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calpalirwin · 5 years

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You’ll Always Have Me

Summary: Alyssa and Ashton have been best friends ever since Alyssa moved in across the street the summer before second grade. Together, they were tackling the stereotype that boys and girls can’t just be friends. That is, until they almost kissed right before their junior year of high school. Can their friendship survive the jealousy that stems from their newfound feelings? And what happens when they realize these “newfound feelings” really aren’t all that new?

And away, and away we go!

Chapter 7

~Ashton~

“Is that how you and Aly always act?” Kayla asked me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Alyssa,” I corrected. “And yeah, I guess. Why?”

“You just seem really close, that’s all.”

“Well, yeah. She’s been my best friend since second grade.”

“I thought Luke was your best friend.”

“Luke’s my best guy friend. Aly’s my best girl friend.”

“Oh…”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” I had a feeling she was, but I wanted her to actually admit it.

She shrugged. “Should I be?”

I laughed. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t a guy just be friends with a girl? Because at some point it comes romantic, doesn’t it, Ash? I thought to myself before pushing it away. That’s bull. I’m friends with Si and she’s a girl, too. Easier to be friends with a girl when 1.) she’s dating your best guy friend and 2.) you’re already in love with another girl. I’m not in love with Aly. You sure? Shut up! My thoughts battled each other. “No, babe. Aly and I are just friends.”

“If you say so…” her voice seemed both accepting and skeptical.

Her phone buzzed before I could respond, which was probably for the best. “That’s my alarm for curfew. I gotta go.” She kissed my cheek before dashing out the door.

I let out my breath in a huff before pushing myself off my bed. I found my dad sitting on the couch watching TV. I flopped down next to him.

“Girl troubles?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged, “Fuck if I know.”

He sucked his air in between his teeth. “That’s rough.”

“It’s stupid. I think Aly and Kay are jealous of each other.”

“Ah, the girlfriend/best friend dilemma. Those are fun…”

“But, it’s stupid, right? Like if Aly really likes me that way, then why can’t she just tell me?”

“It’s not that easy, Ashton. I mean, have you told Alyssa that you like her that way?”

I looked at him in surprise. “What?!”

“Oh, come on, kid. You’ve been in love with that girl since you were eight. Anyone could see that.”

“Yeah, everyone except Aly…”

My dad chuckled. “Oh, she knows, too. She just won’t admit it.”

“That’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“Is it, though? Think about it. Why haven’t you told Aly you like her?”

“Because it’ll ruin everything.”

“Will it, though?”

“It will if she doesn’t feel the same.”

“And, I’d bet good money that she’s thinking the same thing. Classic stalemate.”

“So, I’m just supposed to date other girls and deal with Aly’s jealousy until the end of time?”

“Yep. And she’ll deal with yours.”

“You know, you’re really helpful, Pops. Telling your son he’s gonna be miserable forever.”

My dad shrugged. “Ashton, you’re seventeen. Nobody has it figured it out at seventeen. That’s part of the fun. Enjoy it. And if you’re really that miserable, then rest assured, seventeen doesn’t last forever.”

“I’m not really miserable. It’s just…”

“Girls. I know. They make us crazy, son. And we’ll let them do it every damned time.”

The next morning I was more than determined to act unbothered by the jealousy between Aly and Kayla. If they wanted to act crazy, then they could act crazy. I was just gonna keep being me, which meant being Aly’s best friend and Kayla’s boyfriend.

What I hadn’t planned on was Aly ensuring her own way of acting unbothered. She was already at our table with Calum Fuckin Hood- the lab partner she totally wasn’t seeing- laughing. I flung my backpack down on the table, interrupting their joke fest.

“Hey,” Aly greeted, reaching out to give me a hug.

I crossed my arms, closing myself off to her. I could see myself do it and see how she tried to mask the hurt, but I couldn’t stop myself from being a jerk. You have no right to act like this, I scolded myself, you’re the one who starting dating someone first. And yet, the irrational part of my brain was pissed because I had only gotten with Kayla because Kayla had shown an interest in kissing me, unlike Aly. Which sucked because I actually got along Hood; we’d been on the same soccer team almost as long as I’d been friends with Aly.

Aly was quick to recover from my blow-off. “Cal was helping me finish up the lab report for Anatomy,” she said, trying to give an excuse for why she was with him in the first place.

“Good for him,” I replied, echoing the words she had told me when I told her that he liked her.

“Fuck you, Ash,” Aly said, finally having enough of my shit, which I still couldn’t stop.

“What?” I asked, feigning innocence, even though I knew I deserved a lot worse than “Fuck you, Ash,” which was pretty tame by Aly standards.

“Uh… I should go…” Calum said, looking really uncomfortable.

“Cal, no. You don’t have to-” Aly started.

“Yeah, see ya, Hood,” I said.

“I’ll see ya in Anatomy,” he told her, grabbing his bag and leaving.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Aly rounded on me. She shoved me in the chest and I had to take a step back to steady myself. “You. Complete. Ass!” she growled, shoving me after every word. “Who the hell do you think you are, Irwin?!”

Her calling me by my last name was enough to snap me out of my asshole state. Much like me calling her anything other than “Aly”, her calling me anything besides “Ash” was a sign of a line seriously crossed. “Sorry, okay?” I said, holding up my hands defensively.

“Damn right, you’re sorry! What the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t have a monopoly on me!”

“I thought you said you weren’t dating him,” I said, turning to conversation to put the blame on her.

“I’m not! God, if you would actually fuckin listen for once! We’re lab partners, you dense fuck!” She reached over the table to grab what was there- a lab report- and flung it at my face. The fight was leaving her, but her chocolate colored eyes were still hard as stone.

“Sorry,” I said, this time meaning it. “I thought…”

“Thought what? That I lied to you? That I was trying to make you jealous?”

“Maybe…?”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re jealous of Kay?”

“You think I’m jealous of Kayla? Ha!”

“Alright, I’m an asshole and an idiot. I get it.”

“Yeah, you are. I’m not jealous of Kayla, okay? That’s stupid. I mean, I’m not gonna start going to the mall with her or anything, but I don’t hate her. You’re allowed to date whoever the fuck you want. I don’t care.”

“Well, if you wanted to date Calum, I mean, I guess that’d be okay.”

“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes before giving me a final shove.

I knew she was still mad at me, but that this would all blow over if I kept myself in check. So when I walked into Anatomy for my last class, and already found her hunched over Calum’s desk, I kept my mouth shut.

I slung my backpack off and sat in my seat.

Aly lifted up her head and saw me. She smiled and nodded.

I nodded back, giving a small wave.

The bell rang, and she said something to Hood before taking her own seat.

I tuned out our teacher’s lecture, daydreaming out the window. In the row across from me, I could see Aly drumming a quiet beat against her leg while she doodled in her notebook.

When the bell rang, I flipped my notebook shut and stuck it in my backpack.

“Hey, I’ll call you tonight, yeah?” Aly asked, leaning against my desk.

“Yeah, you working on something new?” I asked, nodding at her notebook.

“Just another song cover that I can’t get out of my head. So, I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah, for sure.” We did our handshake and she dashed out the door. I let myself be excited at the thought of a new song to give our own twist on rather than focus on the typical mix of feelings I felt towards her now.

I went home to my dad’s and holed myself up in my room. I tried to focus on my homework, but I kept checking my phone every five minutes to see if Aly had checked in. I eventually gave up on my homework, deciding that mind numbing videogames would work better.

When my dad came home, he knocked on my door to let me know he had dinner.

I sighed as I sat down at the table, pulling the bag of fast food towards me.

“Rough day?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I dunno. I kinda blew up on Aly this morning. I mean, she called me out on it, obviously. And we made up, I guess. But, I dunno.”

He nodded, taking in my words. “Well, it’s you and Alyssa. You’ll get past this.”

“Oh, I’m not worried that she’s still mad.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“My own jealousy? I dunno. I feel like I don’t know how to be her friend anymore.”

“Did something happen between you guys that I’m missing? Like recently? How long have you been dating Kayla?”

“Like a month, but no. That’s not it.”

He raised his eyebrows.

I sighed. “I tried to kiss her this summer. When she came over to Mom’s after she came home from her grandparents.”

“This summer? You’ve been bottling this up for 8 months? Oh, Ashton…”

“Yeah… well, when she left she still looked like regular Aly, y’know? Then a month later… well, she’s not a little kid anymore.”

“And you looked at her for the first time as a girl, not as your best friend.”

“Yeah, and I tried to kiss her for it. I thought she was feeling it, too. But, then she said no, and that was that.”

“And you guys never talked about it?”

“God, no! How do you even have that conversation?”

“Like every other conversation you’ve ever had.”

I rolled my eyes. “Rich coming from the divorcee.”

He raised his eyebrows in warning. “Watch yourself.”

“Sorry. But, like how do I ever bring that up? ‘Hey, Aly, remember that time I tried to kiss you? Weird, huh?’ Like that’s stupid, Dad.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it would have been better to have talked about it right after it happened. But, better late than never?”

“I guess.” If both Luke and my dad were saying to talk about it, maybe I should. I mean, the worst thing that could happen already did, so how much worse could it get? My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I dug it out, glancing at the caller ID. “Speaking of,” I said, waving my phone at my dad before I answered the call. “Hey, what’s up?” I excused myself from the table and walked down to my room.

“Hey, so I got news.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

I flopped face down on my bed. “Got the cover done?” I asked.

“Nah, still teaching myself the chord progression. I got a little busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Well, Cal stopped by. And uh… well, he asked me out. And I said yes.” I didn’t need to see her to know she was biting her lip, hoping I’d be happy for her.

My face fell and I was glad she couldn’t see me. “Oh… That’s uh… like did he ask you out on a date, or to be his girlfriend?”

“Just a date.”

“Oh, cool. Maybe if it goes well we could all double date,” I suggested, trying to play it off like I wasn’t dying inside.

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Cool. Oh, hey, I wanted to ask you something,” I said, figuring it was now or never time.

“Yeah?”

“Um… remember when you came over after you got back from your grandparents?”

“Last summer? Yeah, why?”

“Uh… just…” I struggled to find the words.

“Are you talking about how you nearly kissed me?” she asked, blunt and no-nonsense as always. It was one of her charms, she wasn’t afraid to have the awkward conversations, and her confidence to power through somehow got rid of the awkwardness altogether.

“Yeah… I don’t think I ever said sorry. I know it was weird.”

“A little,” she admitted. “But, don’t worry about it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“Kissing you, dumbass. I mean, yeah we’ve been friends for forever. But yeah, I’ve thought about kissing you a time or two.”

“You have?” I tried to hide my surprise.

“Oh, don’t be dense. I’ve thought about kissing nearly every boy at our school. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re with Kayla, and I’ve got a date with Cal. Life goes on, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, anyway, I gotta go. See ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see ya.” I hung up and rolled over onto my back, staring up at my ceiling. “You fuckin blew it, you dipshit!” I yelled at myself.

“Everything okay, Ashton?” my dad’s voice sounded on the other side of my door.

I got up, crossed my room, and opened the door. “She has a date,” I said flatly.

He winced. “Ouch, tough break.”

“And we talked about the kiss thing which only made things worse.”

“How so?”

“She said she’d thought of kissing me before. But that it doesn’t matter now, obviously. I blew it, Dad. I missed my chance because I’m a fuckin wuss.”

“You didn’t blow anything. Didn’t she say ‘no’ when you tried?”

“Yeah…”

“Did you push it?”

“No, I just let her go.”

“Then you did everything right.”

“Then why do I feel like shit?”

“Ashton… you know I’m always on your side, right?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna say that it’s my fault for feeling like shit because I got a date with someone else before Aly?”

“Well… and look, I get it. She said no, so you moved on to someone who said yes. But, you can’t fault Aly for moving on, too. Maybe if you had talked sooner, the outcome would be one you like more.”

“This fuckin’ blows…”

“I know, bud. I know.” He didn’t have any words of encouragement or wise words of wisdom for me. Just honest solidarity that sometimes, life just sucked.

#you'll always have me #chapter 7 #ashton irwin #5SOS #galcal irwin

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sinfully-romione · 7 years

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Seven

Category: Wrath

Rating: K+/T (saying T just to be on the safe side because of some language)

Length: One-shot

Summary: Seven times Ron’s temper makes itself known - in one way or another - because Hermione is in his life.

one.

Merlin, she’s insufferable. As if it isn’t enough that she seems to always pop up when she’s least needed, like when he and Harry are on their way to a midnight duel with Malfoy (not that anything came of that, but still) or turning up on the train to tell him he’s got dirt on her nose. This girl is everywhere, there when he’s not ready for her, there with her bushy hair and impossibly bossy voice and an attitude that could fill the Great Hall, and of course, of course he gets paired up with her and not Harry, or Seamus, or even Lavender Brown.

“You’re saying it wrong,” she tells him haughtily, and he tries his best to be polite and not roll his eyes. So he’s not as good at magic as his brothers or Professor Flitwick over there or even Harry. She doesn’t have be so rude about it, she doesn’t have to make him feel like he’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. The heat rises in his face and he can’t believe it, but he sort of wants to break something. Normally he has a better grasp on his temper, and this is just school, after all, but she’s just so unlike anyone he’s ever met before.

“You do it then,” he snaps when she’s finishing detailing every little thing he did wrong in his attempt at levitating a feather, “if you’re so clever.”

And of course she does it perfectly, because, like she just had to tell them on the train, she already memorized all of her textbooks (not even Percy did that!), and Professor Flitwick is beside himself with praise for her. Ron wishes he were anywhere but here.

On the way out of class, he starts venting to Harry about it, knowing if anyone will understand, it’s him. “She’s a nightmare, honestly,” and he’s about to keep prattling on but Harry gets jostled as a small figure knocks into him and scurries away - a small figure, of course, with bushy hair and a rucksack packed with books.

His heart sinks; he didn’t want to be mean right back.

—

two.

Ron’s heart leaps into his throat as the words escape Malfoy’s lips: “filthy little Mudblood.” Suddenly it’s like his entire body is shaking because he knows that the Malfoys are terrible people, he knows that their families have entirely different views on how a pureblood wizard should conduct oneself and who to consort with and who, apparently, to fire disgusting insults at over what should have been a normal Quidditch practice. He remembers talking with his dad over Ginger Newts when he was seven years old because someone in Diagon Alley had called his parents blood-traitors and later he wanted to know what it meant. He remembers Dad, of course, in his own laid-back way, explaining that some wizards felt they were superior to others just because of their bloodline and how it was an awful way to see the world and how all human lives were worth just the same, and it was only by sheer coincidence that the Weasleys had stayed pureblood as long as they had.

And he thinks about it now, and how that tosser Draco Malfoy has just called Hermione the very worst thing he could possibly think of, and suddenly his hands are plunging into his robes. Ron knows it’s stupid, since his wand hasn’t been worth a damn since school started but he can’t just stand there and let this happen. Hermione’s his best friend (after Harry) and she’s better at magic than all of them combined and he just can’t let Malfoy get away with it.

The hex he thinks of is one he heard Fred and George discussing over the summer and as he points his wand at Malfoy, he’s not even sure it has a name and it’s probably - okay, definitely - not taught at Hogwarts but it’ll sure teach the git a lesson. Just as Ron’s about to speak the words, a jet of green light fires backwards into his stomach and sends him flying on the pitch. All the Slytherins are laughing and taunting him, jeering at poor blood traitor Weasley with his hand-me-down robes and broken wand, as Harry and Hermione rush over to check on him.

He spends the rest of the afternoon burping up slugs in Hagrid’s hunt and explaining to Harry just why that word is so repulsive and knowing that this isn’t the end.

—

three.

Lovely. Just what everyone needs, a double dose of Severus Snape; Ron is repulsed as he walks into Defense Against The Dark Arts, which he’s actually been enjoying this year, to see the greasiest professor to grace the corridors of Hogwarts behind the desk. And what’s he playing at, anyway, deciding to start the chapter on werewolves when they were just about to start the chapter on hinkypunks? Surely Professor Lupin wasn’t in such a bad way that he couldn’t leave a quick note on the desk about what everyone was learning, even though that’s Snape’s story. Though Ron supposes that even if he had, Snape wouldn’t bother to check for it.

Snape is extra Snape-like today, too, probably because he’s so excited to finally be teaching his favorite subject; he snipes at the group for no reason and deducts points from Gryffindor because Harry asked one question. Hermione’s being so Hermione about it, trying to tell Snape where they’ve left off, and of course he won’t hear a word of it and barks at them all to turn to page three-hundred ninety-four. Ron resigns himself to it, flipping through his textbook and wishing he had a way to speed up time. Professor Lupin had better get healthy quick, because Ron’s not sure he can tolerate this for the rest of the year.

As always, Hermione’s the only one even trying to answer questions, even though Snape’s looking at her like it enrages him that she’s daring to raise her hand in his class. Why even bother, then? Why even pretend to teach them?

“Please, sir,” she’s saying calmly, ever the prepared one in class, the one who already read the entire book and the one who’s actually trying to salvage this wasted lesson (Ron has started to doodle a mustache and glasses on the drawing of a werewolf in the book), but Snape cuts her off and begins berating her for speaking out of turn.

“Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all,” he declares, and Ron’s head snaps up. He’s not the only one shooting daggers with their eyes - the whole class looks ready to pounce - but his hands curl into fists as Hermione’s eyes lower to her desk and well up.

How dare he? How dare he?! He’s supposed to be their teacher, and the one person in class who’s actually trying to learn, he insults her? And it feels different, somehow, than all the times Ron has called her a know-it-all over Transfiguration essays because she knows that he’s her friend, that he actually thinks she’s completely brilliant. It’s never barbed like that, he never says it just because he wants her to shut up, and the words are erupting from his lips before he knows what’s happening.

“You asked us a question and she knows the answer!” he blurts out, noticing Hermione furiously blinking back tears. “Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

It happens so fast: suddenly he has an up close and personal view of one Severus Snape, whose dark eyes glisten with vindictive glee. “Detention, Weasley.”

Worth it, Ron decides as he’s scrubbing out bedpans the Muggle way in the hospital wing later that night. Totally worth it.

—

four.

Stupid Viktor Krum. Who does this bloke think he is, anyway? He just shows up to Hogwarts, his name comes flying out of the Goblet of Fire and now it’s like everyone can’t get enough of him. Everyone, apparently, including Hermione, who’s deemed it necessary to not only come as his date but to dance up a storm with him all night. Just because he’s the most talented Seeker in the world, just because every witch in the castle has been fawning all over him for months, just because his dress robes probably cost more than Ron’s dad earns in a year, it doesn’t mean he’s worth going to this ruddy ball with.

Hermione looks so happy with him too, it’s sickening, he actually spins her around at one point during a fast song and they’re both laughing and Ron feels a heavy weight drop into his stomach. She isn’t supposed to here having fun with Viktor Krum, what would they even have in common, anyway? Hermione’s the smartest person Ron’s ever met but she doesn’t know the first thing about Quidditch. They can’t possibly have anything to talk about.

Padma Patil has long since given up on any hopes of Ron being a decent date and he really doesn’t care. He only wanted to go to this stupid thing in the first place because Harry’s required to go and he figured that if he, Ron, had to bring a date, well, Hermione made sense, didn’t she? Except, he always felt a bit funny about asking her, and then when he managed to - when Fred scared sense into him - he went about it in maybe not the smoothest way, and now she’s here with Viktor bloody Krum. It’s like she’s here with his, Ron’s, exact opposite, and the thought sets his insides on fire.

It feels like hours, but the damned ball actually comes to an end and Ron stomps off to the common room with the sole intention of never thinking about this night again, but Hermione’s there when he steps through the portrait hole, and she must not like his terse greeting because soon enough they’re screaming at each other. Her hair is falling out of its elegant knot and her face is twisted up in anger and as her words fly across the common room, Ron finds himself rendered speechless.

“Next time there’s a ball,” she tells him furiously, ignoring that Harry has just stepped into the common room and is shell-shocked and watching them, “ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!”

He can do nothing but sputter uselessly at her as she whirls off toward the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She wouldn’t have actually wanted to go with him, would she? She’s just mad, she’s just saying things… right?

Or had he missed his chance?

—

five.

It’s his third stay in the hospital wing, but he’s still more accustomed to being a visitor rather than a patient, and it feels strange to sleep here surrounded by his friends, and even stranger to sleep in the same room as Hermione. She’s in the bed next to him, snoring just a little bit from the strength of the pain relief and sleeping potions she’s been given. The whole room is quiet and Ron’s mind is just racing because it all feels like it’s his fault and he wants to throttle himself for being so stupid. Why, why did he have to get himself hit by that ridiculous curse, the one that turned him into a giggling mess, into the sort of imbecile that summons bewitched brains out of tanks and nearly gets himself strangled to death with them. He was trying to protect Ginny and Luna by running behind them, but he should have insisted they follow Harry.

If he ever gets his hands on Dolohov… he can feel them shaking now, even though his arms still feel a little weak from the deep grooves that the brains left in his skin. He can’t believe he let her down, he’s supposed to be the one in their trio that protects the other two. They’re his best friends in the world, he’s supposed to look out for them, and instead he may well have been sloshed on Firewhisky for all the good he did. Somehow this always ends up happening, somehow he keeps trying to do the right thing but he messes it up somehow, and apparently being Gryffindor’s unlikely prefect hasn’t changed his propensity for letting Hermione down. If he’d been coherent he could have jumped in front of that curse, taken it for her, or taken Dolohov down before he even had the chance but all he’d been was dead weight, distracted, a burden.

Hermione rolls over in her sleep, now facing him, and the sight of her peaceful features sends another wave of self-loathing over him. She’s okay, but it’s not because of him, and while his heart pounds in his chest, its thrumming the only thing he can hear in the quiet hospital wing, he resolves to do better.

—

six.

“You were brilliant tonight, Ron,” Lavender coos, gazing up at him, her hands wrapped around his bicep.

“Er, thanks,” he replies, feeling as though he’s the furthest thing from brilliant, but if she thinks so, he’s going to let her. At least Lavender doesn’t believe that he can only play well if he’s hopped up on lucky potion, she actually seems to think the sun shines out of his ass and it makes for a nice change from Hermione’s utter lack of faith. Unlike Hermione, Lavender doesn’t invite him to Christmas parties solely out of pity (because it must have been pity and nothing more, right, if Hermione’s the sort of girl who can land Viktor Krum) and she doesn’t constantly critique him; she actually seems to like him.

He scans the room and he doesn’t see Hermione’s wild mane of hair anywhere, not that he wants to. He thinks back to how she’d acted in the locker room, how she’d been furious with Harry for slipping Ron the potion and then so incredibly stunned when she found out that he’d tricked everyone, that he hadn’t used any of the potion at all, that it was he, Ron, who had saved all those goals. Of course she wouldn’t have known, right, that he wasn’t always completely rubbish at Quidditch because last year she’d actually missed the one match in which he played decently. Not that he’d measure up to Viktor Krum, anyway.

“So,” he says as he turns to Lavender, about to ask her which Quidditch team she supports (and as long as she doesn’t say Tutshill, it’s fine) when her lips smash firmly against his and he feels like the wind is knocked out of him. He tries, after one stunned instant in which he becomes acutely aware that there’s about fifty people staring at them, to kiss her back, but it’s all just some messy tangle of lips and teeth and tongue and he hasn’t the foggiest clue what he’s doing and he really doesn’t care because, he realizes with a fresh wave of self-loathing, this is not who he really wants to kiss at all.

Ron pulls back for a second and uses the back of his hand to wipe the lip gloss from his mouth (it tastes like strawberries, though, so at least there’s that) as he spots the portrait hole swinging shut. Hermione still isn’t here, not that it surprises him that she’s gone. She always chooses to think the worst of him, never wants to believe in him, always sides with everyone else.

And it’s not like she’d rather he kiss her instead, anyway.

—

seven.

He’s going to explode out of his skin. This is a rage, a fury, an all-encompassing fear that he’s never felt before, and despite what they say about Gryffindors, Ron definitely gets scared sometimes but it’s never like this, it’s never made him like this but nothing has ever been this bad. This is his worst nightmare come to life and he’s stuck here, he’s just stuck and there’s nothing he can do but he’s still going to try everything. He’s going to try to Apparate without a wand (he’s heard it can be done, but it’s difficult and it’s risky, he could end up Splinching himself into a thousand little pieces but he’s still got to try), he’s going to pound on these walls because this is not happening again, he will not be some useless bystander while Hermione gets hurt. He still hates himself for walking out on them and he’s got to make it up to them, to her. He promised himself years ago that he will always protect her and he will, he has to, even with tears of anger and terror dripping through the grime and blood on his face.

She screams and he screams back, unable to help it, she has to know that he’s at least here, that he cares, that he hasn’t given up on her, that he won’t. And if he can get to her, there’s no telling what he’ll do. He’ll probably kill someone and they’ll probably deserve it, everyone up in that drawing room deserves to be torn limb from limb, and he’ll do it himself if he has to. It’s all he can think about: get to Hermione, get her to safety, destroy Bellatrix Lestrange, destroy the Malfoys.

It takes a miracle involving a house elf, a silver hand that turns on its owner, a decent impression of said silver-hand owner, and Harry stupefying Death Eaters with two wands at once, but they get away. Ron lands on his knees in the pebbled sand outside of his eldest brother’s house with Hermione, limp and unconscious and bleeding, on his lap. He presses his fingertips to her neck and oh, thank Merlin, she has a pulse, it’s weak but it’s there, and so he hoists her skinny frame into his arms and carries her to the house. She comes to after a few minutes and is well enough to attend Dobby’s funeral; Ron wraps his arm around her shoulders to support her, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts.

The night has sparked an incredible fury in him, but now it’s fury laced with determination, it isn’t frantic anymore. He can take it now and channel it and use it as his driving force. He’s no longer the insecure little boy who was annoyed because the girl sitting next to him in class was better at a spell than he was and wanted to make sure he knew it. Okay, he’ll admit that the insecurity is still there, sometimes, but he’s a man now. He’s grown up these past seven years and now his anger isn’t petty or laced with jealousy or self-hatred, it’s focused. He can’t believe this is the world he lives in, and he can’t let it go on, he won’t let this world try to stomp on the person who makes him happiest, who amazes him daily with her brilliance, who means more to him than anything.

They have to win this war; there’s no other way.

#romione #7deadlysinfest #wrath

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toxinwing · 7 years

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Best and Worst F1 Helmet Designs (From an Artist’s Perspective)

As a novice artist (he says, not sure if he should hold himself in such esteem as to be comfortable calling himself an artist), I spend a lot of time drawing stuff I’m interested in. And, as someone with a high interest in F1 as of late, I’ve found myself drawing a lot of drivers.

My personal style generally leans towards the cartoony and generally not-so-realistic side of the spectrum, so I found myself looking for ways to draw drivers in a quick and simple way. The best way I’ve seen others go about this, and the way I’ve used in many of my F1 doodles, is drawing said drivers with their helmets on at all times, eschewing the need to draw their faces.

Faces are detail heavy, take a while to draw, and are difficult to draw well enough to have a viewer consistently and immediately know who it is that you drew. Helmets are much easier to draw and as long as the viewer is familiar with the driver’s helmet, it’s easy identification....well, at least in theory...

Some drivers make an artists world just a little bit harder due to their maddening helmet designs. Not that the designs are necessarily bad! No, much the opposite! Many designs are very eye-pleasing and I acknowledge how long the drivers and helmet artists/designers must’ve worked on them. They’re just...not great for artists who need to/want to simplify them down to a cartoon-friendly level.

In my opinion, the best helmet designs for simplifying, and therefore drawing in a quick, easy manner, are: Consistent, distinct, and relatively minimalistic. In essence, they don’t change up all too often, are immediately recognizable out of a group, and they’re not too heavily detailed or complex. I’m sure some of you know at least a few drivers who, under these guidelines, have not-so-great to downright horrible helmets for simplifying.

So, I wanted to point out which helmets were the best and worst out of the current F1 grid in terms of simplifying...well, I wanted to, but I then realized that because I put down a few different way for a design to be “bad”, I couldn’t just have one bad and one good. To rectify that, I will include three kinds of “worst” designs, each “bad” in their own distinct way, and leave one overall “best” design for last.

And do realize that these are all my own personal opinions. If you disagree, that’s cool. Like what you like and all that. This is just from the perspective of a flustered guy trying to draw these helmets and aimlessly lamenting into the ether why it’s hard to draw them.

Worst Design Practice: Sebastian Vettel

I’m sure some of you knew this was coming, what with my spiel on how helmet designs should be at least somewhat consistent. We all remember back when Seb would change up his entire helmet's look from race to race, each one almost completely different looking from the last. I mean, I really can’t blame the guy. They did look pretty cool and I’m sure it was fun deciding what the next race’s new helmet should be.

Unfortunately, this practice is not so great for the people trying to learn how to draw his helmet. At least now-a-days he keeps his helmet to a general layout with only small details changing race week to race week...and sometimes he doesn’t even change it every race weekend!

Still, it does make me a bit...suspicious, I suppose. The days before a race weekend I’ll be watching for news about a new helmet design from Seb. If I don’t hear of one, I’ll still find myself trying to analyze his helmet to see if I can spot anything different. 'Cause, who knows, maybe he just didn’t tell anyone of a change! I tells ya, he’s made me a bit neurotic...

And sometimes he does make a change but it’s just small enough that, due to my more simplistic style, I don’t really need to alter anything! But then sometimes I do! Like, if something changed color or a big enough detail was added, I might need to make note of that. I never know what to expect.

And the reason I make such a big deal about this is because, while I don’t always make a new F1 doodle each race weekend (heck, I don’t think I’ve made one this season so far...), I do like to keep up-to-date on what the driver’s helmets and overalls look like. Just in case some good inspiration comes up and I do decide to make a new drawing/doodle.

Worst Group of Designs: Red Bull and Toro Rosso (i.e. Ricciardo, Verstappen, Kvyat, and Sainz Jr.)

Red Bull, guys...hear me out. I know you’ve got a...look going on, you know, want to make both teams and all the drivers look like one big happy family with their similar helmets but, good gosh man, you need to let these guys have a bit more freedom in their helmet designs!

This is what I meant by distinctness in design. If you’re a rampant Red Bull/Toro Rosso fan or fan of any of these drivers, yeah, you’ll probably be able to quickly discern whose helmet is whose, but for everyone else? Ugh.

If these guys were to wear their overalls and helmets, visors down, and stood a few paces away from me, the only way I’d be able to tell who was who is by the different overalls and their differences in height and build. When they’re all sitting in their cars, I’m almost completely in the dark. These teams are why I’ve gotten so good at identifying drivers just by their eyes.

And, yeah, I’m sure people would tell me exactly how to tell the difference between all of their helmets, but that doesn’t make the fact that they’re all too similar just go away. I shouldn’t have to squint and look for specific small details just to identify a driver. These guys are regularly zooming past us at 300+ kph. Small details don’t really help in those circumstances.

Not only that, but when I’m drawing all of these guys...holy damn, it’s sometimes hard for me to tell who’s who. I can’t simplify their helmets too much or they’ll all look the same, but I also don’t want to spend too long just drawing their helmets. *sigh* You see my conundrum, here.

Does this mean that all of these guys should change their helmets just because of this? No, of course not. I’m just some schmuck on the internet. It is something that they may want to think about in the future, though.

Worst Design In General: Lewis Hamilton

Again, I must reiterate: I’m not saying that Lewis’s helmet is bad. No way. In fact, I think it’s a pretty cool helmet! It’s distinct and flashy and shows off Lewis’s own personality (for better or worse). It’s just...it’s really hard to draw in a simple way! That’s all!

Like, honestly, do I want to draw out all those stars and little details like the fading in and out of colors and shades? Not really. So instead I have to find a pleasing way to simplify this...hodgepodge of hues and shapes into something I can draw in 1 - 3 minutes, at most (depending on size and whether the driver is the focus of the drawing and...well, how intent I am on finishing it on time :P).

I mean, not that I don’t enjoy trying to simplify it. If I didn’t enjoy it to some degree, I wouldn’t draw anything. It’s kind of...fun, in a way. Kind of like how navigating a corn maze is fun.

Actually, it’s also like a corn maze in that, at some point, you may lose your way and get horribly lost and start to panic. Trying to simplify Lewis’s helmet (and, indeed, many driver’s helmets) is like getting lost in a big corn maze. You either give up and wait for help, power through until you reach the end, cut some corners and make some potentially sketchy paths of your own, or don’t go into it at all.

(Note: don’t actually try to make your own path in an actual corn maze. The owners will get angry and smashing down corn is a lot harder than it would seem. Also it hurts. The dry leaves and stalks’ll cut you right up)

And finally, the best design (in my opinion). The design that follows all the rules previously mentioned closest. And also one of my favorite designs to draw.

Best design: Fernando Alonso

Okay, now some who follow me and know my biases might think “yeah, this is totally biased” and, to be fair, in other circumstances you may have a point. But I’ve tried to be as unbiased as possible in choosing the best design and this does indeed fit all the criteria I laid out earlier.

It’s easy to pick out in a crowd with it’s bright and vibrant colors and is distinct from any other helmets on the grid. The flat colors and simple patterns and shapes make it a relative breeze to draw. And, while Fernando has changed the design and colors a bit over the years, it’s always had, for the most part, the same basic idea behind it. It’s been reiterated upon, but not too much that you couldn’t tell it’s his helmet by the next season (ignoring 2007 that is...).

Now with my earlier statement on how I enjoy drawing Fernando’s helmet, you could perhaps say that the reason for that is due to my inherent biases. I like the driver, therefore I like his helmet, and therefore I draw his helmet a lot and enjoy doing so. And that very well could be the whole truth of the matter.

...Then again, if you get right down to it...maybe the reason I like drawing his helmet so much is just because it’s so easy to draw in the first place. :P

So, yeah. Good design. Not the simplest in the history of F1, certainly, but for the current grid, it’s pretty dang good.

So, that’s my little (or perhaps not so little) rant done. If you disagree with anything I said or any conclusions I came to or whatever else, feel free to reply with your thoughts. Do so in a civil manner, though! I know these best/worst things in regards to drivers can sometimes get a little bit...heated. We like our faves and want to defend them, but a bit of constructive criticism now and them couldn’t hurt! Keeps ya humble, yeah? Yeah.

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