog change directions randomly so it’ll give Filch a hard time getting his hands on one.”

Both of us laugh and Weasley proclaims, “You’re bloody brilliant! I’d definitely hire you for my shop if we even had a place to set up shop.”

I blush at his compliment. “You’re one of the Weasley twins, aren’t you?”

“George. The better looking one, that is.” I giggle and internally breathe a sigh of relief. Although Sinclair thinks that George is pesky, she ignores him for the most part. All her hatred is directed at his twin, and I’d rather not deal with the drama of fraternizing with Fred. “Moore, isn’t it? A Ravenclaw with both brains and beauty.”

I blush an even deeper crimson and bite my lower lip as I nod. George stuffs his frogs in his pocket and stands to leave the library. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye.” I wave at him and my eyes follow his back as he leaves the library.

XXX

Over the next few days, two of my friends find dates. We were all in the courtyard when Pritchard was asked by a Durmstrang boy, who bowed to her twice and kissed her hand! We weren’t there to see Ainsworth ask Matthew since she cornered him outside the greenhouse to pop the question. Though whenever I pass by the two of them cuddling up, I’m unable to hide my grin.

I sat at the same table in the library after dinner for two days in a row, eagerly waiting for George. I felt silly for shooting my head up whenever someone walked nearby, and even more the fool for when he didn’t show up. Now on the third day, when I mistook another ginger boy for George, I internally chide myself for thinking he was being anything more than friendly.

“Hey, you think you can lend a hand on some constipation magic?”

I look up from my numerical charts to see no one other than George Weasley smiling and holding a jar full of chewy candies. I laugh at his question and reply, “Not too much, honestly.”

“That’s fine. I’m here to talk to you, anyway.” He doesn’t give me much time to think about what he said since he sits directly next to me again and unscrews the lid of the jar. “These are meant to give you a case of constipation. Instead, they’re making you diarrhea your trousers in the middle of the corridors.”

“I’ll make sure not to eat one.” I squeeze a candy between my fingers, which oozes a gooey filling and sticks to my thumb and pointer fingers. “I don’t know, you should make the outer coating hard? I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but maybe if the candy is hard then your poo will be hard?”

“How about that?” We comb through books on potions for bodily fluids and I learn more about those potions than I ever wanted to know. Dozens of pages cover graphic ways to clear boils, and an entire section is devoted to making snot gush out of a nose like a raging waterfall. Gross. Eventually, George finds a page on potions for solid and liquid bodily fluids.

“You were right!” he exclaims and pushes the book toward me. It’s some law about making potions for food that will either help or hurt your bowel movement.

I encouragingly smile at him, but still say, “You should’ve looked for this yourself. I can’t believe you convinced me to read about all these gross potions.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me and slicks back his hair, just like those cheesy characters on Muggle television shows. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

The library is about to close, so we head out before Madam Pince kicks us out. George offers to walk me to Ravenclaw Tower and along the way, we brainstorm ideas for sweets that are magically compatible with U-No-Poo. Popular sweets sold at Honeydukes also give us an idea of marketable candies, so we agree that chocolate with a hard outer shell will sell the best.

When we reach the top of the spiral staircase, George asks me, “Aren’t you going to say your password? Or would you rather stick around for some extra quality time with me?”

Smiling shyly, I explain, “You have to answer a riddle to get in.”

I knock the bronze knocker, which asks, “I never leave your body, but I’m easily lost and given away. What am I?”

I curse the knocker, who likely proposed this riddle since George is standing next to me. I lean in and whisper “heart” so only the knocker can hear it. The door swings open.

“What was the answer?” George asks, looking quite cute with his brows furrowed and a jar held against his chest.

I push the thought aside and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

George smiles. “You bet.”

XXX

Throughout the next week, George and I meet either at the library or the Black Lake. Most of the time, we discuss ideas he and Fred have for the joke shop; other times, we speak about our other hobbies, friends, and funny stories. He tells me the stories that Fred told him about Sinclair and each time, there are always little details that don’t line up with the stories I’ve heard.

December weather is freezing, so a warmth charm helps when I’m sitting under a beech tree near the Black Lake. As I wait for George, I take a piece of dark blue fabric out of my bag and use my wand to sprinkle on twinkling stars and colorful rotating planets. Thin lines connecting the stars form constellations across the fabric, resembling the paintings of the night sky in my grandmum’s house.

Someone shouts my first name and I look up to see George waving at me from afar. Resting the fabric on my lap, I wave back and pat the ground next to me. He plops down so close to me that our shoulders nearly touch.

“You made that? It’s gorgeous!” George runs a hand through the fabric and traces his finger over the constellations.

“Thanks,” I reply, blushing. Even after spending almost every day with him, I still blush around him, especially since he doesn’t seem to believe in personal space.

“Do you have more with you?”

I pull out three more sheets of fabric, all different designs. The one on top shows Hogwarts Castle on a sunny day with puffy clouds lazily floating past. George smiles at the fabric showing my red Scottish Fold, Peanut, napping on our favorite couch in the Ravenclaw Common Room. But George’s favorite fabric is one of Rubik’s Cube repeatedly solving and shuffling itself on a plain white background.

“What is that thing?” George wonders, staring at the little cube in awe.

I laugh at his amazement and tell him that it’s a Muggle Rubik’s Cube. My family owns at least four. My cousin and I used to compete over which one of us could solve it faster and it was always me, but I’m pretty sure that’s because he let me win.

“I can imagine the look on my dad’s face if he got his hands on one of those,” George remarks and hands the fabrics back to me.

George has told me about his father’s love for everything Muggle and I can’t help but smile at how cute that is. It reminds me of George’s fascination with jokes and pranks. “I’ll show him one if I meet him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about these before? The fabrics.”

I shrug and watch a group of first-year Ravenclaws making a snowman right at the edge of the lake. “I don’t know. It’s just something I do in the meantime. The girls do it too. Sinclair makes jewelry, Ainsworth paints, Edwards makes bags, and I sew designs on random pieces of fabric. Sometimes I add designs to Edwards’s bags. And if I have enough fabrics that all match a theme, I make a quilt.”

George huffs a laugh and I raise my eyebrows at him. “You lot are quite peculiar. I don’t get it. Why do you call each other by your last names?”

“Sinclair thought that calling each other by our last names was more ‘business-like’ and ‘appropriate for talented students worthy of future greatness.’” We both chuckle before I continue, “I think that’s only half the reason. Pritchard hates her first name, so she prefers to be called by her last name anyway. Sinclair didn’t want her to feel singled out.”

“She seems to be the ringleader of your bunch.”

“Definitely, but only because she’s so protective of us.” I nod at George’s bag and poke a hand inside the smaller pouch. “Enough about me. What are we working on today? Something to make your skin turn orange?”

“Do I need an excuse to talk to my favorite girl?” He moves impossibly closer to me and our faces are so close that my mind jumps to him kissing me. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he did. “You’re always helping me. Last night, it occurred to me I never do anything for you.”

“I’m not here because I expect anything in return,” I answer honestly.

“You should’ve been sorted into Hufflepuff because of how kind you are.” George nudges me on my shoulder and I look down and bite my lower lip. “But I was thinking we could make a deal.”

A deal? Is he proposing that I get a cut for perfecting his products if his dream of opening a joke shop comes true? “Like what?”

“You continue to work on the joke products with me and in return, Fred and I don’t play pranks in front of you or your prefect friends. That way, there’s no need to report us. Seriously, why would a prefect participate in this pranking business?”

“Send me to Azkaban for liking problem-solving.” I playfully smack George’s arm and he rubs his hands in faux pain. “That’s hardly a deal, anyway.”

“Fine, you’ve got a point. How about this? Fred and I don’t play pranks in front of you and your friends, even Sinclair. For added benefit, the two of us go to the Yule Ball together. I’d say it’s a mutually beneficial transaction.” A hopeful sparkle appears in George’s eye. In the corner of my vision, I see George’s hands gripping his knees in nervousness.

Before I can give him more time to feel anxious, I kiss George’s cheek and reply, “I’d love to go to the ball with you.”

George beams at me and my face mirrors his smile. “Fantastic! Now how about we head back inside? It’s getting chilly out here.” His body heat has been providing some warmth, but a slight breeze has me sticking my hands in the pockets of my coat.

“Sure.” George stands first and offers a hand to help me up. Instead of letting go after I balance myself, I lean into him and hold his hand as we walk back to the warmth of Hogwarts Castle.

XXX

Cold air fills the corridors of Hogwarts, forcing me to rub my hands together and cast a warmth charm. I press the tip of my wand onto my stiff fingers, finally regaining feeling in them.

“Are you all right?” Sinclair asks. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, feeling how my hand is only beginning to warm.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I just wish we didn’t have rounds tonight. It’s freezing,” I say. Ainsworth, Sinclair, Pritchard, and I prefer to complete our rounds together. Sticking together prevents us from getting bored, all while providing extra protection in case anything dangerous is lurking in these halls. With Harry Potter inside these castle walls, something may pop out and try to eat us.

“If you say so. We can always stop by the kitchens and sit by the fire.” We turn the corner and hear water drop onto the stone floor.

I don’t want her to worry about me, so I change the topic. “Are you excited for the Yule Ball?”

“I suppose. It’s something different than being home for Christmas,” she replies. After a moment’s pause, she turns to me. “Is this about Yule Ball dates?”

“Maybe.” Something moves at the end of the corridor, but I relax when I realize it’s only a mouse.

“Wait, don’t tell me you already have a date?” she asks and smirks at me.

“No, not yet,” I lie. “I do have someone in mind, though, and I want your opinion.” I wouldn’t ditch George even if Sinclair attempts to dissuade me from going with him. On the other hand, I want to at least gauge her true opinion of him and avoid a future fight.

“Listen, I know that you’ll ask me if I approve of him. However, I don’t want you to feel tense over or think that I’ll get upset by your choice of men. I won’t stop you from going with him regardless of whether I like him or not. That’s only as long you aren’t going with Fred Weasley, of course.”

“Ok, so what if I told you I’m interested in someone like him?”

Sinclair furrows her brow and chews on the inside of her mouth. “What do you mean? Like McLaggen, Smith, or Malfoy? Aren’t the latter two too young for you?”

Why does she associate McLaggen, Smith, and Malfoy with Fred? “Um, no.”

“Then who do you mean?” Sinclair asks, her features mirroring an even deeper sense of confusion.

“Honestly, it’s-”

I’m cut off by the Head Boy, who waves at the two of us. His voice booms from the foot of the stairs as he calls, “Hey, Sinclair! Come down here! Crehan threw up his dinner.”

“Coming!” Sinclair shouts back. She turns to me and says, “Let’s discuss boy business tomorrow, okay?” Before I can reply, she runs down the stairs and starts walking with the Head Boy.

XXX

“I hate working in groups of four,” Sinclair sighs as the Charms class divides itself into quartets. Our friends at the next table naturally pair together, leaving the two of us with the awkward task of finding two other partners.

I clutch the textbook to my chest as Sinclair and I walk around the classroom, asking people to work with us. Unfortunately for us, everyone already has partners in mind. Sinclair stands on her tippy-toes, attempting to look through the hubbub of the moving classroom. Her efforts aren’t necessary, though, because Fred and George stand taller than anyone else in the class and they conveniently look partnerless as well. George waves me over when we lock eyes, so I turn to Sinclair to say, “Come on, I found us partners.”

“Are you kidding me?” she groans when she sees who I’m dragging her to. “Is there no one else to work with?”

“Not unless you want to work with your slimy housemates. Warrington and Pucey are also partnerless.”

Sinclair completely ignores Fred when we reach the twins’ corner of the room and looks only at George. “Good morning, Weasley. How are you? I’m glad we could find one competent partner.”

“And who am I?” Fred scoffs at her. He rolls his eyes and sits at the nearby table to avoid standing next to her for too long.

Sinclair slides into the seat across from him before setting a scrutinizing gaze at him and replying, “Gum on the bottom of my shoes.” She will only make eye contact with him if he’s sitting down since she refuses to “look up to him.”

“They’re insufferable,” George leans down to whisper into my ear. I smack him on the shoulder as I sit next to Sinclair.

“Come on, try your hardest to keep up with me,” Fred teases her and opens up his textbook. Sinclair glares at him and mutters “as if” under her breath.

George glances at his brother and Sinclair, who are now debating who will complete the assignment the fastest. George leans across the table to tell me, “I’ve been waiting to work with you for the longest time.”

“Really? How long?”

He scrunches his face as he pauses to think for a moment. “I’d say at least two months.”

I blush and look at the board to the side of him. Rowena, if I keep this up, I’ll be known as Blush. The textbook page for the Anti-Alohamora Charm is written on the board, so I flip to it with the flick of my wand. “Then why didn’t you start talking to me two months ago? You act like you never get a bout of shyness.”

“Around pretty girls like you I do,” he replies and winks. He cranes his head to look at the board behind him and returns with another one of his smiles. “I bet you already know this one.”

“Yup. Now let’s get started as these two have another row. I’m sure the two of us can manage it on our own.” I stand up to grab a set of four locks for each group member, but Sinclair and Fred are too busy arguing to notice that I’ve placed locks in the center of the table.

George grabs the blue lock and turns to me expectantly. “Show me how it’s done, beautiful.” He doesn’t pay a lick of attention to what I’m doing to my lock; instead, he’s staring at me with a goofy grin. My cheeks burn as I remember that his brother and my best friend are sitting right next to us.

I cast the final spell to ensure that the lock doesn’t open with physical force. I then use my hand to turn George’s head to gaze at the table. “Step one: pay attention to the lock,” I joke, and an adorable pink hue colors his cheeks.

“Step two: place the hand that isn’t your wand hand over the lock. That’ll make sure that the lock recognizes your touch when you attempt to open it.” George ignores my directions again, so I put my hand over his and lead us both to the blue lock. “Now you’re just being cheeky.”

He leans across the table and whispers in my ear, “I do prefer learning spells with a hands-on approach.” His breath tickles my ear, so I pull back with a shiver and a laugh.

“That’s convenient considering today’s assignment. As you complete this spell, you have to focus and will for it to work.” I stand behind him and press my chest to his back. My breath hitches as I take his wand hand and trace the movements he’s supposed to make with my hand. “Now, swish your wand in a figure-eight motion twice, then swish it clockwise. Each time, say ‘contra alohomora.’”

I let go of George so he can attempt the spell on his own. His hand movements are precise and finally, the firm click of the lock is heard. “Alohomora,” I say while pointing at the blue lock with my wand, but it doesn’t open. “You did fantastic!”

“What can I say? Clearly, I’m quite talented.” He flashes me a cheeky grin.

“You really are, George.” I cup his cheek with my hand and return his smile. Rowena, I’m so excited to be his date for the Yule Ball.

“Before you distract me again, there is one more thing I should teach you. Only you can open the lock by touching it or casting ‘alohomora,’ but you can allow other people to open it too. You just have to place their hand on the lock and say ‘amicos alohomora.’”

George intertwines his fingers with mine and moves my hand to the blue lock. “Let’s give it a shot with you.”

I pry my fingers from his. “Actually, it has to be someone else since I’m the one testing your spells.”

“Alrighty then.” George turns to Fred and Sinclair, who have been going at it this entire time. Fred is mocking her for something that happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which riles her up since her marks are her greatest pride. Fred doesn’t seem to care or notice that George presses his hand to the blue lock and grants him permission to open the lock.

Professor Flitwick stops by our table and inspects George’s blue lock and my purple lock. “Wonderful job you two! Ten points each to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.” His eyes then wander over to Fred and Sinclair and he points at their locks. “Have you two been participating in the work your partners have completed? Ah, Miss Sinclair, excellent work on the Anti-Alohamora Charm. Next time, Mister Weasley, please assist your partners and pay more attention to the task at hand.”

Satisfaction is written all over Sinclair’s face as Professor Flitwick stops at the next table. “You should seriously consider listening to Professor Flitwick’s advice.”

“Please! You were distracting me!” Fred retorts. “How did you manage to pull off the spell in the middle of our row?”

“Back at it again, I see,” I remark to George.

George rolls his eyes. “It’ll be like this until we graduate. I just hope they don’t have a row during the ball.”

“And if they do, I won’t get involved. Rowena knows how passionate Sinclair can get.” Last year, Fred set up an intricate trap that dumped brown goo under the passerby, which just so happened to activate only if Sinclair walked under it. I had to hold her by her robes to prevent her from sprinting away and jinxing the life out of Fred.

“Can’t blame her half the time with the pranks my brother gets up to. I’d also try to chop off his head if I was her.” George laughs and shakes his head. He crouches down and begins to doodle something in his textbook. When I bend forward to see what he’s drawing, he pulls his textbook closer to him and wags his finger. “No peeking, now. Don’t spoil the surprise for yourself.”

“I bet you’re either drawing me or Peanut,” I joke.

George throws his head back and groans. “How do you manage to always be one step ahead of me?”

“Clearly, I’m quite talented,” I tease, echoing the same thing he said minutes before.

He scribbles his quill, scrunches his brow, and then presents the sketch of Peanut to me. I laugh as I trace a hand over Peanut’s exaggerated long whiskers and chunky red body. “She looks goofy and fat, but adorable as ever.”

“No need to call her hefty, now. Let the cat enjoy her treats in peace,” George teases. Every time Peanut sees George, she jumps onto his lap and rubs herself all over him. She likes him so much that she gives him a dirty cat glare if he even stands up to go to the lavatory.

I’m laughing at his joke when I realize that Sinclair is silent and gawking at George and me. Once she notices me looking, she tilts her head in George’s direction. No words need to be spoken for me to understand what she’s trying to ask.

Fred sighs and slaps his green lock. He looks up from his textbook and then at Sinclair. But when he notices the expression on her face, he smirks and looks over at George and me. “What secret have I been left out of? Care to tell me something, Georgie?”

“Freddie, may I proudly present my Yule Ball date? This is Miss Moore of Ravenclaw,” George proclaims and waves his hands with great pomp and circumstance.

I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed by George’s comments. Fred extends a hand for me to shake as though we haven’t known each other for years. Regardless, I take his hand and shake it. Fred smiles at me and then slaps George’s arm. “I knew you’d find a pretty date, Georgie.”

Sinclair watches the exchange in silence, her face neutral other than raised eyebrows. But even if she tries to keep a poker face, I know her head is probably spinning at the new revelation.

Rowena, I do not look forward to whatever she has to say once class ends.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x oc #george weasley x original character #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #harry potter #reader insert #ravenclaw #ravenclaw reader #fluff #yule ball #prefect #romance #original character #hogwarts

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sweetzsuprise · 9 months

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TBHK CHAPTER 109 SPOILERS (ENDING)

Analysis + mini theory

don’t click if you don’t want to be spoiled !!

I’m the self proclaimed #1 Akane fan and like this chapter has destroyed me. It’s sent me PACING around my room just thinking about it.

This going to be all over the place, very long and probably a bit hard to read but I’ll keep it together as best as I can.

The Yorishoro situation. Akane human with human insides and obviously if ripped open he’ll die but as a clock keeper does he have similar insides to Mirai and Kako? They easily were defeated as that. Being the only clock keeper left and everywhere else checked it makes sense that he’s the one with the yorishoro. However it feels so weird for that to even be an option.

Kako and Mirai have been No.1 longer than Hanako has been No.7 as stated here,

(chapter 58)

so why hide it inside Akane? They had somewhere else to hide it so why didn’t they keep it there? (unless there was a repeating cycle of getting a new student to be the Present). She still has yet to have that talk with him as well. *

(chapter 25)

I feel it’s important to address this in relation. Akane states that the Clock Keepers tricked him into accepting his role by attempting to harm Aoi (and accuses Hanako of forcing Yashiro into working for him through trickery). He was only starting out middle school at the time of the incident, so it’s potentially been inside of him since then. Did they want him specifically to hide the yorishoro? What would it even be? My immediate thought was it would be Aoi related, but this is the yorishoro for all of them, and precedes Akane.

There is the potential it is maybe the pocket watch he carries which is a likely option. It allows him to stop time, and each yorishoro are deeply connected to the mysteries. Being able to protect/watch Aoi with it is important to him. And similar reasons may be for Kako and Mirai. I also question how he could even see the supernaturals prior to becoming one and it made sense to me; he’s going to die.

Death. Now onto my main reason for this entire post. I’m 100% certain at this point someone is going to die. Akane is a high contender and here’s my reasoning. He needs special glasses to allow him to continue going on as a student without seeing supernaturals. Yashiro can only see supernaturals because she is set to die within the following year.

(chapter 27)

Akane goes on to explain that the supernaturals aren’t like them and don’t care what happens to them, a hint at that he knows that he’d potentially die in the future or that I’m reading too much into it. Of course he could have that sixth sense, without being an exorcist, like Teru or Kou but with how high the stakes are for the next chapter it is very likely he’s going to die, in my opinion. But he’s only one of my two options.

My second option is Teru, and it’s mainly because of these panels back during the semester finals.

(chapter 59)

why would he feel the need to say this? As far as I know, the near future he talks about hasn’t happened yet even though we’re 50+ chapters and I believe more than 5 arcs in). Teru assumes Kou will come to Akane, but why him and not his older brother? Unless Teru knew he was going to die. He’s been pretty unphased for most of this current arc despite the circumstances. So, here are my two options for how the next chapter goes. 1. tsukasa gets to akane

2. akane is protected again tsukasa

And who better to protect Akane than the exorcist himself? Those two are much closer to each other than the others with them being Student Council and often seen together. And despite any grudge towards Akane Teru might have, I’m certain he’d still jump in to protect him. He’s human before he’s supernatural. In the above photos Teru mentions that Kou will ask for Akane’s aid but then says that in a more specific way, to protect Kou with ‘all of your powers’. There’s the possibility Teru does die and Kou goes to Akane to try and bring him back but is in danger OR it has something to do with Yashiro.

What’s weird to me is how he specifies all of Akane’s powers. As far as reader knowledge, his power only affects the present by stopping time for 5-10 minutes, as well as enhanced physical strength. Either he has more powers up his sleeve that we’ve yet to see or he takes the role of No.1 entirely and inherits the other two Clock Keeper’s powers if they’re gone for good. It just feels very weird for someone to say that out of the blue if they don’t have even a tiny idea of their fate.

Also read that there could be a dark backstory/history reveal and god I want it to be one of them so bad I need more Akane content 🙏

* This could become a plot point with how the current arc is going (and if he survives)

Anyways thats my too many cents! I probably missed some points out or need to elaborate so if that’s needed I will.

#tbhk #tbhk manga #tbhk spoilers #tbhk chapter 109 #toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk akane #tbhk teru

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 9 months

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What Representing Men in Divorce Taught Me About Fatherhood | Marilyn York

I'm six years old, and all I can think about is getting the pink Barbie Corvette! I need five more dollars. Luckily for me, it's Easter, and I know that my dad always hides one coveted five-dollar egg. I also know the best egg is the hardest to find.

This year, I'm ready! Before long, I spot it, right in the middle of my sweet '70s swing set pole! You know, the one that runs along the entire top of the set. I scramble to get the ladder and the yardstick and duct tape it to a broom handle.

I fish it into the pipe, and I shove at it hard. It flies out the other side, and by the time it hits the ground, I'm waiting above it like an expectant father.

The egg cracks open and inside … is the very opposite of my grand prize. Instead, a perfectly formed dog turd rolls out.

I burst into loud hysterics. At the same time, my father explodes with laughter. I run as fast as I can to my room, but he's not far behind.

It's time for one of his talks. "Honey, it was clear that you already learned the important life lesson: the harder you work, the better the payoff. So, it was time that you learned another valuable lesson: sometimes, no matter how hard you work, you just end up with shit!"

And who better to teach just this sort of hard-hitting, direct, and painful life lesson to six-year-old me than my father?

I'm a divorce attorney. I've been practicing for over 20 years. I began in Los Angeles, but I've owned my firm in Nevada since 2001. My firm has a particular sub-specialty: men's rights. My nine female employees and I specifically represent men in divorce and custody battles.

And guess who runs the business end of my law firm? My father.

In my practice, we've represented over 2,000 men, 650 of whom are fathers.

My expertise not only comes from my career but just as much from my personal life. I'm a mother. My children are 23, 15, 12, and barely 3. They come from two different mothers and three different fathers. Hooker!

Let me explain. I helped my ex-husband raise our 23-year-old son, whom I didn't birth, from age 5. I share custody of my 15-year-old daughter with the same father. My 12-year-old son sadly lost his father to suicide when he was just 7. And my 3-year-old is being raised at home with his father and me. I literally live my work every day!

So, what has 20 years of representing men in family law while living my own reality show as a wife, mother, and daughter taught me about fatherhood?

Allow me, if you will, to start with the second thing I learned about fatherhood: men parent differently than women. Big surprise! But their influence is crucial in the development of their children. Do you know any mom in the world who would put dog shit in an Easter egg?

Okay, maybe that's a good thing. Let me better demonstrate this point from my legal experience.

When getting my father clients ready for court, I prepare them for this kind of interrogation:

"Who's your children's doctor or dentist?"

"What's the name of your school principal or even their teacher?"

"What grades did they get on their last report card?"

Nine times out of ten, they miss the majority of these questions. Seriously. Does this mean they don't care or love their children as much? I bet it makes you wonder.

But please, hold your judgement. Here are the questions that my father clients can easily answer:

"If your son could be a superhero, what would his power be?"

"What kind of monsters do your kids fear?"

"How high does your daughter feel comfortable flying in a swing?"

"What makes your son feel defeated?"

Yet, in my experience cross-examining hundreds of mothers in family court, these are the harder questions for them.

Most of us know, motherhood brings with it a sixth sense and an unspoken bond to our children. But what about fathers? Even fathers feel insecure about this reality. After representing 650 fathers, I can count on one hand those that felt secure in their instinctive role and significance to their children.

What's interesting is my anecdotal legal experience suggests otherwise. In 20 years of practice, I've had over 100 men take a paternity test - like Jerry Springer. Seriously. Do you know how many were wrong in predicting their biological relation to the child? Two.

This shocked me and taught me my third lesson: fathers, too, have a genetic bond and instinct about their children from infancy.

Forget where you are for a moment, seriously, and close your eyes. I'd like to ask you to feel. Think about your childhood. Picture your father, his smiling eyes, his strong hands. Hear his deep voice. What did you love about your dad? Did he throw you high into the air? Teach you to ride a bike? Carry you home when you got hurt? Push you when you tried to give up? What did it feel like to have a daddy? Secure? Fun? Challenging?

Now, go back in your memories and erase your father from every scene. This is what the other 40 percent of people's childhoods look like.

Just under half the people listening to me, including my own 12-year-old son, felt sad, angry, or blank during the peak of your joy, while playing along. Eye-opening, isn't it?

Nearly two of every five children in America are growing up without their fathers, or 17 million, according to the 2016 census. Other sources estimate as many as 30 million.

In 2011, I joined the board for a local charity called Nevada Youth Empowerment Project, or NYEP. NYEP is a housing program for homeless girls ages 18 to 24. As board president of this small charity, I've been closely involved and gotten to know the girls and their tragic stories over the years. Hundreds of otherwise homeless girls have come to our program. Their backgrounds and what they have endured would haunt you.

Do you know the one thing all of these girls have in common? They all come from fatherless homes. Sadly, these girls aren't the exception; they're the rule.

My fourth lesson about fatherhood came from the data. According to the Center for Disease Control, children from fatherless homes account for 90 percent of all homeless and runaway kids, 71 percent of high school dropouts, and 63 percent of youth suicides.

While you listen to me speak, you have to be wondering, "What makes fathers so crucial?" Honestly, the answer is complex and better explored by psychologists. What I can tell you is that the data unequivocally tells us fathers are vital and yet laws and society undervalue their importance, making it harder for them to be in their children's lives. Even fathers underrate their own value.

I know this data upsets a lot of mothers, me included. But advocating for fathers isn't about diminishing mothers.

While children deserve both parents whenever possible, this crisis is specific to fathers. The occurrence of fatherlessness is epidemic, the effects are catastrophic, and the causes are male gender specific.

Nearly 30 years ago, leading child psychologist Michael Lamb reminded us: "Fathers are the forgotten contributors to child development." Yet, researchers have found that children with involved fathers have stronger cognitive and motor skills, elevated physical and mental health, become better problem solvers, and are more confident, curious, and empathetic.

Sadly, we've had this data for 30 years, and fatherlessness has only continued to rise during this time.

The main contributors to fatherlessness are divorce and out-of-wedlock births. Every 13 seconds, someone in America gets divorced. That equates to almost 2.5 million divorces a year. Lucky me!

Currently, more than 40 percent, or 1.5 million babies, are born out of wedlock each year in the US.

And this brings me back to the first and most significant thing that my career has taught me about fatherhood: family court is one of the critical places where fathers are disadvantaged, and this hurts kids.

Historically, this maternal preference was solidified in the tender years doctrine, which mandated custody of children under age four be awarded to mothers. This doctrine was in use until the 80's.

As the laws progressed, visitation for fathers improved, but it took a lot of years before the law was finally gender equal. In fact, it wasn't until 2017 that Nevada finally adopted a presumption for joint physical custody.

When I began my practice, and until 10 years ago, the best my father clients could expect was every-other-weekend visitation and maybe a dinner on the off week. While significant legal progress has been made, this long-standing bias against fathers still occurs in the enforcement of custody orders, in child support rulings, and it exists in paternity laws.

All the while, the number of kids growing up without dads continues to rise. Between 1960 and 2016, the percentage of children growing up with just mothers nearly tripled, from 8 to 23 percent.

Paternity laws desperately need more reform to protect the 40 percent of children born out of wedlock each year in the US.

Right now, once custody has been ordered, it's illegal to remove a child from their father - usually a felony. But it's perfectly legal, in all 50 states, for a woman to conceal her pregnancy, leave the father's name off the birth certificate, and never tell him he has a child, ever! How is this not kidnapping?

Just as horrible, a woman can knowingly list the wrong father in a child's birth certificate, deceive him, and a short while later, in many states, the wrong man becomes that child's legal father forever. He's obligated to a child that isn't his. And that child just lost their real father with little to no recourse. This is a betrayal of the worst kind. And the law not only allows it, it creates the opportunity.

This is what we know. Every bit of data we have tells us children need their fathers! The law, its application, and society at large disfavor fathers. The law is improving, but the statistics are not.

So, what can you do? We are the change makers, all of us.

If you're a father, make the effort, do everything you can to be in your children's daily lives.

If you're a mother, encourage and facilitate the relationship between your children and their father instead of trying to interfere or control it.

If you're a child, spend time with your dad, ask him to do something, seek his advice and guidance.

If you're an employer, grant the fathers you employ the ability to be at their children's events, to help in their schools, to take sick days to care for their kids.

If you work in the legal field, help us continue to progress, change the laws, and ensure that they're enforced to protect fathers and their children.

The importance of this pursuit cannot be overstated. The fate of nearly half of America's children depends on it.

I'd like to close by asking all of you to do one final thing. Please, stand if you are able or raise your hand - I'm serious, please - if you grew up without a father, if you raised or are raising a child without a father, or if you are a father who's been separated from your child.

Now, look around: the people really affected by fatherlessness. Really, look. Those of you standing and raising your hands aren't numbers. You're real living and feeling humans. You're the children scarred by fatherlessness.

Now let me tell you who can't stand.

The 1,000 fatherless children who were murdered last year.

The 3,000 fatherless children who died from drugs.

The 3,200 fatherless children who committed suicide last year.

And the 14,000 fatherless children who were incarcerated.

Everyone, please, stand for them! And do everything you can to help the remaining 17 million fatherless children avoid these fates.

Thank you.

The statistics on fatherlessness and the impact on development and society as a whole are remarkable. And we've known about them for decades.

https://www.baltimoresun.com/opinion/bs-xpm-2014-10-08-bs-ed-child-custody-20141008-story.html

The negative impact on our children is dramatic. For instance, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the U.S. Department of Justice and the U.S. Census Bureau, children raised by single parents account for: • 63 percent of teen suicides, • 70 percent of juveniles in state-operated institutions, • 71 percent of high school dropouts, • 75 percent of children in chemical abuse centers, • 85 percent of those in prison, • 85 percent of children who exhibit behavioral disorders • And 90 percent of homeless and runaway children.

If you worked on just fatherlessness, you'd do more good for kids - including and especially black kids - than any bogus woke "systemic racism" campaigns.

[ Source: Pew Research ]

Of course, activists don't want to do anything, both because it undermines their grand oppression narrative by admitting that there are other problems, and because it means the problem could actually recede and make their activism and ideology obsolete.

You might wonder who would be against shared parenting by default. NOW, the National Organization for Women, has spent decades fighting shared parenting bills.

"[Presumptive joint custody] creates an unparalleled opportunity for belligerent former spouses to carry on their personal agendas or vendettas through the children -- and with the blessing of the courts." -- NOW Executive Vice President Kim Gandy.

That is, fathers only want custody of their children to harass and control their ex. According to the experience of an activist.

#Marilyn York #fatherlessness #fatherhood #fatherless #divorce #father's rights #parenthood #social issues #social problems #equal parenting #religion is a mental illness

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supreme-burrito · 1 year

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Since Obey Me is on trending I guess I can give my initial thoughts about it since I’ve went through the first chapter already.

I am so out of touch with the new Tiktok thing

I really hope that the rhythm game continues to be based on skill first and card power second because I swear to Michael if there is a power creep that requires money I will quit.

I say this because I’m pretty decent when it comes to basic rhythm games. I got all S’s and a few perfects in the first chapter.

The new Wandering mechanic is very cute

On that note I guess I should talk about the characters and the plot (so far). I only got to level 50ish in the lessons on Obey Me so I don’t know the full story but Nightbringer (NB) did a decent job covering those bases with what I can only assume (I will have to do the opening again on another account) is having two completely different openings play out depending on what answer you have to Barbatos at the beginning when he shows you this photo

I said ‘no’ and got taken down a path of amnesia until Solomon showed up and told me how everything at the end of Obey Me went down and this is where I went ‘haha WHAT THE FUCK’

1. Apparently MC currently is a demon with magical powers who is Solomon’s apprentice which brings up so many questions about the sorcerer’s society that popped up in Chapter 3

2. Solomon has a pact with Barbie and can just travel through time (yes, I will continue to refer to Barbatos as Barbie). So he DEFINITELY has his hands shoved deep into the pie of the plot. He’s probably also the reason of why King Yama is not around. (No school, no MC, no shenanigans) Also if it can be inferred from the opening, Solomon’s had a pact with Barbie first (aka this whole time) and Asmo is literally his side hoe.

3. Lucifer is definitely a lot less…strict? But he does tell us that he has severe trust issues at the end of Chapter 1 and doesn’t even trust us. Lucifer has always had a lot of trust issues but depending on how we re-activate our pacts and how the scene is playing, I can only guess that Lucifer is gonna be first and Satan is gonna be last. Like, we just pulled up to the club and Diavolo is making me and wittle Wucifer founding members of his soon to be demon school, which Lucifer has a valid point that since we just got here that we. cannot. be. trusted. Diavolo says he has a sixth sense that we are chill and makes us the brothers’ “attendant” aka demon babysitter and we are forced to live with Solomon in an abandoned building when he shows up.

3.1. On a side note, since the game is super meta with returning players knowing all the undertones of the current events of Nightbringer (Lucifer being in a pact-like status with Diavolo on account of saving their lives when they fell and Lilith being “dead”). I’m very curious as to how this is all shared with us again. I will give the game back a point for making MC a demon because Belphegor would have murdered us on the spot if we were a human.

But that brings up another question: are we gonna be the ones who locks Belphie up in the attic and not Lucifer due to meta knowledge? Because the only way to unlock the attic door was by making pacts with six out of the seven brothers. Initially in OM, MC is very hesitant to do this. But with this possible speculation, it brings up so many questions. I get the devs did not see this oversight of time travel four years ago when they were making the original game, but please for the love of Michael at least keep the plot consistent, especially with all this meta knowledge returning players have at their disposal.

No seriously Mammon has already taken the credit card, I suggested to him that he hide it in the freezer and Lucifer liked that response.

4. When the game makes me a demon babysitter, it is to be assumed for all seven brothers. Lucifer says (and probably thinks) otherwise.

Consensual workplace relationship

5. RACISM

6. We’ve all been lied to. This is actually Henry’s origin story and he is the main character.

7. Satan is one angry little bitch. Currently at this point we have no clue as to why he is like this and I’m intrigued to find out how it is explained

Despite the micro transactions immediately getting shoved in my face right from the get go, I really really hope that it continues to be f2p friendly unlike the original game.

#obey me spoilers #spoilers #obey me nightbringer

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everliving-everblaze · 1 year

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6, 11, and 12 for the book ask game? also hii cath hope you're doing well <33

HI QUIL I LOVE YOU

6. what books have you read in the last month?

Oooh! Okay, I read and LOVED the two books that are out so far of the Supernatural Investigations (Amari) series. It was SUCH a fun middle grade fantasy, and honestly reminded me of KotLC in all the best ways, but with all of its own fun too. Highly recommend!!

I also finished the Newpointe 911 series, which is like... Christian murder mysteries? And I generally liked those, but sometimes they're. mmm.. a bit conservative evangelical for my taste.

And then I read a couple of books I picked up at the library because they looked interesting! The first was The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy, which I ended up loving; another middle grade fantasy with some really neat characters. It was a little slow at times, but the themes paid off. My only real complaint about it is, sadly, there are no dragons, and the title made me think there would be dragons. :( And the second was Promposal, which has a GORGEOUS design, but ended up not super being my thing. I'm not that into like. modern teen romances, and I also didn't think it was brilliantly written. But it was still fun!

11. what non-fiction books do you like if any?

It's not what I gravitate towards, but I've definitely loved some nonfiction. My favorites are story-like, like The Hiding Place and What Is a Girl Worth?, which are both SO incredibly good. I also love Stephen King's On Writing; I have a quote from it saved in my notes app, that goes:

I have never hesitated to ask myself, either before starting the second draft of a book or while stuck for an idea in the first draft, just what it is I'm writing about, why I'm spending the time when I could be playing my guitar or riding my motorcycle, what got my nose down to the grindstone in the first place and then kept it there. The answer doesn't always come right away, but there usually is one, and it's usually not too hard to find, either.

12. did you enjoy any compulsory high school readings?

Honestly, not a lot? because even if I did like a book, it was kind of overshadowed by the required fast pace of reading it and all. But there are a couple I remember liking in middle school, including the above mentioned The Hiding Place, as well as Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice (though, that one is hard for me to grapple with these days because of the antisemitism). And actually, if we go all the way back to elementary school, I remember reading The Giver (I think in sixth grade) and The Witch of Blackbird Pond (I think in fifth grade) and liking both.

ask game; my ask box

#can you tell I like talking about books. ty for asking quil you always come through for me <333 #asks #ask game #bookwyrminspiration #off topic

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shig-a-shig-ah · 2 years

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so um… ghul… I need advice (if you can give it)?

So you’re a college professor right? Well, for a while now I’ve really been thinking about going back to school (I’m 25, by the way) because I’d also like to become a college professor, ideally in creative writing/something in the writing field.

So I was wondering if there was any advice/warnings/general information you might be able to share that you think would be useful.

You don’t need to spend too much time answering. I don’t want to inconvenience you. But I could just really use any words of wisdom since this is something I really really want but am scared I’ll be blindsided by something (I did a little college back when I was 18 but ended up having to leave due to personal reasons, so I have some experience on what to expect, but not a ton).

Anyway, hope you’re having a good night.

Hi! Always happy to give advice and warnings about the dumpster fire that is academia, so I definitely don't mind the question or feel inconvenienced. I should clarify though that I'm a PhD candidate, not an actual professor--so basically, I'm a very advanced graduate student who teaches instead of taking classes. But, being a professor is the goal and I'm pretty well versed in the ups and downs of pursuing an academic job.

And I have warnings. So many warnings!

The first thing to consider is just the amount of time it takes to become a professor. While you can get some jobs with only a Master's degree, they're few and far between, and especially precarious. For anything secure, you basically have to have a PhD. That means 4-5 years of undergrad, assuming you're starting basically from scratch, and then at least another five years for the doctoral degree. Keep in my mind that most people take longer than that to finish a PhD, too--I'm in my eighth year of grad school (sixth year in my actual program because I did a master's beforehand), and the average time to degree for my department is seven years. I know people who took ten. I may take ten!

Second, the academic job market is terrible. In many, many ways. There are basically two options--tenure track and adjunct. Tenure track pays better, comes with stability, and is probably what most people think of when they think of being a professor. Adjunct positions are short-term teaching contracts that only last for a semester, and often pay worse. (Imagine cobbling together a full-time job by teaching multiple classes a couple universities to make $30k a year with few benefits, if you're lucky).

Tenure track jobs have more stability, benefits, etc., but are also really fucking competitive. It's not unusual to have hundreds of applicants for one position, and even then it likely still won't pay as much as most other jobs requiring that level of education. On top of that, you generally have to also hustle to public papers, present at conferences, etc., just to be competitive for these jobs. And, as a bonus, it's almost guaranteed that you'll have to relocate to find a position, so you could easily find yourself moving to Arkansas to make $45k a year after a decade of schooling. Things are especially competitive and underpaid in the humanities, like writing-related fields, too.

Now, it's not like it could hurt to pursue it as an option, but going back to undergrad just for that being the goal is maybe not the best idea; it's definitely better to go in with a few possible paths in mind. Because it's a big time commitment for very little guaranteed payoff, and that's without even considering that just getting through grad school is fucking hard, and pretty much guaranteed to leave you with a lot of debt unless you have a partner to financially support you. And there are things that are great about it--you get a lot of autonomy, and I really love teaching so I have a great time--but I also pretty much agree with the advice I was given before starting, which was: if you can picture yourself doing anything else, do that instead.

#this is so long and there is still so much i did not say lmao #like: the institutional context often sucks!#if you're not cishet white neurotypical you are very likely going to have a bad time in grad school!#higher ed funding keeps getting slashed and wages are especially stagnant #anyway feel free to DM me #or send follow up questions #i know i make it sound bleak and it is but also #every time i see my friends with their real jobs all i can think is 'ew'#ghuleh.answers

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libraryofalexianne-jia · 8 years

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Inspired by the WP prompt #voyage

I’m turning 21 this year. Considered young compared to my High School batch mates, but on a normal range when it comes to family, relatives, and friends. Right now, I’m in my last term of my fourth year in college, but I still have two terms left. Five academic years. That is how long I would have finished my undergrad degree. Considered delayed compared to both my friends and High School batch mates, seeing that most of them are marching or have marched already and some of them have started already their corporate life. What makes it worse is that I’m only taking up a single degree. Graduating after five years is normal in my university if and only if one is taking up what we call ‘LIA-COM’ or the double degrees. But my case? Obviously, something has gone wrong. I am seriously left behind.

I am currently taking up Bachelor of Arts in Psychology. But frankly, I really wanted to take up something else. Aviation, if I would be completely selfish. Theater Arts, if I would be a considerate daughter and mind the financial burden taking up Aviation will have on my parents. The only reason I’m not taking up Theater Arts is that my parents actually threatened me, saying that they would never pay for my college if I push through with Theater. Because of my immaturity, I made a big mistake of compromising with them rather than fighting for what I really want love.

But in complete honesty, Psychology was my third choice. I went for it as my third back-up choice because I actually aced my Psychology subject back in High School. But this third choice is something I just rationally picked. Like, I just looked for a strength in me that I think I can work with. But if there was something I would say I would have gladly, they were just really either Aviation, or Theater. It was just either of the two wherein if I imagine myself not being able to reach the top—either being a Captain or gain popularity in acting—it would just be absolutely fine with me.

I digress. In case you're wondering how the compromise happened, here is the account: pushed to the corner, I was about to select Bachelor of Arts major in Psychology in my application forms when my mom got worked up.

"Why ‘AB’? It’s just 'AB'. There’s no money in it," she said in the true Asian mother fashion. "AB is just for the dim-witted."

And with that (but not before another round of bickering), I made the decision to choose Bachelor of Science instead of Arts. In the end, I got my Psychology, and she got her BS. That was the compromise.

Which already turned out to be a complete BS right off the bat. First term of my first year already saw me failing a couple of subjects, one of which was our science subject. The same thing happened the following term when I failed yet again another science subject. I gave myself two more terms – two more terms to see whether I am fit to stay in BS Psych if/when I pass even just one science subject, or if I really need to shift out to AB. Come to the fourth term, the first term on my second year (my university's trimester, by the way), I failed again another science subject, and this time it’s Psychological Chemistry. What would you expect? I failed my high school chemistry, what could be the difference this time around? Long story short, in my fifth term, I decided to ask permission from my parents if I could shift out. They said no. I continued with my suffering until my sixth term. Only after the discovery that I have already failed 14 units in my entire stay did they allow me to shift out. But of course that permission came with an earful. But yeah, I wasted six terms doing something I’ve never liked and I know I would never, not even once, have survived.

Now that I’m finally taking up AB Psychology, the number of subjects I fail lessen. I have failed only my philosophy subjects so far (yep, science and philosophy are my not-so-good classes). I am (surprisingly) acing my majors already. Look, I'm not proud of failing, okay? It's just for the sake of writing that I'm being completely honest. I'm a bit happy to report that life really did get better, even by a bit, after shifting.

The thing now is, I am just putting up with AB Psychology because one of my credos in life is that if I dd something, may it be whole- or halfheartedly, as long as I wanted it in a way, I would stick with it till the end. In a way, that is my form of showing that I am accountable for my choices and actions. So believe me when I say that I really plan and want to graduate with a Psychology degree.

But here’s the thing. At the end of the day, Psychology was still just a compromise. There is a chasm of difference between how much I want to take Aviation or Theater Arts to Psychology. I think that it feels robotic to bear with something that you feel doesn’t touch and/or change your soul. It’s not easy to put up with something when you lack or totally do not have the motivation to go through with. It’s hard to endure all the inconveniences that come with it when you feel like it’s not something you would sacrifice everything for.

For almost five years, I have been tiring myself commuting four to six hours a day, four times a week; sometimes staying at school just up until the time the last train ride comes. For almost five years, I have been studying without much motivation and going through every lesson almost mindlessly, memorizing everything but not quite understanding. For almost five years, I have been making an effort to keep myself moving and not get stuck in my what-ifs, the biggest of which is ,'what if I pushed through with at least Theatre Arts, not minding my parents’ threat?'

And now, after almost five years in college, my parents are already pressuring me to graduate. I won’t get into a lot of specifics anymore, but the only thing I would tell is that they way of pressuring me is not the motivating and encouraging way. It was never the kid-I-know-you-got-this-but-can-you-please-make-it-faster type, but it’s generally the are-you-dumb-what’s-taking-you-so-long-you’re-already-left-behind type of talk my parents give me. And just for the sake of being open, I’ll say this: that makes me feel like the worst daughter in the world.

Like what I said earlier, I really do plan on graduating. Because only be doing so will I be really accountable for my actions so far. And I will, in ten months. It may not be my parents’ ideal time frame, but at least I surely will give them our diploma. I just hope I don’t hit rock bottom with how my parents are pushing me before I graduate.

#re:verie

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avelynreads · 1 year

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🍂September 2023 Reading Wrap Up🍂

I can’t believe we are moving into October! I’ve been incredibly busy with school work these past few months but I think I can feel myself getting into a routine which means I’m going to try to read a lot more for myself :) I only read a measly four books this September, but October looks promising (A Curse for True Love AND Chalice of the Gods?!?!?!?).

🍂Veiled by Benedict Jacka🍂

Rating: 3/5

This was an absolute curve ball. The sixth in the series (and for some reason the one that I started with) I didn’t expect to like this book at all. The characters were lively and interesting and there was a huge emphasis on political intrigue and corrupt government systems that really engaged me. One minor thing that got me was the fact that our main character is like half an interesting guy with magic powers and half exposition machine. You could start this series from any point and get exactly what’s going on because he explains every single thing that happens. It wasn’t a huge problem for me since I started on book 6 but I can’t imagine how it would feel to be a longtime reader having to listen to explanations about the worldbuilding over and over. I plan to read the rest of the series at some point (although it is 12 books so maybe not right away).

🍂The Silvered Serpents by Chokshi Roshani🍂

Rating 3/5

On the opposite note this book was exactly what I expected. I don’t know, the Gilded Wolves series so far is sort of underwhelming for me but at the last second, Roshani makes me want to keep reading. I felt like I was able to better connect with and care about the characters because we now have the backstory of The Gilded Wolves to build upon so I enjoyed that. Some characters jumped out more and I can say with certainty now that my favorite character is Zofia (ily). I definitely think the plot comes second to the characters and their relationships, but once again I found it a little difficult to fully invest myself in either. I definitely enjoyed it more than the first book even though it didn’t fully hit the mark for me.

🍂The Odyssey of Homer (translated by Emily Wilson)🍂

Rating 4/5

Reading this made me wish I had taken Greek so I can gain the scope of understanding that it takes to fully appreciate this translation. Before I read this translation I was of the opinion that The Odyssey is The Odyssey is The Odyssey no matter who the translator is. The way that Emily Wilson went about translating her version of the Odyssey really left great impression on me simply because she made it feel so fresh (I want to say modern but I don’t think that’s the word for it). It was fun to read and even more fun to read aloud in the iambic pentameter. Eagerly anticipating reading her translation of the Iliad.

🍂Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson🍂

Rating: 3.5/5

OKOKOK I know that Mistborn is THE fantasy book for some people. It was not for me. I thought that Sanderson’s magic system was interesting but that there was a lot of room left for character development and individual relationships which sometimes felt rushed and half-baked. Allomancy in this book was the most important character and you could tell. Maybe I’m a sucker for a character driven plot but if Sanderson spent as much time fleshing out his characters as he did fleshing out the world building and magic system, I would have been more interested.

Yep that’s it. I didn’t get many chances to read last month and when you read and write all day sometimes the last thing you want to do is read another book (my worst fear being an English major honestly). This month felt like both the longest and shortest month of my life. I’m going to try to make a solid plan for what to read next but 90% of the time that does not go to plan and I end up rereading Six of Crows. I hope that October treats all of you well, read all your favorite horror novels (and drop some recs if you see this) and remember to support your local library.

#fantasy books #literature #books #reading wrap up #september #booklr #reading #currently reading #books & libraries #bookworm

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squadron-goals · 1 year

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Jagdstaffel Boelcke, 12 December 1916

Dear Miss Annamarie! Pangs of conscience put the pen in my hand. Really - I'm ashamed that I haven't thanked you for your splendid letter. I don't have an excuse - except for the state of hibernation in which we have sunk in the almost non-stop foggy weather, and which makes one all too drownsy. You wouldn't believe how much aviators can sleep in winter! If you come for coffee before 9:30 on a rainy day, you're generally unpopular. Two hours ago, while I was writing the previous line, the news came that the Emperor made an offer of peace to our enemies. You can't guess anything about the success. But even if it is not accepted, it will make Germany's basic position on the world war even more unequivocal than before. It is extremely funny to observe the impression that the word "near peace" has on the individual. I must confess - unbelievable as it may sound - that not one of us let out an unconditional howl of joy at the news. You got used to the war. The imminent upheaval in the "way of life" actually makes each individual think first of what effect it will have on his personal circumstances - man is so much a creature of habit. First there is "Igel", our youngest, will soon be 20 years old, is called Hans Imelmann (with one m, so has nothing to do with Immelmann). First of all, he thinks with quiet horror of the school benches, from which he fled with joy when the war broke out - now he is shooting down English ministers, i.e. he recently shot down his sixth plane, in which a former English agriculture minister happened to be on an observation flight to the front. Another thinks of the hardships of the upcoming assessor exam; a third, active soldier, to the tedious peace time service; a fourth thinks of useless assets in Africa. However, everyone would be happy to put up with it once the time had come. Since Boelcke, we now have the second squadron leader, a Bavarian Lieutenant Walz, whom we asked for as commander. Unfortunately, we had to leave his predecessor Kirmaier (also a Bavarian), who took over the leadership of the squadron after Boelcke's death, on November 22nd over the lines. Our English customers is a bit shy - we have to go farther and farther over the lines to visit them. At that time there were five of us and we were attacked at the same time by two large squadrons over there - each of us had to deal with several opponents. I still saw Kirmaier chasing an already steaming Vickers two-seater, but had several behind him himself - something like that corresponded to his Bavarian taste. I was attacked by a Morane monoplane at that moment. The silly fellow came at me from the front in a clumsy manner - now he's lying near Longueval, where the Delville woods used to be. That was my seventh kill, which was recognized; because of the three Russian ones, only one was credited to me, since the "earth observation", i.e. confirmation by uninvolved people, was missing. They're very particular about it, but that's a good thing because it eliminates any attempts at boastful cheating.

Yesterday evening the new Air General Excellence von Hoeppner was our guest. He said a few flattering things to our squadron, which was a welcome starting point for us to express all sorts of wishes that usually get stuck in official channels. My brother Gerhard comes often and, fortunately, always has a horse brought for me. We then ride far through the area - that would be a difficult decision for me, whether being on horseback or in the albatross is nicer. In the next few days we want to visit our eldest brother Erich, who is not far from Lille. Brother Martin is somewhere in the east with his giant plane. Mother's collection of her sons' postcards probably looks quite colorful. You may have wondered about the location of this letter. Yesterday we received the following decree from the Ministry of War dated December 10th: "His Majesty the Kaiser approved that the Jagdstaffel, which was led by Hauptmann Boelcke, who died undefeated on October 28th, 1916, be given the name "Jagdstaffel Boelcke". This is a great encouragement to live up to our Master's name.

#Erwin Böhme

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chaoticavrey · 1 year

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i have to get this off my chest because i can't even think straight. if you're not into politics keep scrolling. but you should read this.

when i was ten years old i was driving home with my mom one day and she asked me a question. i could tell this was gonna be a difficult conversation by the way she looked at me. for context, i was in the fifth grade and we'd had our fair share of lock downs because the bank a few blocks away got robbed but never anything too serious. anyway, she asked what i would do if an active shooter entered the school. i told her i wasn't sure, and that was a weird question, why would she ask me that? she proceeded to tell me about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary the day before. i was shocked. i explained i would probably hide underneath my desk or in one of the cabinets in the classroom but i wasn't sure if that was safe enough. we talked about it a little more but in the end it came down to a matter of if that would even happen. Sandy Hook was far away and my school was a nice school. i don't remember much after that but i do remember seeing the news paper later that week and seeing pictures of all the victims. children who were younger than me, dead in their own school. the teachers who died protecting them. it was all surreal to me. i was only ten years old, but those kids were only six. who could do something like that?

the following school year i was in middle school. i was eleven years old. reunited with my two older brothers. we were all in different grades but it was comforting to know they were in the same building. it was lunch time and everyone was outside enjoying a beautiful spring day. the bell rang and i started making my way to my next class. i noticed the monitors talking quickly on their walkies talkies but didn't give it a second thought. then i noticed the principal standing outside silently yelling into his walkies "get the sixth graders inside now. and put a soft lock down on the campus after the final bell." it gets blurry after that but eventually i made it my next class. the teacher looked worried. she told us to sit down and open our books. we started class and began reading a play in our books when the an announcement came on that we were going into a hard lock down. my teacher told us to get underneath our desks and be quite. i could see her lock the door and block the window. i sat underneath my desk and thought about the conversation i had with my mom the year before that and thought, oh my god, we're next. we sat in silence for a really long time. the kid sitting behind me was getting really stressed out so i held his hand. eventually the principal came on the intercom and said there was a bomb threat, we were being evacuated to the nearby high school, and we had to leave all of our stuff in our class room's. i didn't have a phone (because i was only eleven and it was 2014) so i didn't know how i was supposed to call my mom, or find my brothers. i remember a hundred things going through my mind while they escorted us to the busses, like where are my brother's, how come i can't bring my backpack with me, and who would do something like this? news people, police cars, and fire trucks were all outside the school when we left. we were transported to the high school and teachers and staff packed us into the auditorium. more news people and polices cars were waiting for us there. neither of my brothers had phones and we had no way of contacting our parents. we sat in that auditorium for hours. i still couldn't find my brothers. i was scared out of my mind. eventually they said that parents were outside waiting to sign their students out. i wondered if my mom or stepdad had come so i could go home. they weren't, so i had to wait for a bus to take me home. one single bus for all the left over kids whose parent's couldn't come get them. there was about twenty of us. but i was relived that my brothers were there and we were going home. my mom kept us home from school the next day. and once i went back to school i had to go collect my back pack from the counselor's office.

three years later i was fourteen, a freshman in high school, when a rumor started some kid was gonna shoot up the school. he was in my fourth period. the rumor started getting bigger and eventually someone told the authorities. i remember sitting in that class we shared thinking "i wonder if this morning was the last time I'll see my mother? did i tell her i love her?". nothing happened, thank god, but i never saw that kid again. i still think about him every now and then. wondering what would've happened if he went through with it. would i have been one of his targets?

the following school year was when the Parkland shooting happened. i was fifteen. i remember reading about the victims, and the fact their were so many made my stomach churn. i came across one that made me especially sick. Alex Schachter was his name. he was only fourteen, a year younger than me, and he was heavily involved in the schools music program. he played trombone and baritone. my best friend played the trombone and we were in band together. i thought about Alex a lot after the shooting and wondered "what if that had been my friend?". i still think about Alex all these years later. i think about his friends and family, and i hope they are doing okay. a few days after the shooting my school held an assembly to talk about what happened, what we were supposed to do, and new safety measures the school was taking. we were told we wouldn't be allowed on campus with out our school ID's on us. my friends and i thought well what if the shooter is a student? the kid who did it in parkland was a student there, how is that supposed to keep us safe? my brother's were still in school with me and i asked them if they remembered that bomb threat we had back in middle school. i knew things were different know and we all had phones but i remember being so scared not knowing where they were. so we decided to come up with our own plan of what we would do. we were just teenagers, but so were most of the parkland victims.

i am now twenty years old, and have to witness yet another horrific school shooting. i was one of the lucky ones. i was able to graduate high school with my life. i cannot say the same for some of the victims of these tragic events. and to the adults who gave their lives for these children, i have the upmost respect for you. your bravery and courage is something to look up too.

the problem in America is the guns. and it's up to us to fix it. if we don't do something then more innocent children will lose their life simply because they go to school. more brave adults and teachers will lose their life trying to protect the innocent. contact your representatives. make a scene. cause a fuss. don't stop until the work is done.

#important #signal boost #america #tw shooting

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dreamertrilogys · 2 years

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i literally hung out with my friends just today but. i miss my friends

#.txt #every time i move schools & make new friends i figure out i’m extremely extroverted all over again #you would think that this being like my. one second. SIXTH school so far would mean i’d know this by now. but alas #although to be fair i feel like i’ve definitely been more. social i guess? since after the lockdowns ended/post online school #like not even crowds or large gatherings or anything just like i now prefer others company much more than i do time to myself compared to #my pre covid self yknow #<- this is partially why i’ve been having such a hard time getting back into like. reading books i think actually . like elementary school #me would read at recess and shit but now if there’s someone to talk to i Will talk to them instead of reading almost 99% of the time

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russellrustles · 2 years

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All These Years - g. russell

a/n: I challenged myself to write an entire fic in under 24 hours, and here it is: the first half was written far past 2am when I knew damn well that I had to wake up early, and the second half was written while I was emotionally recovering from my horse taking me on an impromptu rodeo. Bonus points for this entire thing being based off a dream I had. + Showbiz, Baby Chapter 3 will be up around Silverstone weekend at the latest.

warnings: an asshole ex, slight mentions of alcohol/drinking, occasional swearing

word count: 5k

summary: it takes George far too long to work up the courage for a confession of love.

masterlist

‘And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me’ - I Found, Amber Run

‘----------’ indicates a time skip of a few months / years

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

Laying down on a blanket, you watched the clouds drift overhead. It was a particularly pleasant day, balmy and sunny, so your parents had decided to invite some friends over for a barbecue, and along with them their son, of course.

Even after hearing the doorbell, you remained reclined outdoors, knowing that your parents would be at the door to greet the guests, and you’d much rather just wait for them to come into the garden than abandon your comfortable spot. It didn’t take long for everybody to make their way through the house, bringing with them a dreadful amount of noise. You lifted your arm up, giving a quick wave without looking behind you, not even sure if anybody was looking at you or whether they were too focused on their own conversations.

Suddenly, the rays of sunlight that you had previously been basking in were blocked by the body of a lanky teenage boy towering over you.

“I’m trying to get a tan,” you told him, swatting at his legs in an attempt to make him move away. He huffed in an offended manner but gave in, sitting down on the blanket next to you and grabbing a strawberry from one of the many bowls of snacks that you had prepared before his arrival.

There were a few moments of silence between the two of you, in which you closed your eyes, before feeling something landing on you and jolting up into a sitting position, just to see the green, leafy part of the strawberry that had hit you fall to the ground.

“George!” you shrieked, only to be met with an amused smirk from him. Consequently, you turned around to face your parents, sat around a table at the other end of the garden, and pointed an accusative finger at the other teen, trying to get him into trouble with the adults. In return, they just gave a shrug of ‘you’re old enough to handle this alone’ and turned back to their boring grown-up conversation, probably about something like insurance or taxes.

Turning back to the boy, you flipped him off. “What do you want, Georgie?” you hissed, unhappy with his prior treatment of you. You shifted onto your knees, reaching forward to grab some pretzels. Letting out a surprised yelp, you felt an arm grab your torso and yank you to the side, causing you to land directly on his lap.

“Attention,” he stated bluntly, still donning a grin. You groaned, but made no attempt to move away.

“Go get some from that girl in our maths class who keeps asking you to the cinema, then,” you joked, reaching for the pretzels once again.

“Nooo, not Kathy,” George whined, before adding, “She seems like the kind of girl that would collect my sweat in a jar.”

You faked a gag, suddenly completely put off from your pretzels.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of your education?” he asked quietly after a few moments of comfortable silence. You sat back up and gave a small shrug, a sombre mood falling over the two of you.

“Sixth form next, I think,” you mumbled, turning your attention to picking at a stray thread in the blanket. Being so close to the end of secondary school, it was time for you to make decisions about your next steps, but as someone with a deep dislike for significant changes you were finding it very difficult to be confident in your decisions.

After hearing no reply from George, you looked up at him with a feeling of dread in your heart. “You’re not coming with me, are you?” you whispered, caught up in a cloud of dismay. He shook his head.

You rushed forward to clutch him in a tight hug which he reciprocated, as if allowing any physical distance between you two would result in him getting ripped out of your everyday life even sooner.

“With all the racing stuff, it’s gonna be easier if I’m just homeschooled,” he began to explain, “But we can still see each other whenever I’m home, and we’ll still go on holiday together with our families, and we can still be friends.”

As your mothers had grown up joined at the hips, the bond had obviously been passed down to the two of you as well. You both had countless photo albums filled with photos of you as toddlers splashing around in paddling pools and surrounded by piles of flour after breaking into a kitchen cupboard, or aged around six sharing a sleeping bag on a camping trip.

“Okay, but promise me that when you become really, really famous you’ll take me to all your races,” you said, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Of course I will. I’ll get you a seat in the garage for every race,” he replied, smiling brightly.

“And we stay friends, yes?”

“Always.”

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“I’ll give you a fiver if you go and stand on that branch over there,” George whispered in your ear, pointing at a large branch just barely skimming the surface of the lake.

“I want at least a tenner for that, Russell.”

“Deal.”

You both drastically slowed down the pace at which you were walking at, distancing yourself from your parents as much as possible - you were fully aware that they wouldn’t be overjoyed at the two of you engaging in stupid teenage activities.

After a few months of you going to your new school and George being homeschooled and occasionally racing here and there, his parents had approached yours with the idea of renting a cottage for a week away during your school break. And now, when the six of you were meant to be going on a peaceful walk around a lake, you and George had decided to get back to your usual bullshit.

“This is exactly why they don’t like leaving us unsupervised,” you grumbled, beginning to make your way over towards the branch.

The first few steps on the widest part of the branch were fine, with you holding your hands out to the side for balance and occasionally looking over your shoulder to see George still standing on the path. About halfway to your destination, the wood beneath you began to creak and groan in a rather foreboding way, but you weren’t about to back out of a challenge and make yourself seem like a coward, especially not when George had offered you a cash prize.

Determined to complete your mission, you continued moving forward, swaying from side to side with the branch creaking out its protests from beneath you until-

The branch finally reached its limit and snapped in order to prevent any further advances from you, sending you plummeting into the water underneath with an ear-piercing scream.

Awkwardly half-swimming, half-wading back towards the solid land, you tried to push down the utter humiliation flooding you, but when your eyes fell on George nearly keeling over with laughter back on the shore you were certain that he wouldn’t let you forget this incident for a long time.

He offered you a hand as you reached solid ground, pulling you close to him as you shivered in your soaked clothes, the icy water seemingly permeating right into your very bones.

“It’s not funny, George,” you scolded him, shaking and rubbing your arms in a fruitless attempt at warming yourself.

“Aw, I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he responded just as you heard the adults’ footsteps coming closer to you, definitely running after having heard your screech.

Your mum instantly yanked you away from him and towards her instead, stripping you of your drenched coat and wrapping you up in her own instead. Off to the side, you could hear George’s mum yelling, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You were both in for one hell of a lecture once you were back at the cottage.

On the way back, you and George trailed behind the adults, who now threw glances at the two of you every now and again just to keep an eye on you. After a short while, you felt him grab your hand and slip something into your grip, before whispering, “Here’s that tenner.”

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“Get the fuck out, and if you’re going to keep being like that then don’t come back!”

“But- wait!”

Your pleads were useless as he rolled the window of his car back up and drove off without even looking back. Slumping down onto the sidewalk, you silently sobbed in the rain, abandoned on some random street like an unwanted dog.

It took you an upsettingly long time to gather your thoughts, but luckily the evening darkness that had already swallowed the town prevented there from being many people to witness the scene. You didn’t want to go back home - your parents had gone abroad to celebrate the new year, and they weren’t due to come back for a few more days. An empty house would do nothing but give you an opportunity to further wallow in your grief.

Instead, you began the trek towards the only other place you could call home: George’s house.

The usual British rain that had a habit of replacing snow throughout the winter season hounded you down as you wound your way through the streets, soaking you to the bone. By the time you reached his front door you were dripping from the rain, and you could only pray that somebody would open the door at such a peculiar hour.

It was his mum who greeted you at the door after you knocked, immediately gasping at the sorry sight before her. She rushed you into the warmth of the house, helping you take off your shoes and coat and placing them by a radiator to dry, before pulling you into a tight hug.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice saturated with concern.

“James, he… he pretty much broke up with me,” you sobbed. She sighed and shook her head, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you towards the kitchen.

“George! Get down here!” she yelled up the stairs as you walked past them, “Boys and their video games - once they’ve got that headset on, they’re oblivious to the outside world,” she added to you. Laughing weakly at her words, you sat down at the kitchen table as she began making a cup of tea.

It only took around thirty seconds for George to come stomping down the stairs, obviously displeased at his mother’s demands, “Mum, the guys will kill me for having to leave halfway thr-“

His complaints died down just as quickly as they appeared once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Dumbfounded, he stood in the entryway for a short moment, trying to process the sight of you unexpectedly being sat in his kitchen at eight in the evening, tears streaming down your face.

He covered the distance between you in a few large strides, then gently reached out to cradle your head against his chest, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. No words were exchanged between the two of you - right now, his presence was enough to comfort you.

“Sweetheart, do you want to talk about what happened?” his mum gently prompted you, placing a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of you and sitting down beside you to take your hands in hers.

“So, like, we were going to the cinema-“ you were abruptly cut off by a hiccup between sobs, “And then when he asked if I wanted to stay for the night I said I didn’t because I just wasn’t in the mood.” His mum nodded patiently and George continued to wipe the tears away.

“And then he went on a massive rant about how I’m frigid and never do anything with him anymore, and I tried to explain to him that I’ve been busy trying to apply for universities recently, but he wasn’t having any of it, and then he kicked me out of his car telling me not to come back if I’m going to be like that - but I don’t know if I want to go back at all if he does stuff like that - and he just kept saying that he should be my first priority and-“ your increasingly accelerating diatribe suddenly crashed to a halt as you broke down into full-on sobs once again. Behind you, you felt George tense up and hold you closer against him.

His mum took a moment to assess the information you had given her before replying, “Well in a lot of cases I would say that a partner should be one of your first priorities, but if he’s treating you like that even after you’ve explained what’s going on then he deserves to be at the bottom of the list of your priorities.” Sniffling, you nodded before taking a sip of the tea as she continued sharing her opinion on the matter, “I can’t instruct you on what to do in this situation, but I can definitely tell you that you shouldn’t put up with someone who makes you feel this way.”

You pondered the situation in silence. James had never been a saint in the first place, and your parents hadn’t necessarily been fans of him, but you had been enjoying the thrill of your first proper relationship until he began acting up a few months ago.

“How about you watch a film here instead?” George’s mum offered, pulling you away from your thoughts, and you nodded weakly in a grateful agreement.

Soon after, you had changed into an old set of slightly too small pyjamas that you had left here after a sleepover a few years ago and the living room sofa was draped in soft blankets. George’s mum came in holding a massive bowl of popcorn which she placed on the coffee table just as you chose a film to watch. “I’ll leave you two with this while I go and sleep. Feel free to stay here for the night,” she told you, and you thanked her graciously before she headed upstairs.

You settled between George’s legs as the film began playing, laying with your back to his chest and the bowl of popcorn on your lap so that you could both reach for it.

“I told you right from the very start that he was a piece of shit,” George grumbled, definitely providing a very profound and insightful comment after his previous silence ever since he’d seen you in his kitchen.

You chuckled at his words. “You’re just jealous because he was the one dating me,” you teased him, aiming at making the conversation a light one that wouldn’t result in you shedding more tears.

“Am not,” he replied stubbornly, clearly with no intentions of keeping the discussion light-hearted, “You just should have listened to me when I said he only wanted the sex,”

“George!” you hissed at him, taken aback by his bluntness regarding the matter, “We never even went beyond making out, okay? Now calm your tits.”

He huffed, obviously still lacking any desire to concede, “Well maybe you should pick someone who actually cares about you.”

What’s gotten into him today?

You placed the popcorn back on the coffee table, unwilling to continue this odd confrontation (if it could even be classed as that) and instead shifting over onto your side, but still staying in George’s arms.

“I’m too tired to talk about this. Goodnight,” you muttered firmly, leaving no room for further arguments.

With a dull thud that sounded like his head falling against the back of the sofa, he sighed and replied with a hushed, “Goodnight to you too.”

----------

“To our fully-fledged engineer!”

Flutes of champagne were raised to the toast, and you sipped on the alcohol with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. But as exuberant as the atmosphere was, it still felt rather solemn to only have three people at the table.

You spent the next hour or so dining, discussing your freshly-finished studies with your parents and your potential next steps in life. At the top of your list was going to one of George’s races.

The unadulterated pride that you had felt when he had called you announcing his new seat in F1 a few years ago had been utterly indescribable. He had finally achieved one of his biggest goals in life, and you were glad that you had supported him along the way.

However, despite George keeping his promise about inviting you to every race, years of rigorous academics from you and a packed travel schedule from him had kept you strictly separated. Obviously you had stayed in touch, calling each other every few nights and keeping up an incredulous level of texting, and you made an effort to watch every one of his races on TV, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person.

Eventually, after a few more hours of celebrations, your parents had to leave the restaurant and go back home, leaving you feeling quite alone in the world.

Your cramped flat was empty when you arrived at what had been your home for the past four years at university. Knowing your flatmate, she was most likely out celebrating finishing her own studies and wouldn’t be back until late.

You took the few hours of solitude to continue packing your belongings, getting ready to soon head off and leave behind the university.

A few knocks on the door forced you to stop shoving your clothes in a suitcase. You made your way towards the door with a groan, already expecting somebody to be lugging your heavily intoxicated flatmate home.

“Emma, I thought we agreed that-“

Your words got caught in your throat as you yanked the door open, your exasperated expression turning to one of unbridled shock.

“Georgie?” Your voice cracked as you took in the sight of him standing before your front door, dressed in a casual t-shirt and jeans and wearing his signature warm smile.

“How did you find out my address?” you asked, and he laughed at seeing you so confused.

“I asked your parents.”

So that’s why they left so early.

Stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come inside, you couldn’t help but feel beyond ecstatic at his unexpected visit. Shutting the door behind him, he pulled you in for a hug.

Despite always having been slightly taller than you, over the past few years apart he seemed to have hit another growth spurt, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes as you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the area around his collarbone.

The two of you just stood in the entryway, embracing each other, trying to make up for all the lost years and the thousands of miles that had separated you at times, hearing nothing but your hearts beating for each other.

Pent-up emotions from all the time spent apart threatened to make an appearance, and you had to give him a slight warning, “George, I’ll start crying if you don’t let me go.”

“That’s okay. That’s alright.” Hearing his voice break made you aware that he had been the first out of you two to finally allow the dam to crack. You pulled him in towards you as much as you could in an attempt to comfort him, but he grabbed you by the hips instead and moved you a few steps back.

To be completely honest, you felt a pang of rejection, beginning to question whether the years spent in separation had resulted in him no longer being comfortable with such close contact.

“I was planning to make this more romantic, maybe over a candlelit dinner or something, but…” he trailed off, meeting your gaze with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You just gave him a frown of confusion, completely unsure of what he was getting at, but the sight of him prompted the tears that had gathered in your eyes to begin spilling.

He took a deep breath, before blurting out, “I just can’t bear to spend so long apart ever again, and I’ve wanted to do this ever since we were young but I was always too scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way.” He took a few steps forward, resulting in you having your back against a wall as you looked up at him, reaching up to rest your hands on his cheeks, “I need you by my side, I need to walk through the paddock with your hand in mine, I need to come home to you every day.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, breathing deeply and looking into your eyes as his final request came as a whisper.

“Please just let me call you mine so that I can be forever yours.”

You took a few moments to process everything that had just occurred. Why hadn’t he told you all this earlier?

Tentatively, you tilted your head up and gently pressed your lips to his. He reciprocated immediately, gripping your hips tighter and holding you against him, pouring every year of silent pining into the kiss. It was messy, it was emotional, salty from the tears and broken only by the occasional gasp.

Placing your hands on his chest, you started gently pushing him in the direction of the sofa, greedy for more. All of a sudden, the clank of keys in the front door jolted you away from George, and you whipped around to face the door.

There stood Emma, not sober, yet not drunk, high heels in one hand, keys and phone in the other. The three of you just stared at each other in a tense silence until she slowly pointed at the man standing behind you.

“Is that George fucking Russell?”

----------

Caught up in a throng of cheering Mercedes team members, you were pressed against the barrier, waiting for George to get out of his car and run over. It wasn’t your win, and you weren’t the one about to be stood on the top step of the podium, but you were on cloud nine as if you had taken first place.

He took his helmet off and sprinted over towards the crowd, leaping up towards them despite the barrier. The roar of the team was deafening, your own cries of delight swept away in the cacophony.

By the time he had made his way over to you he had calmed down a little, but you could still see him shaking from the adrenaline that hadn’t let go of him just yet. He approached you in silence, a grin spread across his face, reaching out to hold your face and resting his forehead against yours as you held his wrists.

You both just smiled at each other like idiots, completely oblivious to all the cameras and people surrounding you. All that mattered in this moment were the occasional excited giggles and looks of pure adoration that you shared.

“Well, you did it, I always told you that you could do it,” you whispered, gently squeezing his wrists.

“This one’s for you,” he replied, leaning forward to give you a quick kiss and laughing at the way he left you blushing.

“I thought that all of them will be for me, no?” you teased him, running a hand through his hair before letting go of him and stepping back, “Now get up onto that podium.”

Up on the top step, he held his head high, a well-deserved sense of regality to him. Holding his trophy high in the air, he waved to his team below him and when he caught your eye he gave you an excited thumbs up. You waved back at him, taking photos on your phone with your other hand as he crouched down to pick up the champagne.

On the way back through the paddock, George, still clad in his champagne-soaked racesuit, held out the trophy and the oversized champagne bottle to you. You gave him a doubtful look, unsure if you trusted yourself with such valuable items. He just gently nodded at you to take them, and when you did he gave you a pat on the back, smiling brightly.

You continued walking, occasionally having to stop whenever somebody wanted to congratulate George. Eventually, the crowds petered out into just a few members of the various teams going through the paddock.

“Georgie, where do you want to eat tonight?” you asked him - there were quite a few fancy restaurants in the area, and you had also packed a rather elegant dress that you had been waiting for the chance to wear. When you were met with no reply, you turned around, perplexed by George’s silence only to see that he wasn’t by your side anymore.

Instead, he was a metre or two behind, down on one knee, with a little box in his hand.

For a second, you just stood in front of him, utterly stunned at the event that was occuring. When he didn’t make a move to say anything, just kept looking up at you with those hopeful eyes of his, you placed the champagne bottle down in order to have at least one free hand and took a step towards him.

“I know that it’s only been just over a year, but we’ve known each other for our whole lives and I couldn’t wait any longer,” he began, opening the box to reveal an enchanting silver ring with a shining diamond. You gasped, the significance of the situation suddenly hitting you as all the pieces fit together.

“And, you know, I went as far as getting one of the mechanics to hand me the ring on the way to the podium, so you’ve definitely got the evidence that I’m dedicated,” he laughed and you did too, placing a hand on his shoulder as he gave you a wink.

“You had this all planned out?” you asked, shocked at how well-prepared he was.

“Well, yeah, kind of. I told myself that when I finally win my first race then I’ll do it,” he admitted sheepishly, before putting a serious expression back on, “So, will you marry me?”

You didn’t even think twice about your answer. There was no need to.

“Yes! Yes!” you squealed, bouncing around with utter exhilaration as George stood back up and tried to hold your hand still for long enough to put the ring on your finger. He picked you up, no longer concerned in the slightest about the safety of the trophy pressed between your bodies, and immediately started making a beeline towards your car, stumbling through the paddock like a pair of love-struck fools, presumably to go back to the hotel.

He only stopped once, trying his best to stay balanced enough to pick up the champagne from the ground while you incessantly left small kisses on his face and neck. Handing it over to you, he gave you another wink before whispering, “For the celebrations.”

Oh, what a celebration there would be.

----------

At an hour so far past midnight, the majority of the wedding guests had gone home, leaving behind only the closest friends and family. You and George took this as an opportunity for one final dance on the empty dance floor, holding each other close as you swayed rhythmically across the centre of the room.

“Did I tell you that you look beautiful, my love?” he said quietly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Many times today. It’s the first thing you said after I walked down the aisle,” you replied, before adding, “I think you look very dashing, too.”

He chuckled lightly and you looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of your mothers sitting together at a long table, in the room clad with pure white decorations and bordered by enormous windows into the night sky, also occupied by a few other guests such as Emma and a handful of drivers from the grid.

“Do you think that they’re watching us and saying ‘I told you so’ to each other right now?” you joked, and George took a glance behind him to see who you were talking about.

“Oh, absolutely. They definitely placed bets on it back when we were kids or something too, it seems like something they’d do,” he laughed, before allowing a comfortable silence to settle over the two of you as you continued to unhurriedly dance to the music.

There weren’t many - if any - secrets between the two of you, considering how you had grown up together and how you’d somehow managed to become even closer after he had officially asked you out that night in your university flat. However, a small question had gnawed away at you for a while, and you decided that now was the time to spit it out and get an answer.

“Is there anything about us that you regret?”

George gave you a small frown, presumably unsure of what you were implying by that question, before giving a short reply, “Only one thing.”

His reply piqued your curiosity even further, “What is it?”

He took a deep breath and met your eyes with a love-laden gaze, the type that you had once thought only characters in films would ever experience.

“It’s that we’re finally together, and it’s all as perfect as it was in my teenage daydreams, but some part of me wishes I had made a move quicker instead of trying to hide how I felt, so that we could have had it all so much earlier.”

You moved your hand to gently run your fingers through his hair before adding your own contribution to the conversation, “I didn’t realise how I felt until I moved away for university and we couldn’t see each other in person anymore. It made me realise that I didn’t miss you in the same way as I missed some of the other friends I had left behind.”

Your gentle dancing slowed down significantly as George leaned down towards you. “It’s all okay now, though,” he whispered, “After all these years, we’ve finally got each other - officially.”

Smiling like a teenage girl with a crush, you replied, “I never needed an official document or a fancy wedding to know that I’m forever yours,”

“And I’ll always be yours.”

The two of you shared your final kiss of the night against a backdrop of a sky full of stars.

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

a/n: I must admit, writing in past tense after using present tense for all my other fics felt absolutely bizarre. Showbiz, Baby Chapter 3 is coming soon!

#i have a george addiction #george russell #george russell fanfiction #george russell fanfic #george russell imagine #george russell x reader #george russell x y/n #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #gr63

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 3 years

Text

Gloria Regalia Chapter One

Masterlist

Summary: Five. Five familial deaths are what would cause you to become Queen of Sinvir. It would never happen. You’d never take the crown, you rejected the palace. Hated it even! You were simple and wanted a simple life. You wanted to teach. But things change with a single audience with your king.

Warnings: Royal Au, swearing, elitism?, Cancer, Terminal Illness.

A/N: okay so a Royal AU that has been in the works for a long while! Yay! I hope you enjoy what I think will be a different take on the Royal AU! Although Napoleon doesn’t make an appearance in this first chapter, he will be in the second.

Again another shout out to my proof reader @eldarwen333 thank you soo much for your suggestions and help with this you’ve gave me more confidence with my writing and I owe you hun!

Here is a gif for you, despite him not being in this chapter

You looked up at the huge doors. The oak inlaid with scrolling wrought iron and decorative little fiddly bits. They were the doors to the private chambers of the king of Sinvir, his majesty King Theodor. Uncle Theodor.

You shivered. You did not like being here, everything was too... Stiff? Protocol was everything and you just didn't like it. You eyed the doors, two guards stood on either side, in dark emerald green that was so dark in the low light it almost appeared black. It was the centuries old colour of the royal guards, almost three hundred years ago an ancestor king had changed the colour from typical red to the emerald reminiscent of his mistresses’ eyes. It had been a move to spite his queen- who'd had his mistress killed. A gruesome story but the reason for the odd colour choice for the uniform.

The guards were tall and lithe, standing with straight backs, blank forward-facing stare that made you very uncomfortable. But for how uncomfortable the breathing statues were, you were thankful for them, this was the palace. And these were the doors people very rarely walked through. And these guards made sure of it.

You didn't want to be here. You didn't enjoy being at the palace even in the brightest of festivities. But you had been summoned. You were royal. Or as you liked to say 'royal by birth'. You were a princess but not. It was complicated. You were the niece of the king, nothing more, nothing less. But you had rejected the cushy life that the crown offered and decided to break away and live your own life. You detested the whole thing; puffy dresses, jewels and trophy spouses.

Ugh. No. Not that it mattered. You were far from the top, sixth in line. Thankfully because of that you had managed to escape the whole royal gig. You had four older siblings that greedily took on duties. You opted for a quiet life, only attending royal gatherings when absolutely necessary. And when you said necessary, you meant when rumours of your demise started appearing. You’d be surprised how many times you’d 'died' and come back like a saint. Three by your count, maybe more, you weren’t entirely sure, you didn’t follow the tabloids and gossip blogs much. As a royal it was best to avoid them. It was true what they say: ignorance was bliss.

You wanted to become a historian and eventually teach in a university, much like the one you were studying at. Yes, you were currently a student going through your degree. You rented a small apartment in the capital city of Vellian. And had a decent but quiet life, you didn't care for riches or status. You just wanted to be happy and have as normal a life as you could. You were lucky enough to have a roommate- your best friend in the entire world, Vincent. Or Vinny as he preferred, and had been a friend through school, he was more a brother to you then your own actual brothers!

But then you got the summons, something was happening. And it was something big. No one was ever summoned by King Theodore on such short notice not unless you had done something extremely wrong and were about to be ripped a new one and have your allowance cut.

Not that you had much of an allowance. The crown paid for your schooling and accommodations, but that was it. Food and bills? They were your responsibility, so you worked around your classes. People found it strange getting their morning coffee served by a princess but after a while it was just the norm. Occasionally you get a few newcomers who would stare at you for a few minutes, then flush and stutter as they remembered where they recognised you from and bow making you chuckle and point to your name tag uttering, “Nope, not today- on shift I’m just Odette, now what can I get you?”

You smiled, you’d had one of those today, it always made you chuckle a little. You liked the surprise, the way the public seemed to realise in that very moment royals were actually real-life human beings?

"Odette? God, I never thought I'd catch you back here," the nasal voice of your eldest brother called out from behind you. His Louis Vuitton trunks being carried by servants into his quarters that were just down the hall from the king’s own chambers. He lived at the palace, well, free-loaded. He was forty and had a god-complex and yes, that made him an asshole. All your siblings were! Full of themselves and thinking they were gods gift because they fell out of your princess mother and were born into money.

"Jasper, lovely to see you too," you smiled tightly. If you never saw your brother again, it would be all too soon. You spun to face him and noted the disgust on his face as he glances you up and down. Some simple grey trainers, work out leggings and an oversized hoody. Not exactly palace attire, but when you say you'd been summoned, what you actually meant was a member of the royal 'special service' had caught you on your afternoon run around the campus park and informed you that the king wanted to see you. Now. You'd been sceptical but quickly agreed once your code name 'firefly' had been used. The code name was top secret and used to determine true crown special service employees. Within twenty minutes you were here.

"Yes indeed, it’s been too long sister," he said, scrunching his nose at you and scoffing, wiping down his own ridiculous penguin suit and picking at his nails like a primadonna.

"Not long enough," you grunted and spun around from him facing the doors praying you'd be called in and saved from your brother’s company.

"Ah yes, that old sardonic underdog spirit! How I've missed your bleeding heart." You sneered but quickly covered it with an angered smile. Tight and fierce, by God you hated him. He truly thought he was god’s gift, he had a huge ego that woman liked to stroke... And ride. Not that your brother was any good, mind you, not even the promise of queendom has managed to keep a woman at his side. And that spoke volumes. He remained in the palace because one day he will own it, what's the point in moving out if he will move back in after your uncle and father’s death? He was just waiting around for the pretty hat.

"Seriously though, what are you doing here? You avoid the palace like the plague," he grunted striding up beside you, laughing out of the side of his mouth. He laughed at everyone; he couldn't help himself he was a little boy. Sniggering and cruel.

"Not that it is any of your business, but I was summoned for an audience with his majesty," you drawled out at him, internally willing him away. He wasn’t asking about you out of concern, he was just nosey and gossip was his thing. Gossip and blackmail.

"What? By- alone?! What for? Could it be the little pauper is finally being brought to heel?" You ground your teeth. Little pauper. The nasty nickname given to you because you wanted to do more with your life then cut ribbons and drain the royal coppers dry simply for being born in the right family.

"I don't know, Jasper," you snipped, standing tall, eyes forward not looking at your brother who grew agitated by the lack of information.

"Have you done something?" he tried again, making you pause, tilting your head towards him in thought. He almost sounded desperate, more needy than usual. Jasper always wanted to know everything, he was nosey and managed to have his fingers in everyone’s business. But not this time, it was odd.

"Not that I'm aware of," you said quietly. You honestly didn't know what was going on. You hoped the king and your father wanted a quiet afternoon tea to catch up and discuss your studies... But in this family? You doubted it. If a phone call could suffice, then they would call because they knew of your dislike for the palace.

"Well think, surely you have no business being here!" You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they'd roll out of your head and shifted on your feet turning to face him fully with a huge sigh. He really wasn’t going to leave without a quick little spat.

"You sound offended, Jas, perhaps he just cares for me," you shrugged not the least bit interested in this little tit for tat bitching he craved. But then you supposed it was rare he got the chance to be a little bitch with people. Father didn’t put up with it and your siblings were of the same mind so he never bothered. Everyone else was too frightened to say boo to him without getting the 'Do YoU KnOw WhO I Am?!' hissy fit.

"Why would he bother with you, sixth, it’s not like he needs to waste his time on you and your silly little degree. He should focus on us more useful members to impart lessons," he snipped, trying to insult you with the nick name 'sixth', trying to remind you of your station because god forbid you ever forgot.

Seriously though the nicknames pissed you off. But each sibling had given you one. Pauper, sixth, peasant and lastly, hedge. Derived from the term hedge-born, an old slang term for commoner. Though they couldn't add the born to the end, simply because that would insult their own birth! And they couldn't have that.

"Oh Jazzy, you poor boy, don’t be jealous. I'm sure the grown-ups will find time for you also," you cooed at him sarcastically watching as his anger increased and he became an unsightly red hue.

"Jealous? Of you? Don’t make me laugh," he growled, then gave a dramatic laugh exaggerating it too much even for a slimy shit such as himself. You huffed and gave him a level stare.

"Well, you seem awfully upset about my meeting with his majesty. Sweet little princeling doesn't know what’s going on, does he?" you teased condescendingly at him, watching as he fumed once he snorted like the raging bull he thought he was. You smirked and rocked on the balls of your feet and spun to face the doors once more. Mission accomplished.

"I know more than you," he snarled out, making you hum and giggle to yourself. Honestly, he was too easy to annoy. Shit at his own game because hardly anyone would play it with him.

"Apparently not, otherwise you'd know why I'm here. I would have thought the great second would know why such a lowly sixth would be here in the palace. After all you live here, I thought you made a point to know everything?" you teased throwing in a few little jabs at him. Because you might as well have a little fun with him whilst here. Your amusement was short lived and he lunged towards you grasping an arm making you hiss and try to pull away, but he held firm and jerked you towards him before hissing in your ear.

"I'd be careful, sister. Do not antagonise me." You scoffed at the threat and relaxed in his hold knowing he wanted a struggle. He was cruel like that, enjoyed tormenting others. You’d watched him as a child as he revelled in cruelty. Had he been outside of the royal family he'd have been a murderer you were sure of it. Instead, he entertained himself in blood sport. It had only been the past year he had refrained from travelling overseas for trophy hunts.

"Oooh, creepy vague threats. Tell me, what are you going to do, Jazz? You can’t do anything," you teased, grinning at him, knowing how to push his buttons and make him really mad.

"Yet, sister, but things change and fortunes fade fast around here. You never know when that tongue of yours could mouth off to the wrong brother. You should prepare yourself because the tides are turning" he said and pushed you away from him with a nasty gleam in his eye. You frowned at him, something in his words struck a chord.

"What do you mean-" you made to ask but the large oak doors opened with a creek and rattle of the ancient door handle.

"Princess? His majesty will see you now." You stayed put for a second eyeing your brother, but he scoffed and stepped back from you smirking before spinning on his heels and walked off. You slowly stepped to the open door and thanked the servant. You would find out in time but for now you had to think of yourself, and whatever you have done to wind up here.

You walked through the opulent rooms and were led to the grand sitting room. Your uncle was sitting on a large arm chair pulled next to a table with breakfast pastries on it. There was a small blanket over his legs and a house coat around him. You froze as you saw him. He looked ill. Too ill. Thin and spindly, frail and older than you'd last seen him.

"Ah there she is, my little Firefly!" you winced as he spoke. His voice was rough and quiet, only adding to the severity of his sickly form. But somehow, he still held the deep regal tone, his voice was pure authority.

"Majesty," you said, dipping down into your well-practiced curtsy and held there until instructed to move.

"Gosh, stand up girl, let us get a look at you," your father called out to you. You jolted and stood as your father came from the direction of the bathroom, still wiping his damp hands with a towel and took a seat across from his brother.

"Come sit, we have tea and cakes, raspberry, your favourite," the king wheezed, motioning you to take a seat to his right and your father’s left. You sat down slowly but couldn't take your eyes off the king. It had been a few years since you'd been here, thankfully he had left you in peace and let you out of many social engagements.

You sat there uneasily for a few seconds and noticed both men’s tense forms. It was clear something was going on but you didn’t know exactly what. But the severe atmosphere in the room only grew as you made your tea, pouring yourself out a large cup. Something tells you you'll need it. Possibly something stronger.

"What's wrong? What’s going on?" you spoke quietly, trying not to stare at the clearly sick monarch. You didn’t want to see it; you didn’t want to think of the implications of the illness he was clearly suffering from.

"Nothing gets past you, does it, my girl?" your father spoke jovially trying to lighten the mood but failed miserably, his chuckles dying off fairly quickly and he heaved a sigh. Your uncle broke the silence and your fathers hand slid to yours under the table and squeezed your fingers tightly trying to reassure you.

"I have summoned you here to discuss something that... is very serious and the outcome will change the lives of many people. Millions. This is something... I wished I could hold off but I'm afraid I cannot, Firefly." You bit your lip and braced yourself. This was bad news, you could tell. A part of you thought for a moment of marriage, your gut churned at the thought and you felt sick all of a sudden. Were you being married off as a pawn? It was likely, it still happened even in this day and age, it was just covered up with fairy tale romance. Story book meetings and courtships, when in reality you were told that you’re to marry and that was the end of it.

"Odette, you are royalty. You were born into a royal blood line that has ruled over this kingdom for nearly six centuries. And now it is time for you to take your place within it and do your duty," your father stated in his 'work' voice. For the time being he was not your father, he was a prince. First heir to the throne and head of your family unit. And you were to listen and obey.

"You want to give me duties as a working royal?" you said sitting straighter only quivering slightly. You dreaded this, the publicity, the duty and responsibility that you'd managed to avoid so far. But you knew one day you would have to take your place.

"Yes, dear. We need you. Now," your father said urgently, but there was something off. Like he was holding back, fearfully in a sense and it was not like him.

"Of course, I will. Father, I'm no fool, I understand what my position requires of me and I will serve my country. You need only ask and I will obey. I only ask that I be given time to sort things out with the university. Security and such would need to be increased if they are having a working royal on campus-" you rattled off speaking out loud as you tried to gather your thoughts. Listing in your head what would need to change, classes and job commitments would have to be tweaked and you might have to look for a home that could become more secure.

"I'm afraid it’s not as simple as that we... are asking you to put your studying off," your uncle interrupted you, making you frown. What? You furrowed your brow and made to shake your head but paused. It made sense. If you were to come and take on duties, then the media may go wild and cause an uproar. They could cause issues on campus

"How long for?" you asked softly, frowning at the prospect of pausing in your actual final year of your degree. It didn’t sit well with you, but you had to make sacrifices.

"Indefinitely." You froze, silence reigned over the room as you took on board what your father said. What they were telling you. You blinked and then looked between the two of them with a frown.

"Wh-what? Why, I just- I don’t have long left, I just- Why?" you spoke quietly, quickly feeling hurt anger bubbling in your chest. You didn’t want to fall at the final hurdle. You always knew becoming a professor was a bit of a pipe dream but you’d believed that your family would at least allow you to complete a degree even if it was for appearances sake. To prove that the royals were not stupid.

"I understand but your first duty is to your country, you have always understood this. Though you try to pretend otherwise, you are a princess. And your position requires sacrifice,” your father spoke, eyeing you sternly trying to cut off any arguments or tempers flaring. You were your mother’s daughter and inherited not just her flaming locks but the tenacious character she was famous for. Your mother had a temper but used it elegantly, shutting down any who dared cross her. It was a gift. One that you two shared.

"But- I don’t understand? Jasper, Eleanor? Hell even Colton and Finnigan and their stupid b-tec's! They all got to finish their studies and suddenly I can’t-" you said enraged by the inequality, the favouritism being shown and ready to go toe to toe with your father over your education, the education you’d worked hard for!

"Jasper and Eleanor are different, older and were able to finish their studies before- I’m sorry, Odette, this is bad timing I know, but we thought we had more time," your father tried to calm you, speaking slowly and evenly to you, trying his hardest to endure your temper. He had anticipated this; you were passionate about your studies. And he hated having to take that away from you, but you all had your own destinies. Your number had been called and it was time to answer.

"More time for what?! This is unfair and you know it! I worked hard for my place- unlike the others I got in by merit, and now I have to give it up at the last minute? Why? What’s so bloody important!?" Your words were desperate, a mix of pleading and arguing. You tried to hold your tongue but your entire future, hopes and dreams were suddenly being ripped from you. It was a devastating blow. Your voice grew higher and more irate as your words seemed to wash over your father. You twisted glancing at you uncle and father then back again trying to make them see reason, or at least give you an answer. A reason as to why you were suddenly being uprooted from your life and thrown into the royal circus. And then suddenly your torrent of pleading demands was silenced with three sylables.

"I'm dying." The two words fell from the king’s lips effortlessly. Spoken calmly in such a way that you instantly knew he had known for some time, enough time to make peace with it. But as calm as he was, you were shattered. Your whole world came to a screeching halt, the fire in your belly died. No. No? He couldn’t die! He was the king! He just... He had always been around!

"W-what?" you squeaked out, barely breathing as the room spun. There were no other words or thoughts just what and why?

"I'm dying, and do not have much longer left." You flicked your gaze to him then your father shaking your head. No. No, no, it can’t be!? There has to be a mistake, he was the king! He had the best doctors in the country! He wasn’t supposed to die

"No- no, I, what do you mean?" you asked stupidly, hands quivering as you rested them on the table.

"Even a king is human, dear... And I am old.. I have cancer and I'm losing my fight, I'm currently surviving on a mix of pills, but... I'm going to be put on a driver soon, my morphine is no longer enough." You gaped at your uncle, amazed at how matter of fact he was about the end of his life.

"D-driver?" you whispered, not fully understanding what was meant by that. Your father sucked in a breath through his teeth and leaned towards you, placing a hand to your back and rubbed it lightly in soothing circles.

"The black box, love...Like your mother," he prompted. You broke. Quickly covering your mouth shaking your head. You knew what that was. The black box, the final thing given to a patient on palliative care. A constant 24-hour supply of medicine that was in itself a sign of the end of the road. The final stage and people rarely lasted longer than a week with one on. The box didn’t kill you, but it was given in the final weeks of life. Once the box was on, it did not come off.

"O-oh my god no-you, this can’t be happening- this is what Jasper meant?!" you heaved, gulping deep breaths. Of all things you expected, this was not it! And it made sense, you needed to take up royal duties after the king’s passing, that’s what this was about, they were preparing for your father to ascend the throne.

"Jasper? What has he said?" your uncle asked, trying to calm you as you took in the shocking news.

"That I shouldn't antagonise him, it- he was threatening- That I should bite my tongue because I'd regret it, that things will change. It's succession, isn’t it? He is going to be... he will inherit the crown... Is that why I’m here? To be told of the impending shit storm?!" you panicked, eyes darting from the king to your dad.

"Yes and no... While Jasper is right that things will change... And for once the princeling has proven useful and done me a favour by bringing up the issues of my succession... Little does he know, however, that he will not be king, not now. Not ever. Not if I can help it." The severity in your uncle’s raspy voice was enough to halt you. Your brother will not be king?

"As you know, your aunt and cousin’s passing mean the next in line is your father, however, he too is old. I believe it would shorten what life he has left. So, I’ve decided I will choose my heir. Crown them before my death so there are no arguments," your uncle explained, but you couldn’t help feel there was more to it, that he was slowly drip feeding you information, testing the waters watching for your reaction.

"So then, Jasper?" you asked confused, squinting not really following where your uncle and father were going with this chit chat.

"Would not be a wise choice. I am well aware of his... backhand business deals he has made while he's been waiting for me to pop my clogs." The king’s voice became dark, a hiss as he thought of all the things the boy had planned once he was king. How he'd all but destroy the great nation for something as common as money. It disgusted him. Jasper had no idea the king had been spying on him. And this was the best route, both he and your father agreed who was the single good seed of the bunch. Your rule would be glorious, your queendom would change the nation and quite possibly the world, it was just a shame he'd not be alive to see it.

"We think it'd be best to have young blood on the throne. Someone who can represent the new world and younger generations...Who can lead us into a new era," your father spoke giddy, like a child he was excited to see the great things you’d accomplish once you accepted... you would accept there was no doubt! You would take the crown to save the people from your older sibling’s cruelty. They were certain.

"Firefly... Do you understand what we're saying?" Your uncle leant forward before a violent cough tore through him. You rushed holding his cup to him, helping him take a sip and ease the coughing fit.

"You’re... looking for your replacement?" you uttered almost silently, a whisper- a breath of words almost saying them to yourself trying to let their meaning settle. A new monarch. A new king or queen out of your siblings that would rule with absolute power. It was frightening. Would they marry you off? Send you away to a hideous old husband to the farthest corner of the country?

"No, no, dear... I’ve already decided," he uttered shifting placing both hands on yours and squeezed tightly with intent, trying to make you understand without needing to say the words.

"What does this have to do with ...oh... fuck" you frowned, already answering him, eyes flicking to your uncle. The moment your eyes locked with his, the penny dropped and your world came to a screeching halt. They meant you. The royal pauper, sweet little sixth in line. Your uncle smirked chuckling; your father shaking his head, turning to the window trying not to scoff. Trust his youngest to curse when offered the throne.

"Oh fuck, indeed child... your assumptions are correct. I intend on naming you my successor, Odette.” With those fateful words, your blood ran cold, you tensed and fell completely silent, soaking in the words. You? Queen? You... a university student aiming to become a history professor. No. Not a chance in hell!

"You- ME?! WHAT?! I- no, I can’t do that!" you screeched suddenly blowing your top. Your father and uncle merely sipped their tea not even batting an eyelash at your outburst: they had been expecting it. You shook in your seat at the seriousness of the request and became quiet. Somewhere in the back of your mind you were still hoping for one of them to start laughing and reveal it was a joke.

"Shh shh, calm down- don't make such a fuss... Now here drink some tea," your father said after watching you for a few moments, seeing you’d frozen, lost in your frantic thoughts.

“I can’t- I’m sixth, it- I’m not supposed to- I can’t, uncle, that- this is madness," you babbled, mixing your words and waving your hand about only to finally rest your palm against your forehead, smoothing your hair back and leaning back to look at the high ceiling, pinching the bridge of your nose then heaving a few deep breaths.

Your uncle eyed you slowly before helping himself to one of the pastries on the cake stand and began slowly pulling at it, tearing off small pieces and eating in silence, waiting for you to have a few moments to collect yourself.

Once your breathing settled you looked back towards the two men uneasily. Your father motioned for you to drink your tea, as your uncle swallowed his mouthful and began speaking.

"This has always been the plan, Odette. Since Joseph died, it was always going to be one of you, and your siblings knew. They fought tooth and nail with one another knowing the crown will pass to them. You did not make them your enemies. You left." He began giving you his reasoning behind this monumental decision. You sipped your tea and cringed slightly, there was a nauseating feeling settling in your tummy, making the sweet tea bitter. Anxiety souring your taste.

"You do your duties when asked without a fuss, you carry yourself as a true royal should with the humility and grace necessary for such a title. You do not fight and argue for more publicity or money. Nor did you turn on your siblings like a rabid dog," the king’s words washed over you, easing you slightly. He was telling the truth: you hadn’t stuck around and been a part of the shit show aftermath. Your siblings all felt entitled and were determined to blow the others out of the water for succession.

"You’re the best candidate- I dread to think what would come of this monarchy if your siblings took over. You've been away from the palace, lived alone among your own subjects. You’re unbiased, genuine and kind and people will see that. Please, I need to leave this world knowing that our family will thrive," your uncle praised, trying to reassure you, but your doubts had already dug their cold razor-sharp claws into you and were slowly tearing into your mind.

"They will hate me," you uttered breathlessly, an almost silent creeping crack. The first weak point in the dam that was about to break and let your fears spill across the table in front of you.

"Who? Who will hate you, Firefly?" Your uncle’s words were tender, softly spoken, trying not to break the moment of honesty, yet still pull the truth from you, needing to talk down whatever anxiety-fuelled fears you had.

You twisted in your seat looking your uncle dead in the eye as your own glistened with unshed tears as the gravity of your situation dawned on you. A terrifying ten tonne weight dangling above you, ready to land on your shoulders and try to crush you.

"The people! My siblings, everyone, I can’t do this- I’m not strong enough not... Snooty enough to do this," your voice carried with a high frantic cry. The shame settled into your bones as you gave life to the terror, as if you handed the doubts a power, given them a hold over you just by uttering them aloud.

"The people cannot hate one of their own. And the fact you aren’t snooty is why I’ve chosen you. It’s time for change, a new age! Dear girl, I want you to take over because you will make this country your own! Rule with peace and understanding. You have lived among the people, Odette, seen reality and in doing that you can help them," the king explained with certainty, carefully spinning his words to try and make you see reason. He needed you to overcome your panic, to see the bigger picture and understand why you were being offered this and not the others. This was your final test in a long line of many. He just hoped you’d take the bull by the horns... or crown by the jewels.

Your father remained quiet as he saw his brother manage to break through the initial panic. And settle you, forcing you to take a moment to analyse his reasoning. At hearing your breathless whisper about your siblings was the moment he decided to added his own input... though his was much less refined than the king’s.

"Your siblings are cruel and vicious snakes- oh, don’t look surprised, child, I’m your father, I know a bad seed when I see one, even if they are mine... But you? You’re my saving grace. You are kind, honest and realistic, you try not to hurt or anger anyone. But you’re firm and have a stubbornness that will see you in good stead. People love you wherever you go." You paused, locking eyes with your father. You could see the way the truth pained him and the shame that came with the admission.

"I... It’s a big responsibility, dad... Do you think I can? That I could... Make it work... Be accepted?" The self-doubt poured from you without warning. Every fear settling into one tiny sentence.

"I believe that you are the strongest of my children and that you can do anything you put your mind too. You have already swum against the tide love, you are the only child that inherited your mother’s heart, you have her temperament too. You’re a true firecracker and stand up for what you believe in and I truly believe you would make a fine queen and rule with your people’s best interests at heart."

"And my siblings won’t? They could surprise you," you offered weakly, already feeling the shift. The tide turning, ushering you down the path you knew your mind was made up. You just needed that final push to admit it out loud.

"The only way they surprise me, is by how incredibly conceited and vicious they are. Their cruelty and vain elitism would ruin centuries of fair and just rule" your uncle’s words were poisonous and sharp. For a moment the veneer slipped and he showed his true feelings for the so-called family that all wished him into an early grave for their own sakes.

"You can refuse, of course, we won’t force you, but... I want you to think long and hard about it first... Think of your people and how they would fair under the rule of Jasper or Eleanor, even Finnegan and Colton." You paused, taking a moment to consider your next move. You had no desire for the crown. As far as you were concerned it was nothing but a ball and chain, imprisoning you into a lifelong theatre production. You wanted freedom, love, a husband, children, a career! You wanted to make your own money, choose your own course. You’d have to refuse if you wanted that.

You doubt Jasper would leave you be if he became king. Hell, he'd ship you off to Teilaan to marry that snotty little ginger duke Humphrey! You’d already been teased about it over and over as a teen? Jasper and Eleanor always pointing him out to you, imploring you to go and dance with your future husband.

But this wasn’t even just about that, as uncomfortable as that would be, but what about the subjects? Your father was right: the elitism and disregard your siblings had for the working class was unnerving. They would suffer, the idea of millions of people's livelihoods relying on the whims of your brothers and sister shook you to your very core.

"As I said, you do not have to answer now-" your uncle began, snapping you out of your deep thoughts.

"I'll do it," you said, jerking your head towards him holding eye contact letting him know you were serious. His eyes widened and for a moment he gaped at you waiting for you to correct yourself. When you didn’t, he managed to clear his throat shocked but still trying to make sure you knew you didn’t have to take the throne and responsibilities that came with it no one was going to force you. The room fell into another deafening silence, for a moment you’d thought you’d done the wrong thing as looks were cast across the table.

----------5

"Wha- don't you want to think it over?" your father cut in trying to make sure this wasn’t a rash spare of the moment decision. You pondered your own thoughts wanting to make sure it wasn’t a snap decision. In your head, weighing up the pros and cons. But you were sure of your choice. With a tilt of your head, you looked from one man to the other.

"No. I've felt the cruelty of my siblings, it’s why I left... The people don’t need to feel their wrath or their disinterested attitude. I will see this as protecting the realm, which is every royal’s first and only duty. They come first. So... I-I accept, uncle, I will ascend whenever you want me to," you summarised whilst shaking slightly as the weighted decision began to settle.

But your uncle soon fought of any more agonising what if's by plucking up your hand clutching it in both of his, pulling your knuckles to his face pressing a kiss to it.

"Thank you, Odette... I mean it, truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your countrymen will never know of what you have spared them," he uttered lowly, his weak voice almost cracking, eyes welling with tears as relief washed over him. You could see it: his heart became lighter and he seemed ridiculously grateful.

"And the sacrifice you have just made is a clear sign that you will be a wonderful queen, dear... Brother, if you could-" the king finished, managing to hold back his tears and cleared his throat of the soft sob that had tried to escape. You’d never know how much it means to him to have you accept. Your decision meant he had fulfilled his one and only duty in life. Protect his people. He knew that with you as queen, he could truly rest in peace.

"They have been called already and will be here tomorrow," your father answered cutting off the question, already knowing his brother’s plans and had proceeded accordingly.

"We will announce the news that a successor has been selected and then arrange a press conference. You must also prepare a speech to address the nation as their new future queen," your uncle began explaining, taking certain no time was wasted. He wanted this settled as soon as possible, he had no time to dawdle.

"O-oh okay... Okay, a speech and- what about my stuff? Should I? I don’t... know what to do," you nodded, standing slowly and hovered for a moment, tapping the table sighing, blinking down at your uncle nervously unsure what to do or where to go from here.

He smiled up at you, it was obvious you were a little shell-shocked and unsure how to go about this new revelation.

"Firefly, return home with a security escort- you cannot be without it ever, do you understand? You will be chaperoned everywhere; you must not stray, you must not dally. You will use the royal cars and there will be no more classes." He began outlining the new rules you would adhere to. You nodded blankly just agreeing with him, after all he did know best. He relaxed and released a sigh shaking his head in relief when you didn’t fight him on the suggestions.

"You'll leave here to go home and pack some bags, then return here tonight. The rest will be retrieved in due course. For now, you need to get ready to move back into the palace for your own privacy and wellbeing," he continued giving you a plan, nudging you into the right direction.

"Okay yes- I... I understand," you swallowed nodding, drawing a deep breath, straightening your stance as you felt more confident with what you had to do.

"Good girl. Now we will let you go, I’m sure you have much to do. Later tonight we will go over some legalities," he said, nodding to the door indicating you could leave if you wished. You followed his gaze but paused as his final statement resounded in your ears.

"Legal?" you uttered, snapping your attention back to the two men, puzzled. For a moment you were alarmed by the word. Legalities usually meant bad things, red tape and scandal. Your father chuckled shaking his head before speaking, soothing your fears.

"Yes, there is protocol for this, old but binding. Fear not, you just have to sign a few contracts with official legal jargon. Mainly it’s a statement of intent. Swearing an oath confirming you understand what’s being asked of you and that you accept the mantle of queendom at the time of your uncle’s choosing or death, whichever comes sooner." You nodded along dumbly, flushing feeling a little silly. Of course, there were papers to sign and oaths to take. It had just slipped your mind. Your father patted your arm lightly with a playful mirth watching the realisation wash over you.

"Now off you go. I will see you tonight, Firefly, and please do not tell a soul, you would be swamped and we don’t want to risk anything happening before your protection detail is set up." With the king’s final words, you began crossing the space to the door but stopped just short pivoting once more.

"What-what about Vinny? What should I say? He is a brother to me- been alongside me for years, since before I left," your words trailed off, falling from your tongue before you could rethink them or even consider what you meant by them, or the repercussions.

"Vincent? Your housemate? He is different, he has been trustworthy and held our secrets for years... Bring him here. You’ll need a friend," with these words you slumped, almost melting on the spot as the realisation hit you. They won’t force you to be alone, your father and uncle don’t expect you to be superhuman and go through this impending shitstorm alone. They knew you'd need someone else to lean on. Someone who could help ease the burden with laughter and genuine friendship, someone that you could remain yourself around.

"Here? To stay in the palace? But... but only you can do that," you began double checking, you wanted to be sure before dragging your long-time best friend into the palace with you.

"You are to be queen within weeks, Firefly. As far as me, your father or everyone is concerned, your word is already law. The servants and guards are already aware you are to be obeyed completely." The king gruffed out a wheezing laugh as he spoke, and you could guess why. Your face must have been a sight, wide eyed and gaping, stuttering jaw rising and falling like a fish out of water.

"W-what? But how?" Your high-pitched squealing voice even made you wince. The shrill words confused, astonished and panicked. Your father bellowed deep belly laughs and waved you off with a shrug.

"Simple. I know my daughter. You'd never turn your back on your people when you can save them. Especially from your siblings’ wrath. You know more than most just how crooked they are. Spoiled eggs, the lot of them. Now you really must go. Quickly, and remember everything is at your disposal. Everything." Your father’s words held a stern truth and firm finality. You swallowed dryly and nodded once more, tipping your head in respect to the two men before exiting the room.

Your breaths were shaky as you glided through the royal apartment and reached the corridor. A small group of six suit clad guards flanked you as you began to make your way towards the entrance. You were relieved to see Jace out front waiting, your body guard and long-term friend for years.

He smiled reassuringly to you as he opened the door to the car letting you take a seat. You couldn’t help thinking he knew. There was something telling in the quirk of him lips, the mirth in his eyes. Calming, telling you everything would be fine without needing to utter a single word.

Within moments you were being driven to the gates, two more cars following.

"Highness, your headphones are in the door pocket. We need to take a less direct route." You faltered, meeting the dark green eyes of the man. It was then you knew without a doubt he was aware. Never once did he ever call you your highness, not since you ordered him not to all those years ago. You drew a deep breath and nodded in both confirmation and understanding. He responded with another gentle grin.

Your hands quickly sought out the headphones deciding you would drown out your thoughts with music during the ride. You could collect your thoughts later on tonight, for now you will take a few moments to unwind and dwell on the immediate to-do list. Get home. Pack. Inform Vince and then return to the palace tonight.

#henry cavill x reader #napoleon solo #napoleon solo x reader #Royal AU #cavillry #henry cavill #napoleon solo imagine #oh for fic sake #fic: Gloria Regalia

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